[ Matt watches Steve's face like watching a beautiful object plummet from a great height. Awareness comes before the impact, and hurts more for it. He bites his lip, his teeth not sharp enough to draw sugar from it. Matt wants to cry. If he can't belong to someone tonight (carnally, calorically), he'll crumble.
But, wobbly: ]
Okay.
[ With a wrest of effort, Matt's fingers unhook from Steve's wrist, and he pushes himself back. Slides off the table, leaving a smear of frosting in his wake. Matt gets his legs under him, straightens his pajamas--tugging t-shirt back down and boxers into place--worried that if he looks at Steve, he'll fling himself at him. He doesn't seem to notice the dribble of cherry jam down his leg. ]
no subject
But, wobbly: ]
Okay.
[ With a wrest of effort, Matt's fingers unhook from Steve's wrist, and he pushes himself back. Slides off the table, leaving a smear of frosting in his wake. Matt gets his legs under him, straightens his pajamas--tugging t-shirt back down and boxers into place--worried that if he looks at Steve, he'll fling himself at him. He doesn't seem to notice the dribble of cherry jam down his leg. ]