[ There's a sharp pain in his ribcage when he sees Inigo's eyes on him; a pain, but from a mix of excitement and embarrassment. The latter more than the former, and his already warm cheeks only grow more the warmer, remembering - no, brain, you're not supposed to be working - what was said before. About thinking about them like this, what it would be like.
What he would look like.
It's nice though, to be given a distraction. For a face too close to keep him thinking about that gaze that translates further as arousal. The kisses on his skin, going down, and the room of his neck that he gives to Inigo, inviting him. Not thinking about hickeys, but he is thinking about something else. Something less selfish, with his palms travelling every curve and spread of skin it can reach. He wants more - wants to give more, wants to offer more. The hand by Inigo's face at first lifting fingers to tangle in his hair, to stroke through his scalp; but it can't really do that with his head lowering, and so it lingers for a time on his side, until - his hands wander down not his own body but Inigo's. ]
Inigo, [ he says quietly, uncertain, stopping by his waist, but one hand dipping close to the line of his trousers. There's a belt in the way, but it doesn't stop him from slipping in fingers some, as if to make his intentions any more clear. ]
Don't move too back- [ Because he's guiding his other hand to meet the other, to work blindly at the buckle, to get it undone. To find the button and zipper but it's a bit awkward, a hand coming back onto Inigo's waist, nudging him. ] Lean lower?
[ His hips, or- his words are awkward, sound stupid, but he hopes that can be understood what he wants: to get his hands inside Inigo's pants without having his arm stretch out to get in there. ]
no subject
What he would look like.
It's nice though, to be given a distraction. For a face too close to keep him thinking about that gaze that translates further as arousal. The kisses on his skin, going down, and the room of his neck that he gives to Inigo, inviting him. Not thinking about hickeys, but he is thinking about something else. Something less selfish, with his palms travelling every curve and spread of skin it can reach. He wants more - wants to give more, wants to offer more. The hand by Inigo's face at first lifting fingers to tangle in his hair, to stroke through his scalp; but it can't really do that with his head lowering, and so it lingers for a time on his side, until - his hands wander down not his own body but Inigo's. ]
Inigo, [ he says quietly, uncertain, stopping by his waist, but one hand dipping close to the line of his trousers. There's a belt in the way, but it doesn't stop him from slipping in fingers some, as if to make his intentions any more clear. ]
Don't move too back- [ Because he's guiding his other hand to meet the other, to work blindly at the buckle, to get it undone. To find the button and zipper but it's a bit awkward, a hand coming back onto Inigo's waist, nudging him. ] Lean lower?
[ His hips, or- his words are awkward, sound stupid, but he hopes that can be understood what he wants: to get his hands inside Inigo's pants without having his arm stretch out to get in there. ]