[ There's nothing to say. Nothing he can say, when Prax lowers himself to sit on his lap, when he touches Amos like this, delicate and fervent and wanting, and Amos just looks, drinks in the expression on Prax's face, amazed, his heart beating too hard in his chest.
When Prax leans in for a kiss, Amos meets him halfway, hands closing around fistfuls of Prax's jumpsuit, pulling him as close as possible, tipping his chin up to kiss Prax hard, not quite managing to stay delicate about it. ]
[ amos meets him halfway and it's everything prax hadn't let himself want, hadn't let himself imagine or even think about. want isn't far from the surface, urgent and needy, and it bubbles up when amos deepens the kiss, turns it into something harder that prax finds himself moaning into. ]
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When Prax leans in for a kiss, Amos meets him halfway, hands closing around fistfuls of Prax's jumpsuit, pulling him as close as possible, tipping his chin up to kiss Prax hard, not quite managing to stay delicate about it. ]
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