Irreversibly and Gravitationally Yours

Step one is always to lure Duen in with something innocuous. Bohn figures this trick out pretty quickly, somewhere around him saying, “Hey let’s fool around,” and Duen sputtering and jumping off the sofa like it’s been set on fire. So once he has one nice evening turned hilariously awkward under the belt, he learns to ease into it. His current favorite method is, “Hey let’s watch a movie,” because by the time the movie is over they’ve barely watched any of it, and for some reason he finds that funny.

It’s easier to draw Duen in this way, to coax him towards him with a hand on his, a trail of fingers up his inner thigh, a tip of his jaw his way until their lips meet. Bohn likes how he always sighs into that first kiss, like he’s been waiting, and the thought that maybe he really has sends a thrill through him so hot and fierce it leaves him breathless. And really step one is all there is to it for him. Bohn is just the trigger, the push to the eventual pull, because once they get started everything else just fades into the background. 

Hell, Bohn’s already forgotten what movie they’re watching by the time Duen’s hands fall to his hips, doesn’t even remember if it was an action or a romance, and he fumbles to the side to mute it so he can savor the breathy sound of the kiss pressed to the hollow of his throat. He slides his fingers up through his partner’s hair at the nape of his neck and curls them, tipping his head back to mould their mouths together. Hot electricity sizzles through his nerves as Duen nips at his lower lip and Bohn breaks away with a shaky inhale. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs in the limited air between them, always careful to ask. He’s not sure what base they’re on, exactly, or even what the bases are now that he thinks about it, but he doesn’t want to push too far too fast.

Duen’s fingers flex on his hips and tug, and Bohn nearly falls right off the sofa as he’s pulled over to straddle his boyfriend’s thighs. Shy eyes blink up at him, a flush rising in Duen’s cheeks as he asks, “Is this okay?”

Uh, yeah? “Anything,” Bohn says readily, and he means it. 

He can see a flash of doubt in Duen’s eyes though, that same old one that’s lingered ever since Bohn had declared that he honestly did not give a flying fuck what they did as long as they did it with each other. He struggles against the urge to roll his eyes, knowing this is an uncertainty that can only be settled with action, and instead tilts a smirk Duen’s way. “Now what?” There’s always some hesitancy here when he passes over the reins, but Bohn almost relishes in it. He’s fascinated by the caution, the careful way Duen has taken to seeing what he likes, how he presses curious fingers and kisses to every inch of him. And as with every time he gets the privilege to do this, he can’t wait to see where it all goes.

“Shirt off,” Duen says almost immediately, and Bohn complies within a second, whipping it across the room. Wandering hands trail up his sides and he shudders, falling forwards to brace himself on the back of the couch.
 
“You too,” he says, not quite a plea and not quite a command. But Duen does it anyways. There’s no new territory here, not yet, but Bohn isn’t picky. He’s especially not picky considering he’s finally managed to convince Duen that it’s perfectly appropriate to dress down to t-shirts and boxers in his apartment, so they’re already halfway there. Pants are overrated, anyways. 

It’s astounding really how much he’d managed to luck out in all departments. He’d fallen for a cute smile and laugh and gotten the whole hot package. Bohn runs reverent hands down Duen’s chest as soon as he’s able, skates his fingers over the dip of his sternum and back up again, earning a sharp inhale in response. Deft fingers dig into his hips again, drag him down until he’s sitting rather than kneeling, and Bohn almost loses it as they slip beneath the hem of his boxers with fresh boldness. 

Thumbs press into the bare flesh of his ass and he jerks forward, equal parts startled and deliriously excited. “Okay?” Duen asks against his collarbone, and isn’t that usually Bohn’s question?