[Part of Koby wants it to go on forever, wants the dizzying, aching, wonderful heat plunging inside him over and over and over for hours – wants to beg Quentin to keep him on edge for hours, keep him wet and wanting and ready and pleading. But the messages, the photos, Koby’s own fingers working himself open to both, the frustration seared away by Quentin’s chest pressed to his back, Quentin’s fingers replacing his own, Quentin’s cock inside him – there was no way he could’ve held on that long.
Besides, Quentin gives him what he wants, what he’s begged for, what he’s vaguely aware he’s getting accustomed (addicted) to – the heat, the release, the sense of Quentin filling him up, cock pulsing inside his clenching, dripping cunt. And Koby is gone, he’s gone from that alone, the tormenting bliss of Quentin’s fingers at his throbbing clit just keeping him there, thighs shuddering, breath coming in gasping, whimpering, sharp sounds. And everything is heat and light and bliss and Koby coming so hard he sobs and clutches at the sheets and moans Quentin’s name loud enough that they can probably hear it in the dining room.
Somewhere, he’s aware of how soaked he is, how the angle of Quentin taking him from behind and the relentless pressure circling around his clit had his climax accompanied by a release he’s never felt before, and Koby whimpers shakily, hazily, one hand slipping down to feel the ticklish trickle of Quentin’s cum and his own dripping down his thighs. A breathless sound, half-laugh, half-moan, and he doesn’t think, just presses his slick fingers into his own mouth, sucks them clean, his own taste and Quentin’s coating his tongue as he turns, reaches, tangles his fingers in dark curls and tugs the other man closer to kiss him, to share the sweet-salty-tang.]
There. [Breathless, between the press of his tongue to Quentin's, between shuddery breaths, whole body liquid and shivery.] G-Good? [Monosyllables is about all he can manage, still riding the aftershocks, the continued throb of his cunt around Quentin's cock, hips shifting slightly to keep him buried inside. The sheets are soaked, but it's a big bed, and Koby doesn't mind where they go, where they rest long enough for round two, as long as Quentin doesn't let go of him.]
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Besides, Quentin gives him what he wants, what he’s begged for, what he’s vaguely aware he’s getting accustomed (addicted) to – the heat, the release, the sense of Quentin filling him up, cock pulsing inside his clenching, dripping cunt. And Koby is gone, he’s gone from that alone, the tormenting bliss of Quentin’s fingers at his throbbing clit just keeping him there, thighs shuddering, breath coming in gasping, whimpering, sharp sounds. And everything is heat and light and bliss and Koby coming so hard he sobs and clutches at the sheets and moans Quentin’s name loud enough that they can probably hear it in the dining room.
Somewhere, he’s aware of how soaked he is, how the angle of Quentin taking him from behind and the relentless pressure circling around his clit had his climax accompanied by a release he’s never felt before, and Koby whimpers shakily, hazily, one hand slipping down to feel the ticklish trickle of Quentin’s cum and his own dripping down his thighs. A breathless sound, half-laugh, half-moan, and he doesn’t think, just presses his slick fingers into his own mouth, sucks them clean, his own taste and Quentin’s coating his tongue as he turns, reaches, tangles his fingers in dark curls and tugs the other man closer to kiss him, to share the sweet-salty-tang.]
There. [Breathless, between the press of his tongue to Quentin's, between shuddery breaths, whole body liquid and shivery.] G-Good? [Monosyllables is about all he can manage, still riding the aftershocks, the continued throb of his cunt around Quentin's cock, hips shifting slightly to keep him buried inside. The sheets are soaked, but it's a big bed, and Koby doesn't mind where they go, where they rest long enough for round two, as long as Quentin doesn't let go of him.]