(no subject)
jesse eisenberg/andrew garfield (rps)
pg-13
written for this prompt in the tsn_kinkmeme.
When Jesse asks, “What are you doing?” it’s because he’s sitting on the floor of their living room and Andrew’s hanging upside down on their couch.
Jesse’s reading and the pages of the thick book are separated with his fingers, the tips of his them careful not to press and hide any words. He’s been trying to finish it for a while, reading small sections in-between snatches of free time, but never on set. When he and Andrew come home, to their apartment in Boston and he’s somehow still mentally sound, he pulls out his book, settles on the floor and begins to read.
Andrew usually takes this time to call Shannon, or to shower. He told Jesse the second week into filming that the only way he can properly shake off Eduardo is under the spray of hot water. Jesse hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He told him, “I just drink a lot of water. Gets the taste of tuna and red vines out of my mouth,” and Andrew had thrown his head back and laughed, exposing his long neck and jutted Adam’s apple. Jesse couldn’t help but grin. Now, every time he settles down and hears the rush of water from their shared bathroom, Jesse imagines Andrew standing there, watching invisible traces of Eduardo (all his baggage and all his impossible weight) flow down the drain.
He can smell him, Andrew’s spicy shampoo fluttering beneath his nostrils as he turns his head and says, “I’m practicing, Jess, what does it look like I’m doing?”
Andrew’s long legs are covered in awful green flannel pajama bottoms. His knees are hooked over the back of the couch. His back is on the cushion and his head is right next to Jesse’s, uncomfortably propped past the edge of the couch.
Jesse asks, “Practicing for what?”
He doesn’t want to go back to his book. He isn’t going to be paying attention and the lines will blur into black blobs that will slowly begin to form hearts or the shape of Andrew’s eyes which, has only happened once, when Jesse - not Mark - was running on Red Bulls to keep away and Andrew - not Eduardo - had to coax him into bed.
When Andrew says, “My future role of Spider-man,” Jesse can see thin veins in his neck, forming and pulsating against his words and immediately, like a flick of a lighter Jesse feels an itch at his fingertips and against the edge of his teeth; an urge to bite and brush.
An urge that was foreign to him up until recently. An urge that he tried to pass off as Harvard-era Mark slipping into sexual confusion about his great looking best friend who dotes on him like a worried lover. But when the tang of tuna was gone and Jesse still could feel the want to press his tongue against the dip of Andrew’s collarbone, he could no longer play that card.
Jesse replies with a, “Huh,” and turns his head away from Andrew as if he was going to go back to his book. He begins to flip pages. “You would think being a superhero requires a little more, oh, training, other than barely hanging upside down on my couch.”
He isn’t look at Andrew, rather, he’s watching the pages toss in a creamy blur in front of his eyes, but he can still see Andrew smile. Jesse imagines Andrew’s tongue pressing against the back of his teeth before he says, “Our couch,” and when Jesse doesn’t immediately respond Andrew bumps his forehead into Jesse’s shoulder and says, again, “Our couch, Jess.”
It isn’t as though Jesse has some sort of aversion to smiling, it’s just that he’s so wrapped up in the inside of his own mind - and now Marks’ mind - that he always misses jokes that are being shot around him. And compliments? They don’t make him smile as much as they bring attention to features about himself that he would rather forget (like Rooney and Brenda and their obsession with his dimples). But when Andrew says things like “our couch” and “our rent” and “our friends”, it melts more of that wall that Jesse has consciously and unconsciously built up over the years and he can’t help but smile. And it doesn’t ache, so much as it feels freeing and when he looks back over to Andrew, he’s full on grinning, despite the line of deep red on his forehead.
Jesse wants to ask if he feels dizzy. He wants to ask if there are stars bursting in his vision, but he doesn’t get the chance to. His words are too caught up in his mind, filtering too slowly and Andrew says, “Training for Spider-Man requires so much more, work, Jesse,” before he can get anything out. “These are merely preliminary steps I’m taking,” and Jesse scoffs. Andrew beams. “But it does farther than just this,” and he makes a wave-like motion with his hands, cascading over his entire upside-down position. “But in order to proceed with the second half of my training, I’m going to need your help.”
