Jake touches entirely too often. If one wanted, one could make a clear path of Jake's day based on what he touched. One, Avery thinks, does.
The first thing is Avery. Early morning and fingers twine into his hair. Down his back until Jake is stroking the babysoft skin of Avery's inner thighs. He traces the muscle back up to Avery's hip, which Jake grips next. He touches the mattress getting out, the shower, the shampoo, a towel. Clothes. This is Jake's morning.
It's easy to follow his touching path down the stairs because he touches the bannister. He touches Jack's hair. The kitchen counter. A mug, a teabag, a kettle. Jake is, of course, talking and laughing and behaving as usual, but Avery's only focused on one sense today.
Jake's fingertips find piano keys, a pen. His nails pick at his jeans. His hands spread his fingers over the computer keyboard, and next he holds the television remote. A book is held for a moment, but it's abandoned for Avery's shoulder, the other hand cupping his face as they kiss.
Avery's clothes. Avery. Lubrication, and then Avery. More Avery. Avery can't keep track of where Jake's hands are now, because they're everywhere.
The last thing that Avery notices Jake touching is their blanket, tugging it up around them. He falls asleep before Jake, but Jake only touches one more thing.
His fingers twine in Avery's and Jake falls asleep.