And just like that, Quentin's asking to be given space to fuck his mouth. There's a moment of pause, tongue a pliant bed as Stephen runs the thought over, trying to make sense of the new knots he's being twisted into with every breathless compliment and shift of hand. Where this request that's also part earnest offer, part gentle guidance sits in the scope of what he'd been meaning to do here.

He hadn't been meaning to take lessons. He had been meaning to learn - specifically, in this instance, how to take Quentin to pieces with a tool he barely knows how to use in this specific context.

He leans his face briefly into Quentin's touch. Drops the hand still curled around the base to smooth around and dig fingertips into the flesh of his ass. Looks up, draws back, sinks down again - and relaxes his jaw.