it’s not that he was keeping this from them for any certain reason. it’s not that he didn’t want them to know, not that he was scared to change their relationship at all —- it was just that it felt like cam deserved more than just to hear jordan blurt it out at random. jordan was overthinking it, as he does with anything that matters to him so much, anything that matters to the people around him and affects their relationships. part of him knows that cam would be just as content to hear the simple words with nothing more — but jordan could never settle for that.
and they still deserve to hear it, more than the urge to make this move they’ve requested. but the power is in cam’s hands right now, and jordan finds comfort in that, finding it so endearing that they’ve asked at all. he wants more of that.
for the first time in so long, he’s nervous. he prides himself on the fact that he never finds himself a mess of nerves in a moment like this — always wearing confidence, always so self-assured. it’s always easy. for some reason, this isn’t — and that’s not because he doesn’t want this. he does. he does more than he’s ever wanted anything like this, which is why it feels so different. he’s nervous because he wants it, nervous because he wants it to be good for them, nervous because this is him finally accepting the way he feels for cam and doing something about it.
he closes his eyes, allowing them to take the lead, trying to relax himself instead. and when he feels their lips on his, that’s when he finally does lose the tension in his shoulders and find comfort in the closeness between them. still, he can feel the other’s nerves too, and instead of scaring him off, it actually helps set jordan at ease. a small smile forms on his lips as he shakes his head, bringing his hand to rest lightly against cam’s shoulder. ❝ no, ❞ he mumbles. ❝ don’t. don’t say sorry. it’s okay. i’m — i’m nervous too, ❞ he admits, his features softening as eyes lock with theirs. ❝ i am. ❞ does that help? jordan, who rarely ever exemplifies his nerves, is nervous alongside with them. ❝ but— don’t say sorry for that, ❞ he repeats again, eyes looking between theirs and their lips. ❝ can i . . . ? ❞ he asks in a whisper, leaning in slowly and pressing his lips gently to cam’s.
there is a desire, all-encompassing: they want more. more of his hands and his mouth, want like an ache as if they’ve never been touched before --- and though they have, never have they been touched by jordan. a simple look sets them ablaze, brush of lips a wildfire beyond control; cam is hyper-aware of the pressure and position of his fingers, and theirs on him, the digits on his cheek sliding to grip his chin; a bit demanding, but not controlling, a confident plea, desperate for his attention. they want him to look, to see them, to see as every emotion they’ve ever buried, every want they’ve smothered comes alive in the minimal space between them, nervous still, but they don’t falter; they don’t feel the need to retreat, for the first time in so long.
and though their mind is hazy, vision blurred some at the edges, feeling almost drunk at his closeness, jordan is sharp, in focus; they can feel his anxiety, the way it spikes his pulse, thundering just beneath the skin. the confirmation of it draws a smile --- because cam knows how unaccustomed he is to it, and maybe it’s comforting, to know they aren’t alone; it only endears them to him more, makes them feel more at ease in his arms. smiling, cam sighs, a low noise of content, a breath of understanding; apologizing is instinct, beaten into them, each breath typically a condolence for their existence ----- but with him, they know, they don’t need to say sorry.
so they don’t repeat it; don’t allow themself to be insistent and intent on seeking forgiveness; they offer instead eager reciprocation, meeting his mouth with a hunger, threading fingers in his hair, loosening their grip on his chin to curl instead in his shirt, seeking drawing jordan close --- as if they aren’t already flush to one another, so entangled, that, in a moment of romance clichés, cam wonders where they end and he begins.
where he’s gentle, cam is coarse, somewhat, biting his lower lip, digging nails into his scalp --- not with the intent to hurt, but with the desire to know every inch of him. that drunk feeling seems heightened as they break apart, chest heaving as they draw in a breath, exhales like little exclamations on their tongue. cam looks at him, at every line and curve of his life, and it still seems like a dream, despite how solid he is against their lips.
cam swallows. leaning to bury their face against his chest, they say, “so,” and pause; the words float in the front of their mind, but there remains a disconnect between brain and mouth, intensified by the dizzying, lingering taste of him. tilting their head, cam presses a kiss to his neck, finally continuing in a low tone, words careful and halting, “you...----- like me?”
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