Jesse has picked up on this habit of noticing every little detail about Andrew. He admires the flashes in his eyes, the activeness of his eyebrows, but especially the way the corners of his lips are always turned upwards in a perpetually content state. And he’s so close to his mouth that he can’t help but stare as they form odd, but perfectly articulate shapes around his words. It’s so very English and so unlike Eduardo. So unlike Mark. So unlike him. He becomes lost in staring at his lips that it’s only when he sees them folding across the syllables of his name does he blink back to reality and drop his eyes to Andrew’s.
The corners are crinkled. Jesse feels a hot flush running up the back of his neck and dancing across his cheeks, but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind, notice, or care. But that’s, perhaps, because his entire skin is flushed from the blood boiling to his brain.
“You need help with what?” Jesse asks, the side of his finger running against the edge of his book.
Andrew’s grin doesn’t fall so much as it melts into a soft, gentle, smile. His eyes look away from Jesse’s for only a fraction of a second, a movement he wouldn’t have picked up on, had it not been for him being so hyper aware of Andrew’s focus. When he returned the eye contact he says, “I thought we could…” and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Jesse notices that now, most definitely, his grin has fallen.
He’s never felt such a sudden shift in Andrew’s emotions, sans the moments on set when he breaks in and out of Eduardo with such ease - easier than Jesse can slip out of Mark - and he wants to ask what’s wrong.
Andrew isn’t looking at him anymore; in fact, he turns his entire head t the other side, not even allowing Jesse the view of his eyes. He tightens his fingers around his book and Jesse parts his lips to speak, to ask, is everything okay?, before Andrew sits up from the couch and says, “Never mind, it was stupid.”
Every moment that he makes seem so abrupt and quick and there sits Jesse, so wrapped up in his own mind that he didn’t realize that Andrew was running through thoughts of his own. Thoughts that ultimately placed a great intensity to his limbs, his legs kicking so that his feet could land to the floor. Andrew was moving too fast for Jesse’s words to compete with and he finds himself reaching out, attempting to grab onto Andrew’s wrist but falling short and twisting his fingers around Andrew’s.
They’re so long, his fingers, they almost rival Jesse’s and there’s a spider joke in there somewhere that Jesse can’t be bothered to find because Andrew’s finally stopped moving.
He’s tall, much taller than Jesse, but he’s intimidating in stature now, looming over Jesse’s sitting form, their fingers pressed together and a thick heat passing through the folds of their flesh. Jesse wants to pull away, but at the same time, he doesn’t because Andrew hooks his own fingers around Jesse’s.
“Andrew,” Jesse says, “What do you want me to help you with?”
As soon as the words slip from his tongue he realizes that it was the wrong question to ask. But they were the first words to come to mind and Jesse had to say something, something that was louder than the stretch of his pores expanding and spilling. He thinks he can hear Andrew blink, his dark eyelashes pressing together and pulling apart, but he’s sure that that sounds is just the hitch of his own breath. Which heightens when Andrew takes a seat back on the couch, Jesse’s fingers still around his, Andrew still not letting go.
As he sits he pulls his free hand in his lap and keeps his connected hand lying straight off the couch. Jesse has to cross his arm over his chest to keep his hold.
Andrew blinks again, then he makes a sharp inhale, then exhale, before he looks to Jesse and says, “Jess…”
Jesse watches as Andrew pulls his lips into his mouth, his eyes scattering across the small stretch of room in front of him before he pulls away from Jesse’s hand. Jesse feels his own fingers pull into themselves, his hand shaping an open, discarded fist that he pulls close to his chest. He tries not to feel dejected, he tries to swallow his sadness, which seems difficult until Andrew slides to join him on the floor, his hand covering Jesse’s knee.
He can’t see it, but Jesse’s certain that Andrew is pulling the inside of his cheek between his teeth. His eyes are on his own hand, his thumb reaching out to caress Jesse’s jean clad knee, Jesse’s own eyes trained on Andrew’s heavy lids. Then he says, “Jess, you like me…right?”
Hs eyes pop upwards and Jesse feels his breathing stop. He’s noticed just how large and brown Andrew’s eyes were before, but now, as he’s staring almost past him, Jesse feels like a completely open book. Like he doesn’t have to answer Andrew’s question because he can just read him like large words on a page. Jesse sets his book down on the carpet.
Andrew removes his hand from Jesse’s knee and the spot, where his palm was pressed so closely to, suddenly feels cold. But Andrew’s hands, they seem to be shaking as he says, “I want you to lie down.”
