Jack’s coherent enough to feel the cool chill of air across his back and the too-warm hands that slice through it, despite how warm his own body feels. He can feel the heated breathing on the crook oh his neck and he hums a long sigh, far too comfortable to move until he’s shifted across the other’s lap and suddenly far too aware of the friction on his own skin. His sighing turns into small gasps, his face buried in older-Jack’s shoulder as he lets him have free reign.
The heat in his belly keeps building, and the fire of it fuels his body to move in increasing increments. A subtle roll of his hips, fingers gripping tight into the fabric of the other’s shirt, his heart beating faster. There’s the sweet promise of violence under those gentle touches and it’s driving Jack insane with the anticipation.
He sits up with the hand around his throat to guide and support him, keep him from falling flat on his face as all his blood rushes south and makes him dizzy all over again. His exposed skin feels cold and he instinctively leans towards that hand on his chest, trying to soak up the heat into his entire body with just the contact. His breathing is getting too fast and he curses softly under it.
“Never better.” He replies, through the low rhythmic throbbing of his head and the matching one between his legs. He leans in then, more on autopilot than anything else now, and presses masked lips to masked lips in a heavy kiss. The closer her gets to his alternate self, the less he feels likely to quite literally come apart at the seams. So he clings like he’s never clung to anyone before— all desperate hands and a mouth whose lies are useless against himself. It makes him feel weirdly vulnerable and exposed, so he presses his mouth harder to sweep the sensation under the rug and replace it with on he actually knows how to deal with, lust.