[ And, had you ever wanted to? is what Irving's mind supplies next, a thought that feels so unlike one of his own that he can only assume it's come from somewhere else outside himself somehow, but he says nothing further on the subject, just allows himself be led over towards the bed.
He's seen naked men before, of course. As a navy man, Irving has probably seen more naked men per day than an average man will see in a lifetime, man or woman; on a boat it's simply a given there will be more than a few eyefulls of cock, that men will be touching each other companionably, embracing, even dancing together-- it just comes with the territory. As with all things, what ultimately makes the difference is context.
Irving lets his gaze drift over Jack's body again, eyes glassy now with a desire he's finally no longer able to keep hiding, and hesitantly reaches to trace his shaking fingers, feather light, over the angular landscape of Jack's torso, over scars and the mangled remnants of that tattoo. There's something oddly comforting to Irving that Jack's body is in many ways so familiar to what he already knows, yet still a stranger's body, someone Irving has no past with, nor ostensibly any present or future with either.
He shifts slightly, his own half-mast erection an aching swell beneath the confines of his long underwear, but Irving's focus isn't there yet, his touch still drifting lower down Jack's stomach as if in a trance. ]
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He's seen naked men before, of course. As a navy man, Irving has probably seen more naked men per day than an average man will see in a lifetime, man or woman; on a boat it's simply a given there will be more than a few eyefulls of cock, that men will be touching each other companionably, embracing, even dancing together-- it just comes with the territory. As with all things, what ultimately makes the difference is context.
Irving lets his gaze drift over Jack's body again, eyes glassy now with a desire he's finally no longer able to keep hiding, and hesitantly reaches to trace his shaking fingers, feather light, over the angular landscape of Jack's torso, over scars and the mangled remnants of that tattoo. There's something oddly comforting to Irving that Jack's body is in many ways so familiar to what he already knows, yet still a stranger's body, someone Irving has no past with, nor ostensibly any present or future with either.
He shifts slightly, his own half-mast erection an aching swell beneath the confines of his long underwear, but Irving's focus isn't there yet, his touch still drifting lower down Jack's stomach as if in a trance. ]
How's that feel?