Jesse isn’t confused but he doesn’t want to do something stupid like have his movements hopped up with too much excitement. So he waits. For what, he isn’t sure, but Andrew seems to get the hint and places his hands on Jesse’s shoulders. His grip is careful, but stern, his fingertips pressing into the material of his shirt as, with his hands, he tries to map out how Jesse should turn and lay. Jesse gets the hint before his back is fully turned to Andrew.
Andrew’s hands are still on his shoulders and he can feel his eyes burning into the skin lathered on the back of his collard neck. All Jesse can see is the view of Boston from their window and it’s dark enough that he should be able to see both he and Andrew’s reflections but all he can make out is the bright light from the living room lamp.
The fabric of Jesse’s shirt climbs into Andrew’s nails as he starts to pull him back to the floor. Jesse follows, without hesitation, his entire being feeling like it was falling even though they’re twice controlled - by his own hips and back and Andrew’s hands. When the back of his head hits the floor, he can feel the top of his hair, brush against Andrew’s knees. His hands move from being curled around his shoulders to laying flat against the topsides of his chest and Jesse wonders if, from the tip of his fingertips, Andrew can feel his heart thrumming against his chest.
There’s a great weight pressed against his front and Jesse looks up to watch Andrew push his knees away from his head and down the carpet, the hot sound filling up Jesse’s ears. Andrew’s fingers press into the front of his shirt, his eyes locked on his.
Jesse feels almost completely and utterly overwhelmed, like he’s been stuffed full of emotion and need. And he wants to ask, “What does this have to do with Spider-Man?” but he can’t speak because his throat feels covered in cotton and he doesn’t want to say a word to destroy, whatever this is.
When Andrew begins to lean down, Jesse feels his vision becoming hazy, his eyes watering at the corners and almost crossing and he has to close them the second he feels Andrew’s nose brush against his.
He wonders how this looks, him laying on his back and Andrew on his knees, pressing to his mouth to his, upside down. His nose against his chin. He can feel hot gusts of air from Andrew’s nostrils brush against the bottom his lip as he pressed his mouth, first, just against Jesse’s in a slow, dry, kiss. Then Andrew opens his mouth and Jesse lifts up his head, chin first, propelling his bottom lip between Andrew’s parted lips.
Almost immediately, Andrew encloses his lips around Jesse’s, massaging his bottom lip lightly as his hands curl into Jesse’s shirt, picking up and tightening around the fabric.
Jesse, for the first few moments of the kiss, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Then he reaches up and wraps them around Andrew’s wrist as he works his own mouth around Andrew’s. He can feel Andrew’s pulse fluttering against the inside of his palm and Jesse moves his hands so he can press his thumb against it. It takes him sometime to find it, his nails scattering across the skin before he finds it and presses down.
Andrew jerks, in surprise, a moan passing through the teeth that he presses against Jesse’s bottom lip. He can feel his skin sinking around Andrew’s teeth and he moans at the thought of wearing a mark - temporary or not - by Andrew on his skin.
Andrew lets up his teeth. Then he swipes his tongue against Jesse’s bottom lip, Jesse leaning up into the touch before Andrew pulls away.
He’s wearing a grin, his eyes heavy and dark the entire time that he moves to sit back on his legs. Andrew doesn’t ever look away from Jesse and Jesse, he has to tilt his head back against the floor to get a good look at Andrew - to keep the eye contact - but he doesn’t mind it.
He has to ask, “Upside down kiss?” and he raises an eyebrow that he’s sure looks even more comical from Andrew’s point of view, like his eyebrow is falling and disappearing into his hairline.
Andrew tilts his head to the side, his mouth twisted, still, in that grin, only a bit more confused. He asks, “Have you ever seen Spider-Man?” and Jesse is honest when he says, “No.”
Andrew tilts his head back and makes a groaning noise that isn’t serious before he slaps a hand over his face. His, “Jesse,” his muffled by his palm and when he slides it down, his hand slapping the front of his thigh, he’s beaming at him, saying, “You really need to catch up.”
There’s a laugh in Jesse’s chest. He lets out a fraction of it before he grins and says, “Id rather you just demonstrate more?” and he knows it’s cheesy, knows it’s absolutely unbearably cheesy, but Andrew, he beams regardless.
pg-13
written for this prompt in the tsn_kinkmeme.
