Tim's struggling. Should he help? Does Tim want help? Jeff's gonna help, just reach over and get a few of those buttons undone-- at least, if Tim doesn't swat his hands away or something.

Has it occurred to him yet that he might be dealing with a virgin here? No. It hasn't, not at all. He just thinks it's nerves, regular nerves, not first time nerves. Maybe it's the scars (noticed, of course, because he can't not notice them, and he's curious, not repulsed, but he doesn't want to stare so--) or maybe it's just been a while, maybe he's only hooked up with one or two guys before, or--

Jeff snickers at the excuse. It's cute. Tim's cute. "Oh yeah, 'cause I'm notoriously judgmental," he teases. Really, who's he to throw stones at a Red Bull addiction? He slides an arm around the other boy's waist, then sort of adjusts himself on the couch, reclining back against the arm rest, pulling Tim over to him. Or, like, on him. It's a light tug, kind of like a suggestion rather than an attempt at being pushy. He figures: if Tim's on top, he can feel less caged in, more like he's calling the shots? Maybe it'll relax him.

Sometimes two dudes just need to cuddle a little while they make out on a couch.

"Gonna call Malcolm and stage an intervention," he murmurs, lips brushing against skin. Cheek, jawbone, neck, lips, wherever.