Officer has the potential to derail K in the wrong moment, but paired with that combination - with the kiss - he chuckles deep in his throat.
"Am I hearing that maybe you don't want me to be more official here after all, then?" he teases in return, letting himself be pulled closer, but sliding the hand Jesus doesn't have hold of along his outer thigh as he does.
He has never heard K laugh like that--maybe not even at all, now that he thinks of it, and he kisses him all the more eagerly for it.
He's still in the blue swim trunks he'd worn to the party, so he feels skin on skin until suddenly there's fabric in the way and he wants it gone. "I'm wondering what we'll be like without a concrete tub or some small rocks bruising us," he says.
It's forward - more forward than K has ever been, in matter of fact - but his touch is still light, still more exploratory than like he's headed specifically for any single destination. Maybe they are, but he's as interested in how they get there as anything else, and he slows that kiss down before letting it break again.
"And with no interruptions," he adds - or threat of interruption. "Or influences."
"I like that we don't need influences," he confesses. He's not averse to it, he was mildly drunk with the first person he slept with here. But he likes being present with K.
"I didn't know you had anything the first time we slept together." He hadn't seemed under any influence, and there was nothing in the bath water that he ever noticed.
"No, not that time," he agrees - which almost gives him pause again, because so many of his own definitions are different from others, and maybe he misjudged something.
But he already came this far: "Even just the kissing, before. At the camp."
He nods. "That- was the same for me. I wanted to kiss you. But I probably wouldn't have so soon, if we hadn't decided to take something." He frowns. "I wouldn't have, if we hadn't both decided to take something, together."
"I wouldn't have if we weren't here," he can say with certainty. "If it weren't for quota, I wouldn't have dreamed of kissing someone else." Anyone else. That's where he'd been at the time.
"It was easier, when we agreed to ignore quota. But that wouldn't have been something I did, either, if I hadn't already seen that you'd... be okay, if I wasn't. That you'd let me not be okay."
That he'd care about what K thought at all, which in this moment is a thought that lets him stroke his thumb lightly over the soft skin of the inside of Jesus's wrist.
He can't see a time yet where he won't be checking in with K when they do kiss, when they think of doing more. It's okay is the only phrase that lets him continue, because K seems like very, very little has been okay for him lately.
"It's an ongoing thing," he says, so K knows. "If you're okay today and not tomorrow. If you're okay when we kiss and then you're not. If we don't both want it, it doesn't happen."
It's easy for Jesus to say, K can hear that, can hear that this has been his philosophy for a long time - probably always. These things are foregone conclusions to him, non-negotiable, not even anything he'd want to negotiate.
K, on the other hand, has to sit with that and he does, letting it sink in as far as it will, letting himself really hear it. Really know it, the way his fingers know how warm Jesus's skin is, how his muscles tense to move or even just breathe under K's hands, the ways they don't because neither of them is moving away from the other right now, or threatened, or threatening.
It's an easy truth for Jesus, and a simple truth overall, and more than anyone has ever even considered offering to K.
He lifts his free hand, lays his palm lightly on K's cheek, coaxing him to meet his eyes. He doesn't say anything; it's just his expression, asking for what K is thinking.
He can't change how K was treated back home, how he was viewed by all those people. He can't do anything about how K is treated here, either. But this much he can control.
"I know." This is not a dismissal, but rather a declaration, a confirmation; he can see that Jesus means that. He believes that Jesus means that.
Which is why he may have needed some help with courage before, with letting go of inhibitions, but he can lift Jesus's hand and kiss the heel of his hand now; he can, a moment later, lean forward with deliberate, slow care to kiss him properly.
He lets this kiss be slow, takes his time with it in a way he hasn't let himself do in years. He's thinking of the things K said--the things he liked about the role he was created to do, that it wasn't anything to do with killing or fighting or the power he had over those he was sent to execute. That what he liked was talking to people, that he liked patrol work because he got to meet people, he got to simply be a presence in the city who could help protect whoever needed his protection.
