He's pushing Chuck down the hall, tugging his own shirt off and letting it hit the pile with a wet thunk. Raleigh doesn't really give a shit about the dryer at the moment, or the fact that his clothes are a wet pile on his carpet.

He just cares about Chuck's heat against his skin, the way his skin pricks when Raleigh's fingers drag over his body.

"C'mon," he breathes, eyes glittering, "my room. Shower."