The enthusiasm sears straight into him, earlier storm still going strong, and with Quentin burning a lasting impression into his mouth and memory he catches himself wondering what another round might be like. Both once-sated, less hurried. Whether he could stoke Quentin again as easily as his embers are kept lit now. He rewards him with the rich spill of laughter into their mouths, charmed by the openness, the greedy, giving ease.

"Worry about your own knees." Stephen pushes back against Quentin just slightly then and in the next second Quentin will find himself standing where Stephen had an instant before, pressed back, without either of them having needed to move a muscle. Stephen's eyes glint bright mischief, mouth hooking up at the corner, attention roving over Quentin's face. "In case you need something to hold onto."

Then his gaze drops to the scant space between them, raises again to meet Quentin's in final warning, and he sinks with easy grace to his knees. Claiming the cock from Quentin's hand into his own, Stephen casts his eyes up, watchful as he leans in to smother sudden nerves with the scent of his skin, nose pressed into hair, mouth open and breathing hot against the base for the few moments it takes him to be ready to drop wet, indulgent kisses along the shaft. Taking his time. Payback for the quip.