[This wasn't exactly what he meant by 'making the most of it'. Now that John's kissing him, though, hard and hot and wow, there is no way he's ever going to remember what he was just thinking. Right, kissing back. Not sitting there like a dead fish. Dave's hands move before he's really thought about moving them, one threading through John's hair, keeping a light pressure there. You know, in case John got any silly ideas about pulling back any time soon. His other hand landed just above the other's hip, and while he hadn't meant to do much more with it than that, it still wound up pushing up the hem of his shirt just enough to get his fingertips against skin.
Okay, so maybe he can't complain too much about a disobedient hand.
It's kind of a similar feeling to earlier, once he got past the immediate reaction, that still-can't-find-the-right-word happy feeling that settled in moments before. It's hardly a new sensation, feeling like his chest might burst -- with laughter or fucking confetti or like hell he even knows. Definitely not new, especially with the regularity of these visits. It's the kind of thing he'd never admit to, really should just think of vastly fucking uncool because that's what it is, but he really can't find it in himself to complain.]
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Okay, so maybe he can't complain too much about a disobedient hand.
It's kind of a similar feeling to earlier, once he got past the immediate reaction, that still-can't-find-the-right-word happy feeling that settled in moments before. It's hardly a new sensation, feeling like his chest might burst -- with laughter or fucking confetti or like hell he even knows. Definitely not new, especially with the regularity of these visits. It's the kind of thing he'd never admit to, really should just think of vastly fucking uncool because that's what it is, but he really can't find it in himself to complain.]