[ Trying not to come is all he can do, ass rutting down over a thick cock that he wants inside so badly and moaning like an unrestrained, unashamed whore for every touch of lips, hands, for the simple brush of fabric molding around their bodies. Hiksti, Hiccup, is what leaves parted, wet lips as Jack's hips start to tremble, and he can't hold it together much longer at all before he crushes their mouths in a harsh kiss. Whimpering Sorry, he comes in Hiccup's hand and cries out in combined relief and frustration, not wanting to have spoiled this but unable to have controlled it. This is the man whose name Jack has moaned in the middle of the night as he fucks himself with a toy, fingered himself in the shower, gotten hard over in class. Those green eyes, clever hands, the body stretched out aching to fuck him; it's all been a by-product of his imagination up until today and the reality of it is overwhelming.
So he comes, yes, in thick gouts that have him shivering like a virgin and clawing at Hiccup's hair, pouring apologies into his mouth even as he ruts against him. Blue eyes are darkened through long-lashed slits, partially unseeing and fixed on the middle-distance of their gaze. ]
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So he comes, yes, in thick gouts that have him shivering like a virgin and clawing at Hiccup's hair, pouring apologies into his mouth even as he ruts against him. Blue eyes are darkened through long-lashed slits, partially unseeing and fixed on the middle-distance of their gaze. ]