[ Finn doesn't waste energy on trying to sound especially collected. He's far and gone from trying to sound smooth. Eventually a person has to accept that they're going to sound breathless and non-collected for the near future. ]
You know I had a feeling you'd say that? [ Case in point. Breathless. And sardonic, in the same idle, familiar way a person might tell a friend to stop stealing fries from their plate, even while they're pushing the plate to the middle of the table.
Like, his pants are halfway down his legs. They're in a semi-private room at a rave. The sounds have already left his mouth, and they can't be taken back. A handsome man with extremely blue eyes is looking at his cock (cut, and while not about to break any records for size, at least worth the view) with unabashed interest. He thinks he can afford some familiarity.
Bickering and bantering always have come a little more easily to him than outright flirting, anyway.
In the interest of not making Jim think he's against the request in any serious capacity, especially when Jim's seemed pretty invested in expressiveness so far, Finn takes that earlier hint and sets his other hand on top of Jim's head. He pushes his fingers through Jim's hair a couple of times, because even he knows nice hair when he sees it, and curls them into a very careful fist.
He sort of glances from his hand to Jim's face, forehead creasing, and then back up. ]
Sorry-- is this okay? [ His fingers flex a little on Jim's head. ] I can-- I don't wanna do something you don't like.
[ It seems a lot better to ask that now than to find out later that Jim wasn't a fan of the hands situation the whole time. Finn takes that very seriously. Even if it may involve derailing some admiration. ]
no subject
You know I had a feeling you'd say that? [ Case in point. Breathless. And sardonic, in the same idle, familiar way a person might tell a friend to stop stealing fries from their plate, even while they're pushing the plate to the middle of the table.
Like, his pants are halfway down his legs. They're in a semi-private room at a rave. The sounds have already left his mouth, and they can't be taken back. A handsome man with extremely blue eyes is looking at his cock (cut, and while not about to break any records for size, at least worth the view) with unabashed interest. He thinks he can afford some familiarity.
Bickering and bantering always have come a little more easily to him than outright flirting, anyway.
In the interest of not making Jim think he's against the request in any serious capacity, especially when Jim's seemed pretty invested in expressiveness so far, Finn takes that earlier hint and sets his other hand on top of Jim's head. He pushes his fingers through Jim's hair a couple of times, because even he knows nice hair when he sees it, and curls them into a very careful fist.
He sort of glances from his hand to Jim's face, forehead creasing, and then back up. ]
Sorry-- is this okay? [ His fingers flex a little on Jim's head. ] I can-- I don't wanna do something you don't like.
[ It seems a lot better to ask that now than to find out later that Jim wasn't a fan of the hands situation the whole time. Finn takes that very seriously. Even if it may involve derailing some admiration. ]