It burns inside him, lights him up in a brutal, terrifying way. There’s no space for humiliation, no space for anything other than the constant desire to please Matt. Will reaches back. He pushes his jeans and briefs down around his knees. He gathers up his shirt, pulls it farther up his back. “Oh fuck,” Matt says. His hand is already on Will’s hip, body already drawing closer.
Will bends over. He puts his elbows on the edge of the sink. He stares at the backsplash and then swallows. “On me?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but his voice is thrashed like he just got throat fucked and the tone bends the wrong way anyway.
Matt doesn’t care. He’s grabbing for Will and pulling him closer, pushing his wet dick against Will’s ass cheek as he curls over him, forehead against the knobs of his spine. “Fuck, fuck that’s so hot. This is what—yeah, you’re perfect. Jesus, fuck.” He keeps stroking himself, keeps rubbing his tip against the curve of Will’s ass and it’s good, it’s so good Will can’t really think. “Where? C’mon, baby, tell me where you want it,” Matt says.
Will keens. He pushes back into him, head hanging down between his shoulders as he blinks rapidly. He’s molten, he’s melting, he’s Matt’s baby and nothing else matters. “On me—on my ass, please, like—”