That Yussa's reaction to his noted easiness is another moan when Caleb's hips grind against his ass, shoving his cock deep, threatens to ignite what stamina Caleb has like flashpaper.

A growing awareness of the flare of pleasure in his body, bright and hot and fast-burning, leads him to conclude that he isn't going to last long this time. Not with Yussa under him like this, hot and hazy and moaning for him as he takes what he's given, so eager to be used. This is good, probably. His muscles complain more every time his hips roll, an ache building in his abs and thighs and arms alongside the burn of need in his gut.

But gods, it's so good when he gathers every shred of focus he has and makes himself speak. The first breathless declaration alone would be enough to make Caleb dizzy and wild, but then he whimpers more, and it is just what Caleb has been waiting to hear. He groans, burying his nose in his soft, clean-smelling hair even as he tastes sweat where his lips press to his temple.

His thrusts are growing less controlled, less regular. Both of them are panting audibly, in concert with the slap of his hips against Yussa's upturned ass and the thrillingly lewd wet sound of fucking a well-slicked, well-used hole.

"Do you?" he prompts, low and dragging across the sandpaper feeling in his throat. "It seems like your ass is begging to be filled."