They jerked each other off like it was a competition, like the first one to come lost bragging rights for the night.
Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd been this desperate, this keyed up, every nerve ending singing. He could barely think.
Could barely breathe, honestly, with the way Chase was rutting against his thigh and squeezing him so tight Logan saw stars.
There was no finesse left, nothing of the careful choreography from earlier; just sweat and spit and the sound of Chase's voice, ragged and raw, right up against his ear.
Logan liked it, liked the mess, liked the way Chase looked at him, mouth open and eyes gone dark, like he wanted to eat him alive.
Logan twisted his wrist, just to see what would happen, and Chase shuddered, hips jerking forward so hard he nearly lifted off the couch.
He made a noise, too, something strangled and obscene, and Logan grinned, couldn't help it. He was a bastard, always had been, but it was something else seeing someone like Chase, all sharp edges and control, come apart for him.
"Fuck," Chase gasped, head thumping back against the cushions.
His legs were spread, jeans shoved halfway down his thighs, underwear barely hanging on, and Logan's hand wrapped around him, working him steady.
He looked like a wreck, flushed and wild, and Logan wanted more.
Wanted to unravel him completely. "You're loud," Logan muttered, just to needle him, and Chase swore, tried to glare, but it didn't stick. Not with the way his whole body was trembling.
"Not my fault," Chase panted, "you're the one who started this."
Logan snorted.
"You're the one grinding on my thigh like you want to fuck it."
Chase's cheeks went even redder, which was impressive considering how far gone he already looked. He bucked his hips again, chasing friction, and Logan obliged, pressing his thigh up harder, letting Chase rut against it.
It was filthy, the way Chase moved, desperate and needy, like he'd die if Logan stopped touching him.
"God, look at you," Logan said, voice low, and Chase groaned, hands fisting in Logan's shirt.
"Shut up," Chase managed, but he didn't mean it.
He was too far gone for pride now, rocking into Logan's grip, leaking all over Logan's hand and his own stomach.
Logan slowed down, just to watch Chase squirm, then sped up, squeezing tighter, thumb swiping over the head just to see if Chase would break.
He did, sort of. Not with a shout, but with a stifled gasp, whole body locking up, thighs clamping tight around
Logan's leg as he came. Hot and messy, all over Logan's hand, all over himself, and Logan didn't stop, not until Chase was shuddering, breathing in wet little gulps, nails digging crescent moons into Logan's shoulders.
Logan wiped his hand on Chase's stomach because, well, what the fuck else was he supposed to do with it, and then Chase was dragging him in, kissing him again, sloppy and grateful and just a little bit mean.
"Your turn," Chase said, voice rough. "C'mon, let's see if you can keep up."
Logan didn't need to be told twice.
His brain was still sparking from the way Chase had just come apart for him, the obscene mess all over his hand, the way Chase's thighs had locked around him like a vice.
He grinned, wolfish, and let Chase drag him down for another kiss, hot and a little bit feral, all tongue and teeth.
Some part of him wanted to bite, just to see if Chase would yelp or bite right back.
Chase's fingers fumbled with Logan's waistband, impatient and a little clumsy, probably still riding out the aftershocks.
Logan almost laughed, but then Chase got his sweats shoved down and wrapped a hand around him, and the only thing that came out of Logan's mouth was a groan.
