[ He's acting without plan or rather, making it up as it goes along, not after anything in particular now that he has Charles behind closed doors with a kiss swollen mouth, wet and red and wholly inviting. Undressing Charles was not necessarily a promise of anything in particular, only an abrupt desire to press his hands over as much skin as he can expose, pale and soft and so warm under his fingers. He feels Charles shiver, the sensation making his cock twitch inside his trousers, just hard enough to be noticeable and evidently unabashed with it.
But he does try to resist a smile at the way Charles looks at him, energetic and pleased, messy hair and parted lips and he's seen him like this before, almost. He's seen Charles comfortably exhausted, rambling in the way he does, swaying but too stubborn to end their conversation and go to bed; seen him vaguely drunk and giddy with it, the abrupt flush and unruly wet hair the one time he'd nearly walked in on Charles after a shower. It's tremendously impossible not to echo that sudden laugh so he snorts but ends up distracted from laughter with the hands at his hips, licking over his mouth while Charles shifts back to sit down.
There's an aborted motion to knee up on the mattress after him, to press him into the sheets with every intention to begin learning each curve and dip of his body — but the cue is taken and he glances down at him, looking amused or impressed or a bit of both. ] Look at you.
[ There's obvious awe there though his voice deepens, fingers lifting off Charles' shoulders in a lazy gesture, the buckle of his belt undoing itself, the button on his pants following. He watches Charles with severe curiosity, pulling away only to remove the barrier of his own shirt and sweater, a fluid motion that increases the pile of clothing at his side. ] I'm compiling quite the list —
[ One hand lifts to trace the curve of Charles' bottom lip with his thumb, engrossed in the sight. ] — of ways to get you quiet. Though the opposite seems just as appealing. [ It is as blunt as the tip of his thumb he pushes past the seam of Charles' mouth, eyes dark with interest. ]
no subject
But he does try to resist a smile at the way Charles looks at him, energetic and pleased, messy hair and parted lips and he's seen him like this before, almost. He's seen Charles comfortably exhausted, rambling in the way he does, swaying but too stubborn to end their conversation and go to bed; seen him vaguely drunk and giddy with it, the abrupt flush and unruly wet hair the one time he'd nearly walked in on Charles after a shower. It's tremendously impossible not to echo that sudden laugh so he snorts but ends up distracted from laughter with the hands at his hips, licking over his mouth while Charles shifts back to sit down.
There's an aborted motion to knee up on the mattress after him, to press him into the sheets with every intention to begin learning each curve and dip of his body — but the cue is taken and he glances down at him, looking amused or impressed or a bit of both. ] Look at you.
[ There's obvious awe there though his voice deepens, fingers lifting off Charles' shoulders in a lazy gesture, the buckle of his belt undoing itself, the button on his pants following. He watches Charles with severe curiosity, pulling away only to remove the barrier of his own shirt and sweater, a fluid motion that increases the pile of clothing at his side. ] I'm compiling quite the list —
[ One hand lifts to trace the curve of Charles' bottom lip with his thumb, engrossed in the sight. ] — of ways to get you quiet. Though the opposite seems just as appealing. [ It is as blunt as the tip of his thumb he pushes past the seam of Charles' mouth, eyes dark with interest. ]