Don't worry, J. Moving away is the farthest thing from Mitch's mind, right now. That tightened grip doesn't do much to alter his opinion, either.

J arches and Mitch loses his mouth, but that's alright. He moves his attention down to the other boy's neck, sucking at his pulse, dragging his teeth against his skin, wanting to leave even more marks on J, marks he makes with his mouth, not just the knife or his fists.

He slips his hand between them, adding friction and pressure for them both, and the feel of his fingers wrestling blindly with J's pants. Bites at his neck in celebration, when he finds the zipper.