Re: [Climbing: Patrick & Newt]
Newt's hand upon his chest felt like a brand. Not that it hurt, but it felt warm and weighty. It felt like some or of proclamation. This proclamation, oddly, was not Newt's. No, man, Patrick felt like the hand upon his sternum said things about him. It confessed things somehow, despite being mostly insignificant. He could not shrug this off as nothing; dudes did not touch each other like this. Why this felt more significant than the kiss, the dude did not know. Perhaps it was because they had kissed often enough (him and Newt) that he was now past panicking over it. Either way, yes, man, Patrick was most entirely aware of Newt's hand on his skin.
Now, for reasons entirely unknown, his own hand on Newt's skin was not as jarring. Man, it made no sense, and Patrick attempted to not think about it greatly. He felt the tiny nipple harden against leather, and he was surprised he could feel that through the gloves. But, man, dude did not mean to moan. This was true. Newt's hands were on his face now, and Patrick was red, and his hands were absolutely at Newt's chest, ready to shove. It was instinct and entirely thoughtless. It was survival, and he did shove. He shoved as Newt said he'd liked the moan.
Then, he was there, breathless and on his back atop this wall. He stared at the other dude. He watched him with eyes darkened, and then he moved onto his knees. He was going to climb down. He tested his rope, reached back for fresh chalk. Panic was coloring his chest down over the sternum that Newt had been touching. He even began moving toward the edge. Then, without warning and without consideration, his gaze returned to Newt, wherever Newt was at that moment.
A few seconds passed, though it felt like a much longer time. He believed his heart was going to pound out of his chest. He took a deep breath and (fuck it), he closed whatever gap existed and slanted his mouth over Newt's again. This time, it was his kiss; it was not Newt's kiss, man, and it showed in both demand and command.