Chris hadn't even realized how far his hands had traveled.
He was still half-pressed to Sky's chest, kissing him slowly, messily—half from hunger, half from how overwhelmed he was. His fingers wandered underneath the bunched-up shirts, over smooth skin, hard muscle, each breath Sky took making his chest rise and fall into Chris's palm like a tide.
But something about the way Sky breathed—not quite shallow, but deliberate—made Chris pause.
He pulled back a little, just enough to study Sky's expression, even through the blindfold. "You're okay?"
Sky gave a tiny nod, lips parted. "Yeah…"
Chris kissed him again. Softer this time. His fingers skimmed higher, tracing the curve of a rib, sliding inward over the center of Sky's chest. Then he noticed another scar he had missed.
It was faint, but it was there.
