The kiss is allowed. Encouraged, even, Josias taking a moment to indulge in it again, any little shift and reaction he tugs out of Benedict with the slow work of his hand. He doesn't linger with it too long, though. Wouldn't want matters to come to a conclusion too soon.
"Up," is Trade again, as he withdraws. "On your knees."
He doesn't pull away completely, though. He has several visions of how this could go, all of them built in fine detail over the months, their encounters and long boring afternoons in the Diplomacy office, where observing the fall of Benedict's hair and the shape of his shoulders seemed more productive than pretending to do the books. His hands keep Benedict steady as he moves up onto his knees, draw him in to rest his back against Josias' chest. His arm snares around his middle to keep him there, hand tipping upright, offering the jar of oil.
"Open it," he says, a little muffled, dragging open-mouthed kisses down the column of Benedict's neck. "No spills."
The occasional little hum into Josias' mouth as Benedict enjoys the attention, and his smile can be felt in the curve of his lips as the order is given. He complies, of course, and can't help but to feel a little pang of yearning as he's pressed back against Josias; he's never been held like this before, and even in a context like this one, he finds he would like to stay here.
He takes the oil with a little smile, angling his head back with a wiggle of his shoulder. "What happens if I do?"
"I'd have to leave to find another," is the dreadfully practical answer, tone of obviously threaded through. He thinks that Benedict is perhaps a little too playful for his own good, clearly inclined to teases but without the experience to know when the consequences may not just be his partner's increasing attention. He has Josias' attention, fully, and Josias demonstrates as much with a roll of his hips, letting Benedict feel how hard he is, if he wasn't already aware.
It takes the wind out of Bene's sails, a bit, and he huffs a little sigh, but rolls his eyes and takes the jar to open it-- carefully, as is sensible to do-- and hand it to Josias.
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"Up," is Trade again, as he withdraws. "On your knees."
He doesn't pull away completely, though. He has several visions of how this could go, all of them built in fine detail over the months, their encounters and long boring afternoons in the Diplomacy office, where observing the fall of Benedict's hair and the shape of his shoulders seemed more productive than pretending to do the books. His hands keep Benedict steady as he moves up onto his knees, draw him in to rest his back against Josias' chest. His arm snares around his middle to keep him there, hand tipping upright, offering the jar of oil.
"Open it," he says, a little muffled, dragging open-mouthed kisses down the column of Benedict's neck. "No spills."
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He takes the oil with a little smile, angling his head back with a wiggle of his shoulder. "What happens if I do?"
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"I think you'd prefer me to stay, hm?"
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