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Summary
Erling places both his palms on Jude’s face, forcing him to look up at him. His thumb gently grazes his cheekbone. All Jude can see is him, him, him, gorgeous Erling with his solid cheekbones and satin lips, barely there brows and intense eyes that always seem to read him thin.
"You called me here to help you, didn't you? Making you sleep on that," he juts his head out towards the couch, "Won't help you sleep."
Jude opens his mouth to protest, but his words die in his throat. Erling holding him in place and his intense gaze makes any objections difficult. Heat surrounds Jude, as he relaxes into Erling's grasp. Wearing a hoodie might've been a mistake on his part.
Erling's voice is low, his breath so close Jude can feel it tickle his nose, "Do you trust me?"
"Yeah," Jude’s own voice comes out breathier than he expects, staring at Erling's full lips, "Yeah I do."
Or
Jude struggles to sleep after his matches. Erling offers his help.
