Michael sighs. He doesn’t think he got the message across, but saying something like ‘I want to have sex with you’ doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem honest. There’s something else to the way he feels that makes that statement incomplete, something important. He doesn’t know the words for it.
So for now he gives up and kisses them—once, twice, his eyes staying barely open beneath their lashes. Hesitantly his hand slides further down the plane of their chest, and he finds their skin smooth and thin over their bones. He splays his fingers, palm flat, trying to feel the workings of their body underneath. There’s a blood vessel pulsing just beneath their collarbone, and he presses a fingertip against it, the beat matching the one in his ears.