It takes a few moments — maybe more, he's not sure — before J catches his breath enough to do anything at all, his heart still racing. "Fuck," he says, a wrung out exhale, and sinks slowly down to join S on the floor of the bathtub. He's exhausted and boneless and might be glowing, sated and blissful and achingly content, leaning forward to pull S into a kiss as soon as he can. That he can taste himself on S's lips is beside the point. It's strange, especially after so long, but not enough so to register in any real way, not when he has S to focus on.
Not that he's doing a very good job of focusing on much of anything, but if anyone could keep his attention now, it's S. He knows, vaguely, that sitting on the floor isn't going to help either of them get clean enough to get out of here and into bed, and now that he's come twice, he's at once hyperaware and very ready to sleep. It's not enough to get him to move quite yet, beyond resting a hand on S's thigh. "You're amazing," he says, soft and hoarse and utterly fond. He should have told S that sooner and more often and for a thousand other reasons, but this will have to do for now.
There are so many reasons, too, why it's strange to feel this happy on a day like this, but he's too gone in too many ways to think about that now. S is beautiful, rosy-cheeked and red-lipped, bright-eyed, with an expression J hasn't seen much of in longer than he can even name, which he loves with all his heart. Shifting forward enough to get closer still, limbs tangling, he kisses S's cheek. "How did I get so lucky?" He doesn't even know when he last felt lucky at all, but he does now, a distant, fuzzy bewilderment at that notion floating through the back of his mind and into nothingness.
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Not that he's doing a very good job of focusing on much of anything, but if anyone could keep his attention now, it's S. He knows, vaguely, that sitting on the floor isn't going to help either of them get clean enough to get out of here and into bed, and now that he's come twice, he's at once hyperaware and very ready to sleep. It's not enough to get him to move quite yet, beyond resting a hand on S's thigh. "You're amazing," he says, soft and hoarse and utterly fond. He should have told S that sooner and more often and for a thousand other reasons, but this will have to do for now.
There are so many reasons, too, why it's strange to feel this happy on a day like this, but he's too gone in too many ways to think about that now. S is beautiful, rosy-cheeked and red-lipped, bright-eyed, with an expression J hasn't seen much of in longer than he can even name, which he loves with all his heart. Shifting forward enough to get closer still, limbs tangling, he kisses S's cheek. "How did I get so lucky?" He doesn't even know when he last felt lucky at all, but he does now, a distant, fuzzy bewilderment at that notion floating through the back of his mind and into nothingness.