At a baseline, Caleb loves fucking Yussa. Whether they've concocted an elaborate fantasy such as tonight, or are simply enjoying an uncomplicated evening together at Tidepeak as they have some hundred times by now, Caleb always thoroughly enjoys himself. But this--this is one of those experiences (and there are several in their history) that takes that enjoyment a step further, as something aligns perfectly in his body and mind and their particular dynamic that feels like an answer to a craving he didn't know he had. With the addition of Yussa's powder, responsible for the spark of heightened sensation and the absolutely rock-hard state of his cock, it's devastatingly good.
And dear fucking gods, what three words from this man--panting, flushing darker at his own admission--can do to him is honestly absurd.
"You take me so well," he praises in return, gravelly and thickly accented. But gods, he does; Caleb's cock glides in and out of him with such ease, shining with oil. The smooth, fluid way Yussa moves is mesmerizing, effortlessly burying Caleb to the hilt in the velvety heat of his ass and then lifting his hips to do it again. Caleb helps, but only a little; most of his contribution is pulling Yussa against him to grind as deep as he can get. "So soft and open, like you were just waiting for me to fill you," he continues breathlessly, with a note of playful flirtation as he adds, "It fits perfectly, doesn't it schatz?"
Considering how little he is actually assisting, he doesn't think Yussa will miss one of his hands too much when he moves it--especially when it trails over his hip and back down between his legs toward his cunt. Caleb's palm splays flat over the charming softness of Yussa's lower belly as he allows the callous-rough pad of his thumb to stroke with experimentally light pressure along the stiffly straining shape of his gorgeously swollen clit from root to tip. Then up and down again, and again the same way in patient repetition.
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And dear fucking gods, what three words from this man--panting, flushing darker at his own admission--can do to him is honestly absurd.
"You take me so well," he praises in return, gravelly and thickly accented. But gods, he does; Caleb's cock glides in and out of him with such ease, shining with oil. The smooth, fluid way Yussa moves is mesmerizing, effortlessly burying Caleb to the hilt in the velvety heat of his ass and then lifting his hips to do it again. Caleb helps, but only a little; most of his contribution is pulling Yussa against him to grind as deep as he can get. "So soft and open, like you were just waiting for me to fill you," he continues breathlessly, with a note of playful flirtation as he adds, "It fits perfectly, doesn't it schatz?"
Considering how little he is actually assisting, he doesn't think Yussa will miss one of his hands too much when he moves it--especially when it trails over his hip and back down between his legs toward his cunt. Caleb's palm splays flat over the charming softness of Yussa's lower belly as he allows the callous-rough pad of his thumb to stroke with experimentally light pressure along the stiffly straining shape of his gorgeously swollen clit from root to tip. Then up and down again, and again the same way in patient repetition.