Kieran had asked him what he wanted, but maybe all he’d wanted was permission. Jude smiled, a wordless yes. (Probably for the best that they moved away from the door, anyway – out of the corner of his eye he’d spotted a stray pair of Eileen’s boots and remembered she lived here too.)
He didn’t want Kieran to let go of him in the meantime – even the distance across the flat was too far now, with Kieran grasping his hips and his mouth still in reach – so, with his hands on Kieran’s shoulders to steer them, he turned them around and started guiding them across the flat in some strange slowdance. He had to stop to kiss him again when the temptation became too much, and paused again in the hallway to figure out which bedroom was Kieran’s. (Fortunately, there was enough mess to know at once which was his –) He tugged off Kieran’s jacket as they came in, backing him keenly up against the bed.
This wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, because Kieran had gotten hurriedly undressed and dressed again in the attic plenty of times before – although he was usually covered in new bruises and Jude was deliberately trying not to pay enough attention to wince – but it was the first time Jude had aided him in it and found any gratification, a thrill in undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, briefly kneeling to tug at his bootlaces, sliding his shirt and suspenders off in one motion by brushing his fingers over skin. (He knew the scars there already, the angry canvas of his body: the bite and bruises and faded burn mark.)
Still looking, he left Kieran to his trousers in order to catch up with his own clothes, fingers a little less deft now that his heartbeat had pitched to a new, erratic pace and there was a hot, heady feeling coursing through him. “I haven’t done this before,” Jude admitted, now shirtless and shoeless and working on his trouser buttons. He wasn’t embarrassed or even self-conscious, exactly – he assumed Kieran had known as much – but he was nervous, all the same, that Kieran might be disappointed.
He didn’t want Kieran to let go of him in the meantime – even the distance across the flat was too far now, with Kieran grasping his hips and his mouth still in reach – so, with his hands on Kieran’s shoulders to steer them, he turned them around and started guiding them across the flat in some strange slowdance. He had to stop to kiss him again when the temptation became too much, and paused again in the hallway to figure out which bedroom was Kieran’s. (Fortunately, there was enough mess to know at once which was his –) He tugged off Kieran’s jacket as they came in, backing him keenly up against the bed.
This wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, because Kieran had gotten hurriedly undressed and dressed again in the attic plenty of times before – although he was usually covered in new bruises and Jude was deliberately trying not to pay enough attention to wince – but it was the first time Jude had aided him in it and found any gratification, a thrill in undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, briefly kneeling to tug at his bootlaces, sliding his shirt and suspenders off in one motion by brushing his fingers over skin. (He knew the scars there already, the angry canvas of his body: the bite and bruises and faded burn mark.)
Still looking, he left Kieran to his trousers in order to catch up with his own clothes, fingers a little less deft now that his heartbeat had pitched to a new, erratic pace and there was a hot, heady feeling coursing through him. “I haven’t done this before,” Jude admitted, now shirtless and shoeless and working on his trouser buttons. He wasn’t embarrassed or even self-conscious, exactly – he assumed Kieran had known as much – but he was nervous, all the same, that Kieran might be disappointed.
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Daffodil Grimstone, Fortitude Greengrass, Kieran Abernathy
Daffodil Grimstone, Fortitude Greengrass, Kieran Abernathy