K is his friend and that is a very good reason for Jesus to not be here kissing him, to not let his fingers trace K's jaw. Getting attached the way this might lead is a bad idea.
But K, who was created to assassinate his own kind, is so gentle and so warm, and he sighs softly into the kiss and deepens it just a little.
This, in turn, is easy for K to do: to not rush, to thoroughly map the way kissing Jesus feels and the increments that Jesus either relaxes or leans closer under his hands. The measure of his breath, and how adjusting the angle just so or leaning just this much closer affects that.
He brushes the backs of his fingers up the line of Jesus's arm, lightly, to the bend in his elbow and then back again, his own still resting across Jesus's knee where his hand is light at his hip.
He shivers at how light the touch is, and his fingers hook under K's shirt. He's not pressing for more yet; he just wants to feel him, wants to see if he can get K to react this way or that to a touch here, the glide of his nails there.
K isn't ticklish, but he's sensitive to a welcome touch all the same; his breath catches so subtly that if they weren't kissing at the time it might have been missed, but he continues without pulling away. He makes a soft, approving sound - it's okay - and slides his own hand up further along the skin of Jesus's side, too, making sure to miss the rib he learned last time makes Jesus break away to keep from laughing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"I'm going to like breaking the law with you." That mischief intensifies as he leans in and kisses him. "Officer."
no subject
"Am I hearing that maybe you don't want me to be more official here after all, then?" he teases in return, letting himself be pulled closer, but sliding the hand Jesus doesn't have hold of along his outer thigh as he does.
no subject
He's still in the blue swim trunks he'd worn to the party, so he feels skin on skin until suddenly there's fabric in the way and he wants it gone. "I'm wondering what we'll be like without a concrete tub or some small rocks bruising us," he says.
no subject
"And with no interruptions," he adds - or threat of interruption. "Or influences."
no subject
no subject
"It didn't change anything I was feeling, but... Made some parts louder than others."
no subject
no subject
But he already came this far: "Even just the kissing, before. At the camp."
no subject
no subject
"It was easier, when we agreed to ignore quota. But that wouldn't have been something I did, either, if I hadn't already seen that you'd... be okay, if I wasn't. That you'd let me not be okay."
That he'd care about what K thought at all, which in this moment is a thought that lets him stroke his thumb lightly over the soft skin of the inside of Jesus's wrist.
no subject
"It's an ongoing thing," he says, so K knows. "If you're okay today and not tomorrow. If you're okay when we kiss and then you're not. If we don't both want it, it doesn't happen."
no subject
K, on the other hand, has to sit with that and he does, letting it sink in as far as it will, letting himself really hear it. Really know it, the way his fingers know how warm Jesus's skin is, how his muscles tense to move or even just breathe under K's hands, the ways they don't because neither of them is moving away from the other right now, or threatened, or threatening.
It's an easy truth for Jesus, and a simple truth overall, and more than anyone has ever even considered offering to K.
no subject
no subject
He smiles, understated, self conscious, and takes another few breaths to find an answer.
"People don't ask things for permission, or consent," is what he finally comes up with. "They ask people."
no subject
"You're my friend." You don't befriend things.
no subject
Which is why he may have needed some help with courage before, with letting go of inhibitions, but he can lift Jesus's hand and kiss the heel of his hand now; he can, a moment later, lean forward with deliberate, slow care to kiss him properly.
no subject
K is his friend and that is a very good reason for Jesus to not be here kissing him, to not let his fingers trace K's jaw. Getting attached the way this might lead is a bad idea.
But K, who was created to assassinate his own kind, is so gentle and so warm, and he sighs softly into the kiss and deepens it just a little.
no subject
He brushes the backs of his fingers up the line of Jesus's arm, lightly, to the bend in his elbow and then back again, his own still resting across Jesus's knee where his hand is light at his hip.
no subject
no subject