[the look in petre's eyes is almost dull, but that's a lie. His skin is flushed, be it from alcohol or some ghost of an emotion, and the hand that was left free rests on top on John's wrist, thumb brusbing like it's another caress. Like he's quietly telling him it's okay. No need to be afraid. This won't hurt.
Without answer he leans in again. Should John let him and the kiss this time won't be as still. It'll be just a little hungrier. A little sloppy. No tongue save for the instances in which it brushes only slightly, lips parting and pressing together again. One kiss after the other until they're left staring at each other.]
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Without answer he leans in again. Should John let him and the kiss this time won't be as still. It'll be just a little hungrier. A little sloppy. No tongue save for the instances in which it brushes only slightly, lips parting and pressing together again. One kiss after the other until they're left staring at each other.]