[He breathes out once, fast and sharply and almost painful. It feels like all the air in his chest's been expelled, like he's never breathed in his life and might never again. Too much was already happening, but the way Joseph's looking at him now, he doesn't even know what it makes him feel. Too much.]
[He bites his lip and curls his toes tight in the sheets, shaking his head. No, he's not, or no, Joseph shouldn't say that, or something else, he doesn't even know. He loosens his fingers in Joseph's hair, just a little, self-conscious about being too rough or too strange or too — and he still doesn't know. Too not good enough.]
[He can't stop thinking about Joseph's hands. Why wasn't he thinking about them before? He'll never stop, probably.]
You're perfect, [he manages after too long not knowing what to say, slurred and uncertain, hanging on and trying not to cling.] You feel perfect.
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[He bites his lip and curls his toes tight in the sheets, shaking his head. No, he's not, or no, Joseph shouldn't say that, or something else, he doesn't even know. He loosens his fingers in Joseph's hair, just a little, self-conscious about being too rough or too strange or too — and he still doesn't know. Too not good enough.]
[He can't stop thinking about Joseph's hands. Why wasn't he thinking about them before? He'll never stop, probably.]
You're perfect, [he manages after too long not knowing what to say, slurred and uncertain, hanging on and trying not to cling.] You feel perfect.