The confession more or less confirms what Caleb had already been imagining, and he nods in understanding. "I do not do this much either," he admits in solidarity, expression softening. But he clearly knows what he is doing, fucking Yussa open with every slow thrust of his finger inside him and letting his thumb rub back and forth over his clit at the same pace.

When Yussa opens his binder, Caleb's attention is drawn there and stays. He hadn't been counting on him removing it at all, so it certainly feels like a privilege. His breasts are small and pert, and Caleb immediately wants to gather them in his hands. Instead he braces his free hand on the couch and leans over Yussa, presses his lips to the spot just behind his ear and trails kisses down his neck from there, breathing in the spicy scent of his cologne and tasting the salt of his skin. A second finger waits to join the first inside him, rubbing lightly at his entrance without pushing in just yet.

"You feel amazing," he murmurs between kisses, dragging that first finger in and out, in and out. Gods, how is he going to last at all when he's been hard all this time and those soft walls are squeezing around his cock?