When Jesse asks, “What are you doing?” it’s because he’s sitting on the floor of their living room and Andrew’s hanging upside down on their couch.
Jesse’s reading and the pages of the thick book are separated with his fingers, the tips of his them careful not to press and hide any words. He’s been trying to finish it for a while, reading small sections in-between snatches of free time, but never on set. When he and Andrew come home, to their apartment in Boston and he’s somehow still mentally sound, he pulls out his book, settles on the floor and begins to read.
Andrew usually takes this time to call Shannon, or to shower. He told Jesse the second week into filming that the only way he can properly shake off Eduardo is under the spray of hot water. Jesse hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He told him, “I just drink a lot of water. Gets the taste of tuna and red vines out of my mouth,” and Andrew had thrown his head back and laughed, exposing his long neck and jutted Adam’s apple. Jesse couldn’t help but grin. Now, every time he settles down and hears the rush of water from their shared bathroom, Jesse imagines Andrew standing there, watching invisible traces of Eduardo (all his baggage and all his impossible weight) flow down the drain.
He can smell him, Andrew’s spicy shampoo fluttering beneath his nostrils as he turns his head and says, “I’m practicing, Jess, what does it look like I’m doing?”
Andrew’s long legs are covered in awful green flannel pajama bottoms. His knees are hooked over the back of the couch. His back is on the cushion and his head is right next to Jesse’s, uncomfortably propped past the edge of the couch.
Jesse asks, “Practicing for what?”
He doesn’t want to go back to his book. He isn’t going to be paying attention and the lines will blur into black blobs that will slowly begin to form hearts or the shape of Andrew’s eyes which, has only happened once, when Jesse - not Mark - was running on Red Bulls to keep away and Andrew - not Eduardo - had to coax him into bed.
When Andrew says, “My future role of Spider-man,” Jesse can see thin veins in his neck, forming and pulsating against his words and immediately, like a flick of a lighter Jesse feels an itch at his fingertips and against the edge of his teeth; an urge to bite and brush.
An urge that was foreign to him up until recently. An urge that he tried to pass off as Harvard-era Mark slipping into sexual confusion about his great looking best friend who dotes on him like a worried lover. But when the tang of tuna was gone and Jesse still could feel the want to press his tongue against the dip of Andrew’s collarbone, he could no longer play that card.
Jesse replies with a, “Huh,” and turns his head away from Andrew as if he was going to go back to his book. He begins to flip pages. “You would think being a superhero requires a little more, oh, training, other than barely hanging upside down on my couch.”
He isn’t look at Andrew, rather, he’s watching the pages toss in a creamy blur in front of his eyes, but he can still see Andrew smile. Jesse imagines Andrew’s tongue pressing against the back of his teeth before he says, “Our couch,” and when Jesse doesn’t immediately respond Andrew bumps his forehead into Jesse’s shoulder and says, again, “Our couch, Jess.”
It isn’t as though Jesse has some sort of aversion to smiling, it’s just that he’s so wrapped up in the inside of his own mind - and now Marks’ mind - that he always misses jokes that are being shot around him. And compliments? They don’t make him smile as much as they bring attention to features about himself that he would rather forget (like Rooney and Brenda and their obsession with his dimples). But when Andrew says things like “our couch” and “our rent” and “our friends”, it melts more of that wall that Jesse has consciously and unconsciously built up over the years and he can’t help but smile. And it doesn’t ache, so much as it feels freeing and when he looks back over to Andrew, he’s full on grinning, despite the line of deep red on his forehead.
Jesse wants to ask if he feels dizzy. He wants to ask if there are stars bursting in his vision, but he doesn’t get the chance to. His words are too caught up in his mind, filtering too slowly and Andrew says, “Training for Spider-Man requires so much more, work, Jesse,” before he can get anything out. “These are merely preliminary steps I’m taking,” and Jesse scoffs. Andrew beams. “But it does farther than just this,” and he makes a wave-like motion with his hands, cascading over his entire upside-down position. “But in order to proceed with the second half of my training, I’m going to need your help.”
