J isn't entirely surprised that S doesn't falter. Different as they are, they're the same, too, in so many ways. Minutes ago, he didn't flinch; he wanted it, wanted to feel every second, to taste everything, utterly intoxicated by the chance to get to do so again. And as difficult as the last several months have been for him, S is the one who never turned away from their relationship. It stands to reason he's all in even for the smaller details.

Not that this feels small. On the contrary, this is all-encompassing. If being out of practice makes any difference to S's skills, J's hardly in a frame of mind to notice. If anything, it's better than he let himself remember, a pleasure that threatens to undo him entirely, and he doesn't think he'd mind for a moment. He doesn't try to fight it or hold it at bay, not when S is clearly certain. He just surrenders to it, lets the feeling envelop him until his orgasm crashes over him. Vision going briefly white, he cries out, barely enough presence of mind left to keep him from pulling S's hair, even as his hold tightens slightly. There's nothing else he can hold onto, nothing left in his world but S.