What a Kiss (a TharnType fanfic)

Chapter 2

Type had barely been pushed into the hotel room when he felt hands grasping at the bottom of his shirt, trying to tug the fabric off of him. A part of him wondered how he had ended up in this situation, but the bigger part of himself already knew.

Perhaps it was all these years of denying how much his curiosity hungered for this, or maybe he was just more drunk than he had thought he was and his inhibitions were loose and he was giving into lust and the urge to get off, Type didn't really know which it was. He didn't really care which it was. What he cared about was getting the clothes off quickly as possible, his fingertips burning to touch the skin that was hidden beneath Tharn's clothes. From what he had felt while dancing, he'd definitely be pleased with what he found.

And it seemed that Tharn was just as eager as he was because once Type's shirt had managed to be pulled over his head (and probably messing up his hair even more than it had already been messed up, what with all that dancing and making out they'd been doing), his large hands began to wander, feeling him over. Type's skin tingled, his blood burned in his veins and somehow he felt the back of his legs knock into the bed and he went tumbling backwards, away from Tharn's roaming fingers, but also in the perfect position to get a close look at Tharn himself.

From this angle, Tharn was fairly intimidating. Though a little shorter than Type himself, he was much broader, much thicker, and stronger seeming. It was obvious that he worked out and Type wanted to question it, ask him how often he went to the gym and what gym he went to, maybe Type also went there--but he held himself back, swallowing down the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.

"Shirt..." he breathed out finally, leaning back upwards, his fingers trembling as he began to undo the rest of the buttons that held Tharn's shirt closed, even though almost half of the shirt was already opened.

Tharn didn't say anything, instead just peered down and watched as Type removed his shirt. It caused him to be a little nervous and he cursed as he had trouble getting one of the buttons undone until, finally, he didn't care any longer and at the third time of failing to push it through the whole, he just pulled the shirt apart, the button popping off.

"I'll get it fixed..." he mumbled, feeling the heat in his cheeks from his own embarrassment, but he was going to just pretend it was from the alcohol and his overheated body from all of the dancing among hordes of bodies.

"Don't worry about it." Tharn told him, and there was a strange pitch to his voice. It wasn't the way that Tharn had been talking for the rest of the night previously, but Type decided not to question it. If he questioned it and they began talking, he'd probably chicken out, and he didn't really want to chicken out. He wanted to do this, against all of his better judgements, he wanted to do this. He wanted to feel this. He wanted to, for once, stop worrying about what other people would say, stop worrying about his own internal homophobia and instead just do what he felt like doing.

Seeing Tharn above him, his shirt open and muscles strong and defined, Type had to admit that he'd never been more turned on. No girl, no matter how pretty and sexy and sensual they were, had ever turned him on so much. And it wasn't because Type wasn't attracted to girls, he was, but maybe it was because it was something he was used to. This was something new, something that he had, for so many years now, forbidden himself and maybe it was that forbidden aspect of it all that was affecting him so much.

And maybe it didn't matter. Maybe he wanted to stop thinking and just do this. So that's what he did. He stopped thinking and leaned forward and pushed the dress shirt from Tharn's shoulders and off of his arms, watching as the thin, white fabric fell to the floor.

Tharn also watched it and then he was looking at him and things got a little softer, a little quieter. Type let himself take all of this in. He let his eyes wander, memorizing over every single inch of Tharn's chest that he could, at least as much as he could. And then he reached forward, hesitating, wanting to touch, but suddenly feeling unsure of himself and maybe Tharn realized that, because he grabbed Type's hand and touched it to his own chest.