[Freddie makes him work blind, cupping his good hand against the side of Cassidy's face and blocking his view with kisses that trail lower, nosing against his jawline and nudging his chin up to expose the slope of his throat. His lips press butterfly-light, or clumsy and bumping, lips pressed close or parted enough to breathe hot against his skin.
Somewhere around the seam of throat and shoulder, more a stitching of muscle and sinew on Cassidy's body than Freddie's own boyish lines, there's a muttering.]
I think I'm drunk.
[And dizzy laughter. Freddie looks up with eyes that swim black to blue in the sudden light, reaching to tangle his arms with Cassidy's in an attempt to remove his shirt at the same time as his own comes off.]
no subject
Somewhere around the seam of throat and shoulder, more a stitching of muscle and sinew on Cassidy's body than Freddie's own boyish lines, there's a muttering.]
I think I'm drunk.
[And dizzy laughter. Freddie looks up with eyes that swim black to blue in the sudden light, reaching to tangle his arms with Cassidy's in an attempt to remove his shirt at the same time as his own comes off.]