[ Thinking about it will ruin everything. If he starts thinking, he'll start analyzing and overanalyzing everything, he'll start to question and second guess and let a lifetime of mistakes get in the way. So he doesn't think about it at all.
He makes a low, throaty sound of pleasure when Locus' fingers scratch over his scalp, the shorter hairs making his skin more sensitive somehow. No examine; he lets himself feel it without questioning it. An instant later, that sound becomes a frustrated whine of irritation as he tries to get his hand up higher than it is and encounters resistance from the lights.
A haphazard struggle ensues, though he neither lets Locus go nor stops kissing him. It just makes him a wriggly, frustrated mess and probably breaks a lightbulb or two. Sucking on Locus' tongue takes precedence over trying to get his hands on him better; giving himself over to that, Felix hooks a foot over Locus' leg and calls it a day. More contact, whatever form it takes, is better than less.
The hand not still fisted in Locus' shirt rucks up the bottom and weasels its way to warm skin. Flexing his fingers, Felix digs his nails in, scratching as he leaves off sucking for biting at Locus' lip. There's still a desperate edge to it that he can't temper. When this will come, if it will, he doesn't know. He just knows that he has to take as much as he can before it's over. ]
no subject
He makes a low, throaty sound of pleasure when Locus' fingers scratch over his scalp, the shorter hairs making his skin more sensitive somehow. No examine; he lets himself feel it without questioning it. An instant later, that sound becomes a frustrated whine of irritation as he tries to get his hand up higher than it is and encounters resistance from the lights.
A haphazard struggle ensues, though he neither lets Locus go nor stops kissing him. It just makes him a wriggly, frustrated mess and probably breaks a lightbulb or two. Sucking on Locus' tongue takes precedence over trying to get his hands on him better; giving himself over to that, Felix hooks a foot over Locus' leg and calls it a day. More contact, whatever form it takes, is better than less.
The hand not still fisted in Locus' shirt rucks up the bottom and weasels its way to warm skin. Flexing his fingers, Felix digs his nails in, scratching as he leaves off sucking for biting at Locus' lip. There's still a desperate edge to it that he can't temper. When this will come, if it will, he doesn't know. He just knows that he has to take as much as he can before it's over. ]