aquaburry Considering how much tad stuttered and fumbled over his words, he was much better with his mouth than Gord would have anticipated. Tad was fully dressed, a fact that titillated and frustrated alike. Gord's last article of clothing was slipped from his hips, discarded into the pile of fabric. Tad looked so grateful that Gord felt himself redden, had to look away. Tad kissed his ribs, smoothed bone beneath his lips with a tender precision. His hands were smooth and assured. He'd make an excellent surgeon, Gord mused, as he gripped his knees, opened his thighs. He sucked at the pale junction between thigh and body. Gord shivered at the feeling of his breath upon him. He reached out, stroked tad's hair. His movements stilled as Tad flinched, brief tremble and tenseness flooding his body. Gord hardly had a chance to hate himself as he stroked his nose over the very tip of his length. Gord swallowed, his heart pulsing so obscenely loud even as his mouth remained composed, silenced. Tad's eyes flickered up to him, a silent question met with a faint nod. He swallowed the tip of him. Tad's mouth wasn't the same sort of hot of stove tops and flame. It was the heat of summer days with the top down. Of pool parties and racing to shady spaces. Of pillow forts and secrets passed in folded notes and poor practiced cursive. Tad's lips shifted over his teeth and took him in deeper. His mouth clenched over him, sealing over him. And it was too warm. Too slow. Gord whimpered, color staining the bridge of his nose and the cheekbones he worried weren't prominent enough. He wanted to rip tad's clothes off and fuck him into the mattress. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of him. He wanted Tad to know how desirable he was even though he had so much difficulty saying it, and tad had so much trouble accepting it. But then Tad rolled his tongue over him in that gifted way he had of shutting off all thought and neurosis. And Gord forgot his own name, scrambling instead with tad's in desperate murmured prayers and pleas.