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They don't have much experience with this thing at all. Jay's desperately whining against Tim's thigh haphazardly pushed between his. The CD that Tim had put in half an hour ago skips, skips again, and freezes for the third time. They don't bother fixing it.
Whisper quiet noises escape Jay’s lips and slip into Tim’s mouth, filling the ever present silence, the dingy motel room heavy with unspoken things and unfamiliar territory.
Even against each other like this, with all this closeness, Tim can't quite read him. There are gaps between them that will never fill, holes in their memories that will never make sense of themselves. All of Jay’s noises mix up into this confusing mess and it's hard to ask if he's doing alright with his tongue in Jay's mouth, so he pulls away.
"You okay?" Tim mutters the question, a mild display of concern on his face. His tone is as tender as he can manage. When you’ve got no experience with any of this, all you can do is play the part of someone who knows what they’re doing, who doesn’t flinch at contact after twenty-six years of living, who can lay here and pretend that thing isn’t looming outside, that they’re not on the run from things beyond their control.
"More. Please." Jay urges, pulling him back into a feverish kiss. His hand fidgets with Tim's waistband and then lingers against the edge of his hip bone, tracing one of Tim’s scars from the hospital. Tim doesn't flinch this time.
They're a mess of limbs, tangled up and pressed up against each other in awkward places. Both of them are laying on their sides, facing each other. A hand slips down to Jay's boxers and he slips them off with some maneuvering and small grunts. They're tossed aside like everything else they'd been wearing. Both of them still can't take off their shirts.
The curtains are taped shut. The camera blinks towards the edge of their beds. There's two, like they could pretend they weren't as close as they'd become. The looming paranoia shared between them both twists into some sort of fucked up exhibitionism, because that's all you can do with it right now. Tim slips a hand downwards, explores, lingers, and finally pushes a finger inwards after shaky confirmation from Jay. Pisces Iscariot resumes.
He buries his face in the crook of Tim's neck and lets out a whine.
"You're so wet…" Tim remarks breathlessly, to which he gets a whimper in response.
"Not hard with– ah –me.." Jay chokes out as Tim picks up the pace.
"I noticed..." Tim remarks, a small smile forming on his face. He grinds against Tim's gently, little whines slipping out.
He watches his puppybrown lashes, the display of Jays face bashfully tilted away from him, the flush of red across his cheeks, the small beauty mark on his collarbone, his palesick skin and joints all poking out in awkward directions— focuses on his white knuckles gripping onto his arm and the gasps that come with the curve of his finger.
This, unlike everything else, was easy to understand. Tim knows he's done something right when he can watch Jay pant and writhe and gasp against him, moan his name like this isn't the third time they've ever done this, throw his head back and let the sweat build on his forehead without obsessively wiping it away.
"You're doing so good." Tim mutters breathlessly, trying to rile him up. It works.
"Shut up." Jay spits weakly, voice shaking through his heavy breaths. All Tim responds with is a gentle laugh, a quick and breathless noise.
"That feel okay?" Tim asks, watching Jay throw his head to the side and the flush of red dance across his ears. Jay can only muster a nod and a whine.
Tim watches, angles his hand, studies the way Jay's breathing quickens and falls into erratic patterns, the way his thighs desperately press together. A twang of pain shoots up through his wrist, which he tries to ignore.
“M–more…” Jay barely manages to choke out.
“Hmm..?”
“More, please…” He begrudgingly repeats after a delay. Tim complies. Jay’s breathing quickens along with Tim’s hand, his chest stuttering. The whimpers that escape his lips grow quicker, louder, until he has to bite Tim’s shoulder to muffle the noise of his orgasm. Their noises fade into the rumble of the highway outside.
“Was that okay?” Tim pulls back his hand, faintly rubbing against Jay’s clit in circles. All he does is nod weakly in response. He admires Jay, finally pulling his hand away and dragging it softly up his stomach. the tips of his fingers drag featherlight across his chest, stroking his scars with tender movements.
A long moment passes while Jay turns around, and like clockwork Tim wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his flushed shoulders.
Tim takes the holes in their memories and fills them with sweet nothings and tenderhot kisses that he can only hope don’t fizzle out into the background of every other missing gap of time they’ve got between the both of them. For now, it works.