[It's another surprising thing, the way Joseph doesn't seem shy in the least about touching him. Joseph hasn't seemed shy at all, like this is normal to him, or else too important to be shy about. Like he wants to be close like this and to touch too much to bother with any of that.]
[It's a familiar feeling, if that's what it is. He was shy and uncertain a few minutes ago, but now he accepts it, that this is where he's meant to be, right now in this moment. He could almost believe, feeling like this, that there was a purpose to him coming back here. This moment is the purpose. Joseph is the purpose. Or the two of them, maybe; the two of them together are the purpose.]
[He arches a little and pushes into Joseph's touch, murmuring wordless approval that mingles with Joseph's. It's impossible to get away from the smell of him, this close, except even now it's impossible to put a name to the smell. There's soap and detergent and a little sweat, but there's something else, too, something there aren't words for but that make him think of wide smiles and good food and exertion, a warm note, overtly masculine. He wants to fall into it. He wants to wrap it around him. He wants to never go without it again.]
[So, because he's allowed to take what he wants, he lets his head fall sideways a little, presses his face into Joseph's hair and kisses the side of his head. My Jojo, he thinks, mine, and runs his knuckles down Joseph's thigh and back up again.]
[The trouble is he can't seem to turn that off, my Jojo. And Joseph's ear is right there, and there's a kiss just under his jaw that he's not remotely interesting in taking lying down, so he closes his teeth lightly around the lobe and nips at it with a satisfied hum.]
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[It's a familiar feeling, if that's what it is. He was shy and uncertain a few minutes ago, but now he accepts it, that this is where he's meant to be, right now in this moment. He could almost believe, feeling like this, that there was a purpose to him coming back here. This moment is the purpose. Joseph is the purpose. Or the two of them, maybe; the two of them together are the purpose.]
[He arches a little and pushes into Joseph's touch, murmuring wordless approval that mingles with Joseph's. It's impossible to get away from the smell of him, this close, except even now it's impossible to put a name to the smell. There's soap and detergent and a little sweat, but there's something else, too, something there aren't words for but that make him think of wide smiles and good food and exertion, a warm note, overtly masculine. He wants to fall into it. He wants to wrap it around him. He wants to never go without it again.]
[So, because he's allowed to take what he wants, he lets his head fall sideways a little, presses his face into Joseph's hair and kisses the side of his head. My Jojo, he thinks, mine, and runs his knuckles down Joseph's thigh and back up again.]
[The trouble is he can't seem to turn that off, my Jojo. And Joseph's ear is right there, and there's a kiss just under his jaw that he's not remotely interesting in taking lying down, so he closes his teeth lightly around the lobe and nips at it with a satisfied hum.]