Jesse has picked up on this habit of noticing every little detail about Andrew. He admires the flashes in his eyes, the activeness of his eyebrows, but especially the way the corners of his lips are always turned upwards in a perpetually content state. And he’s so close to his mouth that he can’t help but stare as they form odd, but perfectly articulate shapes around his words. It’s so very English and so unlike Eduardo. So unlike Mark. So unlike him. He becomes lost in staring at his lips that it’s only when he sees them folding across the syllables of his name does he blink back to reality and drop his eyes to Andrew’s.
The corners are crinkled. Jesse feels a hot flush running up the back of his neck and dancing across his cheeks, but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind, notice, or care. But that’s, perhaps, because his entire skin is flushed from the blood boiling to his brain.
“You need help with what?” Jesse asks, the side of his finger running against the edge of his book.
Andrew’s grin doesn’t fall so much as it melts into a soft, gentle, smile. His eyes look away from Jesse’s for only a fraction of a second, a movement he wouldn’t have picked up on, had it not been for him being so hyper aware of Andrew’s focus. When he returned the eye contact he says, “I thought we could…” and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Jesse notices that now, most definitely, his grin has fallen.
He’s never felt such a sudden shift in Andrew’s emotions, sans the moments on set when he breaks in and out of Eduardo with such ease - easier than Jesse can slip out of Mark - and he wants to ask what’s wrong.
Andrew isn’t looking at him anymore; in fact, he turns his entire head t the other side, not even allowing Jesse the view of his eyes. He tightens his fingers around his book and Jesse parts his lips to speak, to ask, is everything okay?, before Andrew sits up from the couch and says, “Never mind, it was stupid.”
Every moment that he makes seem so abrupt and quick and there sits Jesse, so wrapped up in his own mind that he didn’t realize that Andrew was running through thoughts of his own. Thoughts that ultimately placed a great intensity to his limbs, his legs kicking so that his feet could land to the floor. Andrew was moving too fast for Jesse’s words to compete with and he finds himself reaching out, attempting to grab onto Andrew’s wrist but falling short and twisting his fingers around Andrew’s.
They’re so long, his fingers, they almost rival Jesse’s and there’s a spider joke in there somewhere that Jesse can’t be bothered to find because Andrew’s finally stopped moving.
He’s tall, much taller than Jesse, but he’s intimidating in stature now, looming over Jesse’s sitting form, their fingers pressed together and a thick heat passing through the folds of their flesh. Jesse wants to pull away, but at the same time, he doesn’t because Andrew hooks his own fingers around Jesse’s.
“Andrew,” Jesse says, “What do you want me to help you with?”
As soon as the words slip from his tongue he realizes that it was the wrong question to ask. But they were the first words to come to mind and Jesse had to say something, something that was louder than the stretch of his pores expanding and spilling. He thinks he can hear Andrew blink, his dark eyelashes pressing together and pulling apart, but he’s sure that that sounds is just the hitch of his own breath. Which heightens when Andrew takes a seat back on the couch, Jesse’s fingers still around his, Andrew still not letting go.
As he sits he pulls his free hand in his lap and keeps his connected hand lying straight off the couch. Jesse has to cross his arm over his chest to keep his hold.
Andrew blinks again, then he makes a sharp inhale, then exhale, before he looks to Jesse and says, “Jess…”
Jesse watches as Andrew pulls his lips into his mouth, his eyes scattering across the small stretch of room in front of him before he pulls away from Jesse’s hand. Jesse feels his own fingers pull into themselves, his hand shaping an open, discarded fist that he pulls close to his chest. He tries not to feel dejected, he tries to swallow his sadness, which seems difficult until Andrew slides to join him on the floor, his hand covering Jesse’s knee.
He can’t see it, but Jesse’s certain that Andrew is pulling the inside of his cheek between his teeth. His eyes are on his own hand, his thumb reaching out to caress Jesse’s jean clad knee, Jesse’s own eyes trained on Andrew’s heavy lids. Then he says, “Jess, you like me…right?”
Hs eyes pop upwards and Jesse feels his breathing stop. He’s noticed just how large and brown Andrew’s eyes were before, but now, as he’s staring almost past him, Jesse feels like a completely open book. Like he doesn’t have to answer Andrew’s question because he can just read him like large words on a page. Jesse sets his book down on the carpet.
Andrew removes his hand from Jesse’s knee and the spot, where his palm was pressed so closely to, suddenly feels cold. But Andrew’s hands, they seem to be shaking as he says, “I want you to lie down.”
