That's okay, 'cause Bridge *does* have both hands free. So his own clothes are out of the way pretty quickly, and he's crawling back on the bed and unzipping Xander's jeans.
Jeans and boxers out of the way, Bridge kisses Xander, first on the lips, and then trailing down his jaw, collarbone, chest... well, you can guess what direction he's heading, here.
"Well, we can fix that," Bridge murmurs thoughtfully- referring, of course, to the no-talking thing, and not the lack of clear thinking. "Shhh," he whispers, pressing a finger to his lips.
zomg unfair! Xander thinks, except really it isn't, nor is he exactly hating the fact that now he doesn't have to worry about what stream of nonsense will pour out of his mouth if he lets himself open it.
The wriggling thing hasn't really stopped, but he's trying, dammit.
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He'd point this out, but he's a little busy being alternately nervous and really, really turned on.
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Jeans and boxers out of the way, Bridge kisses Xander, first on the lips, and then trailing down his jaw, collarbone, chest... well, you can guess what direction he's heading, here.
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What, he's supposed to be thinking clearly right now?
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The wriggling thing hasn't really stopped, but he's trying, dammit.
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In the position he's in, there's not much else he can do besides appreciate. Aside from whimper a little more despite the effort to shhh.
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Biting his tongue helps. A little.
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