His lips are parting before the kiss connects -- and so it becomes an open-mouthed, clashing thing, the moment where they touch harsh enough to make the car move a little on its shock absorbers. It is biting, raw, hungry. Thomas wants to pull him close; he wants to know what it would be like to have Aaron ride him, close and cramped and desperate, in the car. He wants, he wants; this is all unlocking something in him, a series of careful, neat closed doors, and within the wild creature that Thomas might become.

He does drag Aaron as close as he can, half over the central console. He breathes in quick gasps before he tangles again with Aaron's fierce, questing tongue. One hand has grabbed at the fabric of Aaron's sweater -- the other presses at the junction of his legs, finds where Aaron is so, so hard, and grinds his palm there, holds steady for Aaron to thrust against if that's what he wants. He can smell and taste his own come, and far from being disgusted, he's fiery with it. He kisses it off of Burr's cheek, licks, and then surges against his mouth again.