[Peripherally, he's aware of some sort of stepping-stone being crossed here--one that's going to be pretty much impossible to cross back over (just as everything else that's been happening already has just about reached the point of no return), and it is the slightest bit of hesitation as his hoodie's hiked higher and higher and the urging gesture at his arms registers. This is a point of exceptional vulnerability indeed--and it's been a very long time since he's taken off his hoodie, let alone in front of an audience, let alone like this--but Zelos is still there, solid and warm and encouraging, patient and impatient all at once in a weird combination that shows only through gestures that completely contrast his spoken words, kisses and nips that feel like brands. And Jack finds his arms raising, hands slipping with some reluctance from the warmth of the latter's neck; frost crackles and comes away in flakes as the blue fabric passes over his head, slides to the floor in a half-iced bundle.]
[There's not really any time to think about that too much, what with Zelos persisting as if there hadn't been any interruption at all. Lips and teeth at his neck again, sucking like--that--and Zelos would be rewarded with a shudder and another soft moan for that. Hands that can't bear keeping idle under an onslaught of sensations find Zelos's shoulders again, clutch there almost desperately as breaths come in shivering gasps.]
--You'd better not. I'd have to hurt you. [It's kind of hilariously pointless trying to even work up a semblance of threatening tone at this point, and the words are low and humming and warm in a way the rest of his body very much isn't--in fact it's getting colder as time goes on, really, the way other people might have been warming up. When it's physically impossible for you to have heat, it's the other logical direction to go in...]
[And then Zelos is pressing impossibly close, stringing kisses all along his jawline and neck, and suddenly Jack wants nothing more than to--well, reciprocate, somehow, even if he really has no idea where he'd even start if he could...just take off that shirt, plant kisses of his own, find his contours and make him shiver. But there's a wall at his back, and he's quite thoroughly pinned now, and Zelos is too stupidly tall in this sort of position (four inches matter a lot ok). Hands slip down a bit and fist into clothing hungrily, doing their fair share to help pull the both of them closer together; hot fingertips brush at his waist, slip under doeskin fabric, and narrow hips shift of their own accord, almost bucking even at that lightest hint of a touch as another ragged gasp of sound leaves parted lips.]
hahaha and i have none...either...IMPROVISATION ERRWHERE
[There's not really any time to think about that too much, what with Zelos persisting as if there hadn't been any interruption at all. Lips and teeth at his neck again, sucking like--that--and Zelos would be rewarded with a shudder and another soft moan for that. Hands that can't bear keeping idle under an onslaught of sensations find Zelos's shoulders again, clutch there almost desperately as breaths come in shivering gasps.]
--You'd better not. I'd have to hurt you. [It's kind of hilariously pointless trying to even work up a semblance of threatening tone at this point, and the words are low and humming and warm in a way the rest of his body very much isn't--in fact it's getting colder as time goes on, really, the way other people might have been warming up. When it's physically impossible for you to have heat, it's the other logical direction to go in...]
[And then Zelos is pressing impossibly close, stringing kisses all along his jawline and neck, and suddenly Jack wants nothing more than to--well, reciprocate, somehow, even if he really has no idea where he'd even start if he could...just take off that shirt, plant kisses of his own, find his contours and make him shiver. But there's a wall at his back, and he's quite thoroughly pinned now, and Zelos is too stupidly tall in this sort of position (four inches matter a lot ok). Hands slip down a bit and fist into clothing hungrily, doing their fair share to help pull the both of them closer together; hot fingertips brush at his waist, slip under doeskin fabric, and narrow hips shift of their own accord, almost bucking even at that lightest hint of a touch as another ragged gasp of sound leaves parted lips.]