A part of him still expects that Kurt might not come to him so easily. Even as he grips at him, Wrench fears that too sudden a movement might knock this all out of kilter. Perhaps the other man will realize what he's doing, catch himself, and seek to part them. It makes his touch erratic, wanting all at once to hold onto the man with enough strength to make him stay, and treat him as delicately as a butterfly on an outstretched finger. When Kurt settles against him Wrench sighs into his mouth, and finds himself overcome with enough of a smile that he has to pull back briefly.

He thinks he can see it now in the other man's eyes, the weight of his wanting. Maybe they're both just chasing ghosts. Maybe he reminds Kurt of someone else, or maybe he just means to chase the cobwebs of wanting out of the hollow spaces around his heart. Wrench wonders briefly if he shouldn't stop this. If it's not his responsibility to warn the man of the things he couldn't know. Things he obviously hasn't predicted. But he can't stand the thought of how the tides would shift in those golden eyes. Wrench doesn't want to be the one to bring the darkness back in. Kurt told him this place could be his second chance, and he wants to believe that. He wants to think it may be possible after all.

Kurt's cheek is warm and soft in his hands, and Wrench realizes he'd still been expecting a different texture to his skin somehow. It's a delighting surprise, and he passes his thumb over the man's lips before trailing his own along the side of his neck, nibbling down to the hollow at his collarbone. He presses his nose there and breathes in deeply of the lather of body soap. His hands know no tender way of shaping his request, so instead he leaves it hanging in the air like an open request, to be taken and molded according to the other man's will: I want you.