[ juno moves and almost doesn't realize it at first, one knee and then the other, pushing up just a bit to where nureyev's fingertips graze his throat. there's a dip where bone meets and a shiver of a pulse and he only knows this because instead of reaching out with a hand, he leads with the tip of his nose brushing the line of his throat.
he lingers because he can, because nureyev isn't moving away yet and his fingers find the breadth of his shoulders, pull him a little closer in a way that's more suggestion than demand.
and then an admission: ] I never could get it out of my head.
[ the brushing of lips against that pulse, no kissing, simply skimming their way up his jaw because he can, because nureyev's skin is soft and warm and his jaw is lean and pretty. ] My office, my clothes...
this is called: you dropped me a tag like this at lunch and i had to answer it asap
he lingers because he can, because nureyev isn't moving away yet and his fingers find the breadth of his shoulders, pull him a little closer in a way that's more suggestion than demand.
and then an admission: ] I never could get it out of my head.
[ the brushing of lips against that pulse, no kissing, simply skimming their way up his jaw because he can, because nureyev's skin is soft and warm and his jaw is lean and pretty. ] My office, my clothes...