"We should go to the bed then," he muses, because tabletops and bent over the sofa seem like a lot for someone's second time. "I want to go slow with you."
"You won't hurt me," he promises; he could, it's possible of course, especially in this way when he can walk away from explosions and impalement and all manner of blunt trauma.
"Upstairs," he decides. "We'll kick Nibbles out so he can meet Mango." There are plenty of places for him to climb up to get away from her if he needs, so Jesus isn't worried about babysitting them.
K has worked both his hands under Jesus's clothes by now to warm skin, although it's still mostly idle - "Lead the way," he agrees. - until, anyway, he slides both his hands along the graceful curve of Jesus's spine and tuck under his waistband.
"I'll watch out for the puppy," he promises. Overbalancing is partially to do with lack of strength to bear a load, and K certainly doesn't lack that; he waits for Jesus to get a good grip, hands sliding lower until he can hook just under the other man's ass and lift him properly.
He kisses him back as he turns them, as he feels his way to the first stair and eases up them until he's even with Mango. He's practiced the maneuver he does then, scooping the puppy up with the toe of his boot under her ribs and sliding her down out of his way, smoothly and gently, which just leaves the door.
Jesus is strong and agile enough to lean back and get the door open--Nibbles, helpful as ever, darts out to investigate Mango--and then lean right back up to kiss K again.
K has the common sense to stand still, to wait for all the moving parts around him - Mango, Nibbles, and Jesus alike - to resolve before he tries to pick his way through them.
It means he's kissing Jesus again by the time they're moving, by the time he takes two more steps up before he's able to lower him down onto his back and ease down himself to lean over this man he cares more for than he would have thought possible only a few short months ago.
"I'm good at wrangling a lot of things," he teases back, mouthing his way around Jesus's beard to the skin of his jaw and neck.
"You must be. You managed to catch me," he says, happy about it, arching his neck to give K all the access he can offer.
Sometimes, like now, the fact of K here with him--how improbable it all is, and Jesus is used to slim probabilities--makes him almost giddy with a sense of victory. They both made it here, somehow.
K is oblivious to the revelation happening below him, although he's aware of the effect it has on the tension in Jesus's body; he's too intent on feeling his way along the bones and muscles of Jesus's chest like there's a poem stamped there in Braille, like he's planning a masterpiece he'll have to sculpt blind.
"I've never missed a target," he teases, although it's the closest he'll get - besides their play during Tumenalia - to referencing his work lightly. Even now, he only does it because he remembers how delighted Jesus was then.
The effect now is no less pronounced; the way he's moving against K's hips takes on a subtle bit of urgency. He doesn't ask for more than that, though. Tumenalia was its own thing, and he doesn't want K to think he takes K's job or the life he lived at home lightly.
He knows he's meant to take the reins here a bit, but for right now he just breathes heavy, just enjoys the heat of K's mouth on his skin, the attention K gives him that he could never have imagined receiving before he knew this man.
That friction between them created by body moving against body is delicious, and K lets that heat build without pushing him any more rushed where his attention is. He's moved down to Jesus's shoulder with his mouth by then, lips and tongue mapping skin in a way his touch couldn't, lingering in the hollow above his collarbone and the crease where sweat catches at the junction of shoulder and neck.
The reaction makes him smile, his grip massaging into the muscles just above Jesus's hip, encouraging him even as he lays himself out long beside him.
It works best if K doesn't think about things too much, which is a hard sell - he's always thinking, always wondering, and he will again when he's alone or the only one awake. But that's not now, and he's all too happy to focus on what is now.
He shifts to help slide his pants down off his hips, backs of his knuckles brushing along Jesus's jaw, and in a voice so low it's more vibration in his chest than anything he says, reverently, "You're beautiful," between kisses along his skin.
"I really, really like you..." He's breathing heavier against K's hair, and he only breaks away to get them both fully, finally naked. He takes a moment to look at K, to enjoy this moment where he's stretched out for Jesus.
"Get comfortable," he murmurs, and kisses his hip and reaches for the lube.
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But he won't. All the same: "Wherever you want."
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"Or I can do the work."
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"But yes," is the subtle challenge.
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He pulls at the collar of K's shirt, kissing a line along his chest there. "Watch out for the puppy."
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He kisses him back as he turns them, as he feels his way to the first stair and eases up them until he's even with Mango. He's practiced the maneuver he does then, scooping the puppy up with the toe of his boot under her ribs and sliding her down out of his way, smoothly and gently, which just leaves the door.
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"You're good at wrangling her," he teases.
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It means he's kissing Jesus again by the time they're moving, by the time he takes two more steps up before he's able to lower him down onto his back and ease down himself to lean over this man he cares more for than he would have thought possible only a few short months ago.
"I'm good at wrangling a lot of things," he teases back, mouthing his way around Jesus's beard to the skin of his jaw and neck.
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Sometimes, like now, the fact of K here with him--how improbable it all is, and Jesus is used to slim probabilities--makes him almost giddy with a sense of victory. They both made it here, somehow.
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"I've never missed a target," he teases, although it's the closest he'll get - besides their play during Tumenalia - to referencing his work lightly. Even now, he only does it because he remembers how delighted Jesus was then.
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He knows he's meant to take the reins here a bit, but for right now he just breathes heavy, just enjoys the heat of K's mouth on his skin, the attention K gives him that he could never have imagined receiving before he knew this man.
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The reaction makes him smile, his grip massaging into the muscles just above Jesus's hip, encouraging him even as he lays himself out long beside him.
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He kisses K deeply as he strokes his side, and starts to unfasten K's pants, wanting nothing left between them.
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He shifts to help slide his pants down off his hips, backs of his knuckles brushing along Jesus's jaw, and in a voice so low it's more vibration in his chest than anything he says, reverently, "You're beautiful," between kisses along his skin.
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"Get comfortable," he murmurs, and kisses his hip and reaches for the lube.