His chest heaves as he turns, pliant under Quentin's guidance. Dazed with the glow of lingering pleasure, it takes Stephen a second, already nodding as his attention skitters over Quentin's face, to realise what he means -
Oh, right. Lifting his hands finds them still glistening with a thin sheen of black, more residual than the dense flow of before. A twitch of fingers consumes it under a flood of amber power and leaves him staring at his clean hands where they're offered into the space between them, evidence, willing seconds to pass. One, clean. Two, still clean. Three, four, five.
It's about eight seconds in that he decides he's satisfied, one hand breaking ranks to push up into Quentin's hair so he can kiss gratitude into his mouth. The other cheats his tar-stained pants safely away from his skin, relegating them to a heap on the counter behind him with a quick and silent spell as he tilts back just far enough to ask, low and rasping, "Do you still want my mouth?"
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Oh, right. Lifting his hands finds them still glistening with a thin sheen of black, more residual than the dense flow of before. A twitch of fingers consumes it under a flood of amber power and leaves him staring at his clean hands where they're offered into the space between them, evidence, willing seconds to pass. One, clean. Two, still clean. Three, four, five.
It's about eight seconds in that he decides he's satisfied, one hand breaking ranks to push up into Quentin's hair so he can kiss gratitude into his mouth. The other cheats his tar-stained pants safely away from his skin, relegating them to a heap on the counter behind him with a quick and silent spell as he tilts back just far enough to ask, low and rasping, "Do you still want my mouth?"