"Mmmh," Bruno hums in reply, eyes going lidded, and pulls Avery back in for another warm, languid kiss. Occasionally he shivers heatedly at those hands on his skin, a soft sound escaping him.

Hiding under the clothes is a willowy sort of form, ribs almost discernable, the bones of his spine a line of small bumps. He moans as Avery's fingers trace over them, back arching slightly, pressing his chest and small, soft belly against him. What muscle there is on his narrowly-built frame is the kind of ropy sinew of someone who had to regularly navigate a difficult environment on very little food. And yet it's tender and little-defined under smooth, warm skin.

The hands slipping his clothes out of place serves to unravel Bruno further, leaving him glassy-eyed with desire.