Jake hides the smirk and puts on his most obedient, contrite face. He loves this game -- loves when Josh gets in this mood, knows the sex is going to make him scream. "Sorry," he says, meekly, eyes perfectly downcast. "What would you like me to do?" "Oh, how to choose." Josh taps a finger to his lips as he circles Jake -- lithe, easy grace in a tight tank-top and low-slung jeans. Jake can barely see Josh's hipbone where the shirt and jeans don't quite meet, and the sight of that small batch of skin has his mouth watering. He knows Josh will taste like patchouli and peaches and sweat -- a taste that haunts Jake's dreams and senses even when Josh is in the room. Time seems to slow, crawl, then stop inside these walls. Months, years, eons could pass by and it means nothing. Jake's eyes dart, trace Josh's every movement, waiting to see what Josh will do next. "Strip for me." Jake obeys without hesitation -- fingers nimble as he drags his t-shirt over his head. Josh hums approval, eyes caressing the muscled planes of Jake's chest, stomach, hips. Jake takes his time about unbuttoning his jeans, sliding them slowly down his legs, loves to tease, loves the hot look Josh gives him, like Jake's dinner and dessert, and Josh is starving. "Should keep you like this, " Josh murmurs, running a hand along Jake's shoulder. "Locked in a box to take out and play with at my leisure." "And how often would you play with me?" Jake asks, finally letting Josh see the smirk. Josh steps forward, breathes in. "I was thinking forever," he says, and lowers his head.
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