Like this he was mostly holding his own weight, those long legs thrown over his shoulders; Colby, folded under him, could gaze up at him, and did, lips soft and parted. Colby’s c**k was rigid and hot between them, leaking need all over his flat stomach, tangible uncontrollable evidence of want.
Jason, still gazing down at him, thrust. Hard.
Colby cried his name, clenching around him. The gold of the light streaked his face; Jason felt the mirror of it along his spine, in a prickle of heat and sweat and fierce radiant desire.
He whispered, “So good, so good for me, the way you feel, Colby, f**k—” and did that again, and again, finding that same spot and pounding into it, earning more tiny screams and moans and babbled words, Jason’s name and yes and more and, deliciously, a string of ple
