No protest, no batting hands away. Just a small gasp, a hitch of his breath, when skin meets skin. Even if it's just fingertips for now. There's a lot of things Tim should be doing instead of following, pliable to the maneuvering after a twitch of his obliques at the shockingly foreign contact.

He's breathless, he notes, and the chill of the room is strong against his bare back and with Jeff's body under him he's just

embarrassed.

"Sorry--" not for what they're doing (it's strange and new and he has no road map he's just... wanting to get lost) but different is good, because Jeff's lips trail the line of his jaw and Tim groans and moves his knee from where he had knocked it against the poor guy's leg. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but he shifts and huffs an "Oh my god" he swears isn't loud enough to hear.

Oh my god, he's making out with a dude.

Making out registers as a welcome activity and a preferred one of his, and Tim hovers over the inviting warm of Jeff and pulls back enough to reciprocate-- he dips his head to catch Jeff's lips, he experiments with a gentle suck.

It's absurdly thrilling.