[ If Felix is lying on broken glass, he doesn't feel it. Then again, his leg could be on fire and he probably wouldn't pay attention to it. Kissing Locus like this, it shoves everything else so far away from him that it's all inconsequential background noise.
He hears that noise, recognizes the action that spawned it, and he's all set to do it again when Locus pulls back. The protest he's about to make dies on his tongue as he realizes what he's doing, and holy fucking Christ, it's hot. It probably shouldn't be. He's seen Locus use knives countless times before. Just never in this context before.
By the time Locus gets the wires off and is pushing him down, Felix is rock hard and so aroused it's a wonder he doesn't tear the shirt off of him with his bare hands. Or come in his pants, though that possibility isn't as far off as he would like.
Free of the lights, Felix gets his hands on him again, up under his shirt so fast he probably scratches him simply getting the fabric out of the way. Then he's dragging his fingernails up his back, touching territory that isn't unfamiliar—he's patched him up too many times not to be familiar with how his body looks and feels—but new nonetheless. Rough, impatient sounds get muffled by Locus' mouth as Felix tries to either press up against him, hard to do with Locus hanging onto his hip like that, or pull him down.
There's air between them. That's entirely too much space. ]
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He hears that noise, recognizes the action that spawned it, and he's all set to do it again when Locus pulls back. The protest he's about to make dies on his tongue as he realizes what he's doing, and holy fucking Christ, it's hot. It probably shouldn't be. He's seen Locus use knives countless times before. Just never in this context before.
By the time Locus gets the wires off and is pushing him down, Felix is rock hard and so aroused it's a wonder he doesn't tear the shirt off of him with his bare hands. Or come in his pants, though that possibility isn't as far off as he would like.
Free of the lights, Felix gets his hands on him again, up under his shirt so fast he probably scratches him simply getting the fabric out of the way. Then he's dragging his fingernails up his back, touching territory that isn't unfamiliar—he's patched him up too many times not to be familiar with how his body looks and feels—but new nonetheless. Rough, impatient sounds get muffled by Locus' mouth as Felix tries to either press up against him, hard to do with Locus hanging onto his hip like that, or pull him down.
There's air between them. That's entirely too much space. ]