Simon sobbed his name, body writhing, begging, moving on instinct now: reacting to the dominance in Ben’s voice, the ceaseless working of Ben’s fingers inside him, Ben’s mouth and words warm against his c**k. Everything about him was beautiful: the dampness of sweat in pale blond hair, the pocket-artwork slender muscles, the drying splashes of his previous release across his stomach and chest. He was wholly lost in surrender, in submission, in the words and the promise and the presence, making him feel, making him fly.
Ben’s presence. Making him feel.
Ben remembered to inhale—he’d forgotten for a moment, watching his husband—and steadied his heart-rate. Being an anchor; being what Simon needed. The way Simon was, for him: someone to love, to care for, to protect—and to admire.
That bril