Jesse isn’t confused but he doesn’t want to do something stupid like have his movements hopped up with too much excitement. So he waits. For what, he isn’t sure, but Andrew seems to get the hint and places his hands on Jesse’s shoulders. His grip is careful, but stern, his fingertips pressing into the material of his shirt as, with his hands, he tries to map out how Jesse should turn and lay. Jesse gets the hint before his back is fully turned to Andrew.
Andrew’s hands are still on his shoulders and he can feel his eyes burning into the skin lathered on the back of his collard neck. All Jesse can see is the view of Boston from their window and it’s dark enough that he should be able to see both he and Andrew’s reflections but all he can make out is the bright light from the living room lamp.
The fabric of Jesse’s shirt climbs into Andrew’s nails as he starts to pull him back to the floor. Jesse follows, without hesitation, his entire being feeling like it was falling even though they’re twice controlled - by his own hips and back and Andrew’s hands. When the back of his head hits the floor, he can feel the top of his hair, brush against Andrew’s knees. His hands move from being curled around his shoulders to laying flat against the topsides of his chest and Jesse wonders if, from the tip of his fingertips, Andrew can feel his heart thrumming against his chest.
There’s a great weight pressed against his front and Jesse looks up to watch Andrew push his knees away from his head and down the carpet, the hot sound filling up Jesse’s ears. Andrew’s fingers press into the front of his shirt, his eyes locked on his.
Jesse feels almost completely and utterly overwhelmed, like he’s been stuffed full of emotion and need. And he wants to ask, “What does this have to do with Spider-Man?” but he can’t speak because his throat feels covered in cotton and he doesn’t want to say a word to destroy, whatever this is.
When Andrew begins to lean down, Jesse feels his vision becoming hazy, his eyes watering at the corners and almost crossing and he has to close them the second he feels Andrew’s nose brush against his.
He wonders how this looks, him laying on his back and Andrew on his knees, pressing to his mouth to his, upside down. His nose against his chin. He can feel hot gusts of air from Andrew’s nostrils brush against the bottom his lip as he pressed his mouth, first, just against Jesse’s in a slow, dry, kiss. Then Andrew opens his mouth and Jesse lifts up his head, chin first, propelling his bottom lip between Andrew’s parted lips.
Almost immediately, Andrew encloses his lips around Jesse’s, massaging his bottom lip lightly as his hands curl into Jesse’s shirt, picking up and tightening around the fabric.
Jesse, for the first few moments of the kiss, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Then he reaches up and wraps them around Andrew’s wrist as he works his own mouth around Andrew’s. He can feel Andrew’s pulse fluttering against the inside of his palm and Jesse moves his hands so he can press his thumb against it. It takes him sometime to find it, his nails scattering across the skin before he finds it and presses down.
Andrew jerks, in surprise, a moan passing through the teeth that he presses against Jesse’s bottom lip. He can feel his skin sinking around Andrew’s teeth and he moans at the thought of wearing a mark - temporary or not - by Andrew on his skin.
Andrew lets up his teeth. Then he swipes his tongue against Jesse’s bottom lip, Jesse leaning up into the touch before Andrew pulls away.
He’s wearing a grin, his eyes heavy and dark the entire time that he moves to sit back on his legs. Andrew doesn’t ever look away from Jesse and Jesse, he has to tilt his head back against the floor to get a good look at Andrew - to keep the eye contact - but he doesn’t mind it.
He has to ask, “Upside down kiss?” and he raises an eyebrow that he’s sure looks even more comical from Andrew’s point of view, like his eyebrow is falling and disappearing into his hairline.
Andrew tilts his head to the side, his mouth twisted, still, in that grin, only a bit more confused. He asks, “Have you ever seen Spider-Man?” and Jesse is honest when he says, “No.”
Andrew tilts his head back and makes a groaning noise that isn’t serious before he slaps a hand over his face. His, “Jesse,” his muffled by his palm and when he slides it down, his hand slapping the front of his thigh, he’s beaming at him, saying, “You really need to catch up.”
There’s a laugh in Jesse’s chest. He lets out a fraction of it before he grins and says, “Id rather you just demonstrate more?” and he knows it’s cheesy, knows it’s absolutely unbearably cheesy, but Andrew, he beams regardless.