( thomas' shirt is neatly tucked into his trousers, or it was until jim pulled it out. he's becoming increasingly dishevelled, but he cannot bring himself to mind. not when jim's hands are warm against his skin, not when he enjoys the easy certainty jim portrays in touching him, the touch itself. he sighs into the kiss, pressing closer to jim. thomas isn't as quick to find skin, but his hands roam the expanse of jim's back above his shirt. )
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