[ He's as careful as he can be, compromised as he is, but the high lends him a kind of security-- he feels like he knows exactly what Thomas wants, and maybe it's bullshit, but he can't think past that at the moment. Which his ego thinks he deserves a medal for, honestly, between the weed and his dick being where it is. Thinking at all is a task.
Hands shuffle to Thomas's hips, angling him, them, just so, until they're flush together, until he can nudge his pelvis forward, not pulling in and out but just grind heavily against him, as if he can't help himself. (Maybe he can't.)
Jim exhales something that sounds like fuck and holds still, waiting with barely-leashed desire for some sign Thomas is ready. ]
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Hands shuffle to Thomas's hips, angling him, them, just so, until they're flush together, until he can nudge his pelvis forward, not pulling in and out but just grind heavily against him, as if he can't help himself. (Maybe he can't.)
Jim exhales something that sounds like fuck and holds still, waiting with barely-leashed desire for some sign Thomas is ready. ]