It's all J can do not to buck his hips as S sinks down further, the wet heat of his mouth almost unbearably good. His fingers grip S's shirt tighter, careful not to do the same with his hair, and he focuses on staying steady and still, at least mostly. With as long as it's been since they last did this, he doesn't want to be rough with S. He doesn't want to rush through this either. With how much doing the same for S got to him and how long he's been celibate before today, he knows he's already wound up enough that this won't last nearly as long as he'd like anyway.

That doesn't really matter. Nothing much matters except this, how good S is, even when it's been so long, and the way J can feel every little noise he makes, the focus he lavishes on J now. It's surreal to be the center of such utter affection, and he lets himself relax into it, pressed back into the wall, eyes falling shut as he groans. "So good," he sighs. "You feel perfect, fuck." With some effort, he opens his eyes again, gazing down at S. He's obscenely pretty, always, but there's something so heady about watching him like this, beautiful lips wrapped tight around J, looking like he's enjoying this — not as much as J is, certainly, but even so. Just knowing he wants this, too, makes J shudder a little, letting out a whimper. "So beautiful, darling."