Oh god. So. He likes the biting. Tim holds in the whine, tells himself to stuff it because it's not ever the guy who's, like, vocal in these sorts of things. He swallows and swears his every hair is standing on end and he shudders for what he thinks is absolutely no valid reason at all. They're just... fitting really well, together. Physically. There's hardly any space left between them and Tim can feel Jeff's chest against his own, and he knows he's panting. It's embarrassing.

He's-- all worked up, already.

It's just a lot, okay? It's a lot of moving parts and keeping track of who is doing what is proving to be too much for his head. Case in point, Tim hadn't known his hand had been palming at Jeff's side-- just at the ribs where-- he thinks it might have been the tattoo that had drawn his attention there but.

"What?"

Jeff is all mirth and merriment and his soft laughs are something Tim wants to be surrounded by.

It takes him a moment to remember how to process basic language. Tim can feel the blush creep- the red heat settles at his collarbone. "Really?"

--talk about wanting.

Malcolm had said something about vulnerability, about it being something to look forward to.

Tim doesn't ask what he wants to know: Why me. He isn't ready for that.

He rocks his hips. And thinks-- maybe that's the first time he's-- with someone, y'know? God, his every hair is standing on end, he's hot and chilled and kissing Jeff again, a high little noise--

"I--I'm-- flattered." And winded beyond belief and "What does, um-- you said something about Queen?"