Wes gripped the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, trying not to thrust. Jake hummed around him—encouragement or pleasure, Wes couldn’t tell—but the vibration was ending him.
“Jake, I’m—fuck! I’m sorry. I’m close?—”
Jake pulled off just long enough to say, “Good. I want it,” then swallowed Wes down again.
Wes came with a broken sound, fingers tangling in Jake’s hair. Jake worked him through it, didn’t pull away until Wes was completely drained, shaking and hiccuping with hypersensitive aftershocks.
When Jake stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Wes pulled him into a desperate kiss—tasting himself, not caring about anything except having Jake close.
“Your turn,” Wes said roughly.
“You don’t have to?—”
Wes silenced him with a kiss, fierce and calming. “If you think I’m not doing this, you’re crazy.”
He pushed Jake against the workbench, dropped to his knees. Jake was already hard, straining against his briefs. Wes mouthed him through the fabric first, just to hear Jake gasp and curse above him.
“Fuck, Wes?—”
Wes pulled the briefs down, took Jake in his mouth without preamble. Jake’s hand flew to Wes’s hair, not pulling, but holding on like he needed an anchor.
Wes had done this before, but not like this. Never with someone who made him feel so desperate and powerful at the same time. He worked Jake with his lips and tongue, taking him deep and pulling up slow, learning what made Jake’s breath hitch, what made his hips creep forward.
“God, your mouth—” Jake’s voice was wrecked. “Wes, come up here.”
Wes pulled off, confused. “What?—?”
Jake hauled him up, kissed him hard. “I want to see your face. Can we—” He turned, hoisted himself up to sit on the workbench, legs spread. “Come here.”
Wes stepped between Jake’s thighs, and Jake pulled him into another kiss, deep and hungry. Jake’s hand dropped between them, wrapped around Wes’s cock.
“Wow—” Jake sounded amazed. Wes was half-hard again, filling under Jake’s touch.
“Can’t help it. It’s your fault.”
“Yeah?” Jake stroked him, slow and deliberate. “Good.”
Wes groaned, dropping his forehead onto Jake’s shoulder. His own hand found Jake’s cock, matching Jake’s rhythm. They stroked each other—Jake sitting, Wes standing between his legs, hands working each other with increasing desperation.
“Look at me,” Jake said.
Wes lifted his head. Jake’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. They kept eye contact as their hands moved faster, breathing each other’s air.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Jake said.
“You are.”
Jake laughed, breathless. “We’re—fuck—we’re a mess.”
“Yeah.” Wes twisted his wrist on the upstroke, watched Jake’s eyes flutter. “A perfect mess.”
Jake’s free hand came up, cupped the back of Wes’s neck, pulled him in for a kiss that was more breathing into each other’s mouths than actual kissing. Their hands sped up, grips tightening.
“Close,” Jake gasped. “Wes, I’m?—”
“Me too.”
Jake came first by seconds, spilling over Wes’s fist with a broken moan. The sight of him—head thrown back, throat exposed, coming apart—pushed Wes over. He followed,impossibly, his second orgasm pulled from somewhere very deep.
