It takes some adjusting, some mutual fumbling as knees knock and hands float around (then land, then float again and land somewhere else), before Jeff feels like they've found some kind of a groove with their bodies.

When was the last time he's been totally sober for a hookup? usually there's all kinds of shit coursing through his system, more than just a single shot of tequila and an energy drink. He's used to things being fuzzy at the edges, to being both in the moment and disconnected at the same time.

But Jeff's here, now, grounded under the warmth of Tim's body, and pinned to reality. It's just the two of them in here. No Ziggy. No voice in his head. No watchful eyes. No delusions creeping at the edges of his senses. Tim's real, and he's solid, for a guy who Jeff's got half a foot on.

It's a little strange, being so present and aware of everything, but it's not a bad strange. It's more... novel. He likes it. Likes being aware of the sounds of Tim's breathing, and his own, and all the little gasps, the words they're both breathing out. Or. Words, in Tim's case, and laughter, in Jeff's. Light, airy, and fucking delighted in those moments his lips aren't otherwise occupied.

"Fuck," he huffs with a giddy laugh, chasing that last kiss with a gentle scrape of teeth on Tim's bottom lip. "I've had such a stupid crush on you for a while, dude."

Like, whoa, bombshell. Jeff just revealed the best kept secret in the world. But. Whatever. Less talking, more exploring.