Dodger only manages to pull away properly when he runs out of breath, and only enough that he can pant quietly against Hector's lips. He presses their foreheads together, and the younger man feels almost cool against him as his own skin heats up with arousal.
"Are you okay?"
He asks it without thinking, and means a lot of things by it. He has to be sure, for his own sanity, that he isn't forcing anything. And that Hector isn't too badly hurt for wherever this is headed.
He stops and stills the moment that question falls. Part of him wishes that Dodger hadn't asked it. It doesn't sound like he's talking just of this. There's a lot of things he could say. He isn't sure what good he could pull out.
"I don't know," He says. "I don't want to think." That much is true. "There's too much and I just... don't want to. If I let myself I might scream." Too much honesty. "Can we say I'm okay? We've already put me back together today and I want you. I'm okay enough. Please."
That last word is a different tone, breathy, begging. He pulls the heat of Dodger closer to him.
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"Are you okay?"
He asks it without thinking, and means a lot of things by it. He has to be sure, for his own sanity, that he isn't forcing anything. And that Hector isn't too badly hurt for wherever this is headed.
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"I don't know," He says. "I don't want to think." That much is true. "There's too much and I just... don't want to. If I let myself I might scream." Too much honesty. "Can we say I'm okay? We've already put me back together today and I want you. I'm okay enough. Please."
That last word is a different tone, breathy, begging. He pulls the heat of Dodger closer to him.