Caleb's eyes, pupils blown out and dark, go wide when Yussa's hand covers his mouth. That he then lowers himself back down to grind against his own hand makes his point the way nothing else could. That denial is ridiculously hot, especially because he knows it's all about reminding him of his place, keeping him from getting any presumptuous ideas that he might be in control. He isn't. He gives a frustrated groan, muffled, but he understands the lesson here. His slick lips are parted against Yussa's palm, still eager, and he breathes raggedly through his nose.

He could try to speak now, but he doesn't. He does as Yussa instructs, tucking a third finger alongside the other two and easing all three into his ass.

Yussa's body is small, and even after being opened up wider on his cock yesterday, Caleb can tell that three of his fingers is a stretch for him. They slide easily because they're well coated in oil, but he goes slow because he can feel how tightly his rim still gripping them as he presses them in past the widest part of his knuckles. The rush yesterday had been Yussa's choice, but as good as that felt for him, Caleb is determined to do things differently this time. He wants him stretched open and dripping before he fucks him, not just after.