Tim's eager. Eager and desperate and needy, and he presses back against Matt's fingers, moaning against the other's throat. He drags his teeth lightly along Matt's jaw, enjoying the scrape of stubble against his lips and the feeling of Matt's pulse against his cheek when his mouth moves down to the other's neck.

He bites the skin above Matt's collarbone, sucking marks in a place that can easily be hidden by the collar of his shirt the next day. They're not drunk this time, and that means Tim can be conscious of all those things he usually forgets about. Except for, apparently, a condom, because that ship sailed a long time ago, thanks to them being too drunk and too horny to slow down.

He trusts Matt, though. But it hardly occurs to him that this means Matt probably trusts him, too.

"God, yes," he groans, his mouth still against Matt's throat. "I want you."