He lets out a noise that's somewhere between a groan and a purr in the back of his throat when Mick shoves him against the wall, "That, I like." He admits, a smirk settling easily across his face; in fact, he's known that since shortly after meeting Mick in juvie. He remembers the attitude Mick had that day, and the way he kept picking at him until he forced the other boy to react-- by slamming him against the wall, with every intention, Leonard was sure, to deck him. But it changed, shifted in microseconds, and now, Leonard recognizes that electric-charged feeling that had completely confused him that day. The same one that made Mick back down from his near-attack back then, and the same one that Leonard is letting drive everything he does right now.
The smirk resting on his lips turns into something softer, and more genuine, when Mick delivers that very serious-important instruction. He slides a thumb across the older boy's cheek, "I trust you, Mick," which might just be more important than any other word that might fit in the middle of that sentence, too.
If there's anything Leonard can be certain of in life, it's that Mick Rory is his rock, and he would never, ever push Leonard into something he doesn't want, doesn't like, or isn't ready for. There's years of evidence to that, too. Six years they've known each other and at least half of those have pushed them beyond the box of simple friendship. And Mick has been a fucking Saint during every step of Leonard's skittish, too-cautious, too-careful, too-slow journey leading up to this moment.
Leonard lets out a soft, pleased whine as Mick's lips find his again, rough, calloused fingers pressing against his skin under his shirt. His tongue darts out, a silent plea for permission to explore. This part, at least, he's familiar with.
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The smirk resting on his lips turns into something softer, and more genuine, when Mick delivers that very serious-important instruction. He slides a thumb across the older boy's cheek, "I trust you, Mick," which might just be more important than any other word that might fit in the middle of that sentence, too.
If there's anything Leonard can be certain of in life, it's that Mick Rory is his rock, and he would never, ever push Leonard into something he doesn't want, doesn't like, or isn't ready for. There's years of evidence to that, too. Six years they've known each other and at least half of those have pushed them beyond the box of simple friendship. And Mick has been a fucking Saint during every step of Leonard's skittish, too-cautious, too-careful, too-slow journey leading up to this moment.
Leonard lets out a soft, pleased whine as Mick's lips find his again, rough, calloused fingers pressing against his skin under his shirt. His tongue darts out, a silent plea for permission to explore. This part, at least, he's familiar with.