An approving noise rumbles up from Caleb's chest as Yussa reaches for him and arches back, gasping his name. Secured together, Yussa's legs spread and ass presented to him at a perfect angle, he starts to move in earnest--long, rolling strokes that will make the smaller man feel every inch. He can't resist biting the warm brown curve of his neck where it meets his shoulder.

Though it was him who proposed this idea in the first place, Caleb is finding it very difficult not to touch Yussa. His instinct is to slide his hand between his thighs, to cup the flushed and swollen lips of his cunt in his hand, to fill him with his fingers. He gets as far as slipping his hand out from beneath Yussa's and trailing teasing fingertips up his inner thigh, smearing the wetness there but stopping short of any actual contact.

"Gods, liebling, you are still dripping," he murmurs, mouthing at his shoulder still. "Do you need to be filled more? Is this not good enough?"