“I don’t think so,” Michael murmurs, and raises his eyes from the gloves to trail once more over the glorious body before him. James is short, stocky; he guides his legs further apart until James is posed to his liking, with his arms braced either side of his body, bent over a little way with his feet set firm on the floor. It suits him; his glorious thighs are tense, the set of his shoulders sharp and deliberate, his hair trailing a little over his bare neck. It’s getting long. Michael may not be entirely sure what James is expecting from him, but he‘s sure he can think of something to do with this body to inspire him. “No, I’m pretty sure we haven’t exhausted our fun, yet.”
Michael tugs the gloves on, slowly. James is watching him, intent eyes darting from the movement of his hands, to his smirk, and back. “Face the front, please.”
James scoffs, a noise of mingled disbelief and mockery, and Michael takes this as his cue. He finally allows himself to move closer, positioning himself close enough that his clothing brushes against bare skin in several places, and settles his gloved hands either side of James’ head. Those bright eyes have widened at his approach, and widen yet further when Michael gently guides his head until he is staring at the wall. “I said, face the front.”