Dion is not an easily tired man. As greedy as he is, there is reason for it, to keep going and going until there is nothing left that exists in his mind and body. To lose himself over and over again until he does not have to think, not until he is forced to return to the life beyond this room.
Dion's back arches when he feels the weight upon his chest. Miguel is handsome, even more-so, somehow, with how the smoke curls in the air, caressing his hips. Fingers dip across his torso, exploratory and gentle. Unbidden, a small whimper slips through Dion's lips as he all but pants for this contact, this close touch.
He wants more. He needs more.
His cock twitches not-so-subtly against Miguel when a hand pins his own, and Dion wonders if it must be obvious how much he wishes to simply submit. He does not wish to think. No, he does more than enough thinking in his role. He just wants to be ruined. To become nothing. To be less than what he usually is, because where else in his life is there the space to follow and just exist?
Dion's does not struggle against the hold, but his hips rock up, cock filling with the sheer thought of doing more again. Perhaps he should pay Miguel extra for his service. Dion has used him far more than his fair share, though... do escorts switch? Dion does not know. He only knows they present themselves as a mere hole to be used, but Miguel touches him, caresses him as if Dion were truly his lover, so if Dion were to request... something else, Dion may have to pay extra.
The nerves catch in his throat. He swallows hard. He should ask. He has paid for this time. Yet... does Miguel enjoy having his hole used so? He must surely be sore. Dion knows simply from experience, too, that going for further rounds can be bruising, but Dion knows he is a glutton for such punishment, that it only helps hollow out his being and leaves him deliciously empty.
A choked noise leaves him at the roll of Miguel's hips, the pressure at his midsection. Dion's eyes flutter closed when lips press against his own, and he rocks his hips up, desperate for some friction, desperate for...
His mind drifts. He inhales the drug, and shudders in the wake of it. A pleasant buzz thrums through his veins and he moans into Miguel's mouth. Shameless, almost, and he kisses Miguel as hard as he can, as much as he can from his position, until he becomes lightheaded with the lack of air.
When they part, it feels as if Dion's nerves evaporate ever further with the smoke curling from his throat.
"Are you certain?" he whispers, voice husky and ragged from desire. Eyes, half-lidded, examine Miguel's features even as Dion's hips cannot help a slight jerk, his leaking tip dragging against Miguel's skin. He pants. His arousal floats higher than ever. "You must be sore... if so, I would welcome your touch inside me instead." He tugs ever-so-slightly at the hand trapping his wrist, but not enough to break the resistance. "I enjoy this, too." A pause, and he must add, "but I encourage such a direction only if you would find genuine pleasure in it."
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