[ he can sense the anticipation in the air, hear the faint pound of justin's heart, feel it in every one of his fingertips where they touch raphael's skin. there's no confusing this, no brushing it off. they are building to something, and it's only taking seconds. something in him wants to warn against this. something else wants to throw caution to the wind.
raphael's experiences with feelings like this are few and far between, almost always caught in a gray area between something he wanted and something he thought he wanted. he'd kissed a girl he'd met at church when he was fifteen, young and still unaware of where he would be in a few years time, and afterwards wished he hadn't. he'd felt camille's fingers slide against the back of his neck and thought not that he could love her, but that maybe he should. he's found people here in the city that he craves the company of, but why is a long, drawn-out question that he's afraid too many will not want to wait for. how many will dislike the answer if it lands in the realm of friendship?
this, here and now, has taken time, but there's no question that justin's fingers sliding along his palm is something he wants, something that he would rather not call friendship. if he feels any hesitation, it's simply because he hadn't really expected this, hadn't prepared himself for the possibility.
raphael is never not prepared, never not on guard, and yet here he is, a fracture in his armor beginning in the palm of his hand and running up his arm and parting his lips under justin's mouth. it's almost too easy. his chin tilts so justin can more easily find his mark, a tentative movement that doesn't demand but seeks out, not merely allowing the kiss but inviting it. mindful of teeth, he kisses back, his fingers curling to hold justin's hand properly.
everywhere they touch is a fierce clash of cold and hot, and raphael hopes, helplessly, that it doesn't matter. it shouldn't matter. ]
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raphael's experiences with feelings like this are few and far between, almost always caught in a gray area between something he wanted and something he thought he wanted. he'd kissed a girl he'd met at church when he was fifteen, young and still unaware of where he would be in a few years time, and afterwards wished he hadn't. he'd felt camille's fingers slide against the back of his neck and thought not that he could love her, but that maybe he should. he's found people here in the city that he craves the company of, but why is a long, drawn-out question that he's afraid too many will not want to wait for. how many will dislike the answer if it lands in the realm of friendship?
this, here and now, has taken time, but there's no question that justin's fingers sliding along his palm is something he wants, something that he would rather not call friendship. if he feels any hesitation, it's simply because he hadn't really expected this, hadn't prepared himself for the possibility.
raphael is never not prepared, never not on guard, and yet here he is, a fracture in his armor beginning in the palm of his hand and running up his arm and parting his lips under justin's mouth. it's almost too easy. his chin tilts so justin can more easily find his mark, a tentative movement that doesn't demand but seeks out, not merely allowing the kiss but inviting it. mindful of teeth, he kisses back, his fingers curling to hold justin's hand properly.
everywhere they touch is a fierce clash of cold and hot, and raphael hopes, helplessly, that it doesn't matter. it shouldn't matter. ]