There's a hitch in Tim's breath, and fuck, Jeff wants to help. He wants to, but he's all caught up in the paralysis of how and if and all the other questions. Is it wanted, needed, possible? What if he makes Tim feel worse? Jeff is... well, he's Jeff, so the possibility of fucking up and making everything worse is pretty high.
He sits up, scoots back until he's against the arm of the couch, legs pulled in criss-cross applesauce.
Tim's trying to explain something that, who knows, maybe it can't be explained. These things happen. There's always the chance that everything can get... messy and weird and awkward, and that's normal, even if it stems from some well that Jeff can't possibly know or get.
"Yeah," he nods, a little too emphatically, like he really wants to prove that it's all good. "Of course, uh. I-- yeah, I'd never... never wanna do something that wasn't-- um. Wanted."
Wow, he's so fucking articulate. Jeff wrings his hands together, glancing down at his finger, at-- himself, really, and feeling that odd wave of self consciousness that tends to come with these things. He's only got his shirt off, and he feels impossibly exposed.
"Um." He swallows, then looks back up at Tim and offers a wry smile. "I... The first time I had sex, it was with this girl, we were kinda dating, I guess, and... I was at her house, and we thought we had a couple hours til her dad came home. So we were going at it, I mean, I'd, like, just found my, uh, my rhythm, you know, and-- Then he started banging on the door, fucking yelling and shit. And he was a cop, so I totally thought he was gonna shoot me. Anyway, I had to get out through the window, and my pants were falling down, and there were dogs barking and I had to jump a fence and..."
Look, there's a point to this, and that point is: to buy Tim some time to kind of... find his bearing again. And maybe to help him feel less like a freak, too.
"And, uh, it really stuck with me. I mean it messed me up for a while. Like for the next six months, any time I tried to hook up with a girl, I'd just hear his voice in my head and totally freak out." A beat. "You don't have to tell me anything, you know. I just... Um." He shrugs. "Icebreaker."
no subject
He sits up, scoots back until he's against the arm of the couch, legs pulled in criss-cross applesauce.
Tim's trying to explain something that, who knows, maybe it can't be explained. These things happen. There's always the chance that everything can get... messy and weird and awkward, and that's normal, even if it stems from some well that Jeff can't possibly know or get.
"Yeah," he nods, a little too emphatically, like he really wants to prove that it's all good. "Of course, uh. I-- yeah, I'd never... never wanna do something that wasn't-- um. Wanted."
Wow, he's so fucking articulate. Jeff wrings his hands together, glancing down at his finger, at-- himself, really, and feeling that odd wave of self consciousness that tends to come with these things. He's only got his shirt off, and he feels impossibly exposed.
"Um." He swallows, then looks back up at Tim and offers a wry smile. "I... The first time I had sex, it was with this girl, we were kinda dating, I guess, and... I was at her house, and we thought we had a couple hours til her dad came home. So we were going at it, I mean, I'd, like, just found my, uh, my rhythm, you know, and-- Then he started banging on the door, fucking yelling and shit. And he was a cop, so I totally thought he was gonna shoot me. Anyway, I had to get out through the window, and my pants were falling down, and there were dogs barking and I had to jump a fence and..."
Look, there's a point to this, and that point is: to buy Tim some time to kind of... find his bearing again. And maybe to help him feel less like a freak, too.
"And, uh, it really stuck with me. I mean it messed me up for a while. Like for the next six months, any time I tried to hook up with a girl, I'd just hear his voice in my head and totally freak out." A beat. "You don't have to tell me anything, you know. I just... Um." He shrugs. "Icebreaker."