[ He doesn't get much of a chance to look at him, but he feels as much as he can. He's thin, which is no surprise, barely a month out from his years trapped in the ice. Not his usual type, sure - but he likes it because it'a Harry, sweet Harry, who's been nothing but honest and vulnerable with him. The body that brought him here, the body that feels so divine pressed to his now. Tim wants him as he is.
Fingers rake through the thick hair on his chest, scratching lightly at his skin, going from the softness of his fingertips to the scrape of his nails to see what he reacts to, still exploring, desperate to know what he wants and give it to him. Tim's a pleaser, and Harry deserves to be pleased.
A soft, encouraging sound rumbles into Harry's mouth from his, as soon as he's got his hands on his thighs, but Tim has his sights set elsewhere. One more long, indulgent lick into the other man's mouth, before he readjusts to kiss further down, his neck and his collarbone, sliding down his body until he can bury his nose in that hair and breathe deep. It makes him suddenly extremely regretful of his choice to wear constricting jeans, riled up now by the scent of warm skin, lilac cologne, and Harry.
His hands spread to cover as much as possible, leave no piece of him untouched. The last people to touch him had done so with ill-intent, to butcher him, desecrate his corpse and take pieces of him for themselves. Tim can't undo that. But he can lay his hands on him lovingly instead, with pleasure instead of pain, a vital spark of life instead of prolonging a slow death. ]
You smell good.
[ Muffled into his chest between wet kisses, before he trails down further, falling down to his knees on the carpet before him. ]
no subject
Fingers rake through the thick hair on his chest, scratching lightly at his skin, going from the softness of his fingertips to the scrape of his nails to see what he reacts to, still exploring, desperate to know what he wants and give it to him. Tim's a pleaser, and Harry deserves to be pleased.
A soft, encouraging sound rumbles into Harry's mouth from his, as soon as he's got his hands on his thighs, but Tim has his sights set elsewhere. One more long, indulgent lick into the other man's mouth, before he readjusts to kiss further down, his neck and his collarbone, sliding down his body until he can bury his nose in that hair and breathe deep. It makes him suddenly extremely regretful of his choice to wear constricting jeans, riled up now by the scent of warm skin, lilac cologne, and Harry.
His hands spread to cover as much as possible, leave no piece of him untouched. The last people to touch him had done so with ill-intent, to butcher him, desecrate his corpse and take pieces of him for themselves. Tim can't undo that. But he can lay his hands on him lovingly instead, with pleasure instead of pain, a vital spark of life instead of prolonging a slow death. ]
You smell good.
[ Muffled into his chest between wet kisses, before he trails down further, falling down to his knees on the carpet before him. ]