[ That little swipe of Quentin's finger, warm and callused pad to what feels like the most desperately sensitive part of Matt's body, draws a sharp whimper. A buck of Matt's hips towards his hand, which is already gone by the time he moves. He's laughing, still catching his breath, as Quentin grabs his desk chair and sets it in front of him.
To your perch. Matt smiles. Makes a small sound in his throat, half strain and half approval for how effortlessly Quentin keeps a metaphor going. Under the slide of Quentin's hand, he lets his spine stretch to follow, lets the touch coax him downward, forward, until his fingers curl over the back of the chair and one knee settles onto the seat. His neck arches gently, head tipping to one side. ]
I think you sound prettier than I do, [ he murmurs. Experimentally, carefully, he inches his thighs apart, leaning a bit more of his weight onto his knee where it's braced on the chair. Quentin presses to him, heat of his cock to Matt's ass, and he gives a needy rub back against him. The friction--the effort of chasing him--makes him moan. ]
No more touching myself.
[ For emphasis, Matt's other hand joins the first on the back of the chair. He meets Quentin's gaze in the mirror, fingers tightening their grip where they brace. ]
no subject
To your perch. Matt smiles. Makes a small sound in his throat, half strain and half approval for how effortlessly Quentin keeps a metaphor going. Under the slide of Quentin's hand, he lets his spine stretch to follow, lets the touch coax him downward, forward, until his fingers curl over the back of the chair and one knee settles onto the seat. His neck arches gently, head tipping to one side. ]
I think you sound prettier than I do, [ he murmurs. Experimentally, carefully, he inches his thighs apart, leaning a bit more of his weight onto his knee where it's braced on the chair. Quentin presses to him, heat of his cock to Matt's ass, and he gives a needy rub back against him. The friction--the effort of chasing him--makes him moan. ]
No more touching myself.
[ For emphasis, Matt's other hand joins the first on the back of the chair. He meets Quentin's gaze in the mirror, fingers tightening their grip where they brace. ]