He let his body melt into Ash’s. Ash smelled so good. Truman wondered what he smelled like everywhere. He put a hand on Ash’s thigh and traced designs there with his fingertips, appreciating the give of skin and the resistance of muscle beneath.

On the screen, the animals frolicked in some kind of submarine, but Truman didn’t pay it any mind. He was utterly concentrated on the tiny movements of Ash’s fingers against his arm. Every nerve ending sparked with fireworks at the contact.

They turned toward each other, foreheads pressed together and limb heavy against limb.

Truman’s breath was slow and shallow, and he closed his eyes to breathe Ash in.

“Truman,” Ash murmured.

“Can I kiss you?” Truman asked.

He opened his eyes to find Ash’s blue-gray gaze intent, his pupils blown. “Fuck, please. I thought maybe you didn’t want to.”

“I thought you didn’t want to.”

Ash smiled and slid a hand to Truman’s jaw. “I assure you, I want to.”

Truman brushed his lips over Ash’s. He couldn’t believe he got to do this. Then he leaned in for a real kiss. Ash’s lips were full and firm, and he kissed with a desperate sweetness that stirred Truman’s desire to a pulsing need deep in his gut.

He couldn’t get close enough.

Truman threw a leg over Ash’s thighs, and Ash hauled him onto his lap.

“Fuck, yes, c’mere.”

Ash held him close, and Truman deepened his kiss, sweeping his tongue against Ash’s and sucking on his mouth to taste every inch of it. Ash shuddered when Truman ran fingertips down the side of his neck, so he pressed kisses there instead. When he licked at the crook of Ash’s neck, he jerked and groaned.

Truman latched on and sucked at the skin there, which resulted in a gratifying shudder and Ash’s hand clutching at his back.

“Oh my god,” Ash groaned as Truman redoubled his efforts.

Before he knew it, Truman found himself lying on top of Ash on the sofa, their bodies perfectly aligned.

Truman was hot, his skin so sensitive every touch set it on fire.

He pulled his shirt off, needing to be rid of it.

“Can I?” he asked, tugging on the hem of Ash’s sweater.

Ash stripped it off quickly, and when their mouths met again, the heat of Ash’s chest and stomach, lightly furred and firm, made Truman moan in appreciation.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Ash said, brow furrowed almost like it vexed him.

“Look who’s talking,” Truman said and kissed a path down his belly. He made an interrogative noise, and Ash kicked his pants off. Truman did the same. Ash’s cock lay straining toward his belly, and his eyes burned hot as he watched Truman.