He means to be careful, but the fingertips digging into the sensitive swell of his ass make him jerk forward. Quentin's hands sweep over Stephen's scalp, wrap under his under his jaw like he can somehow make it easier. All it does is map a path between something he knows newly (the slope and scruff of Stephen's jawbone, the vibration of his voice) with something he knows pretty damn well (being sloppily blown) so fast and clear that Quentin isn't sure when his veins will stop glowing. "Sorry," he breathes, but he can't stop, hips on a hair rigger, "Lemme know if--fuck--just--"
Breathed words, sincere words, but he doesn't put voice to the conclusion: if Stephen wanted to stop him, he could do it. Fingers massage in the hollow of Stephen's throat, and Quentin fucks his mouth. Erratic, until he's too hard for affection to get in the way of arousal, and he finds a pace that matches his heartbeat. Quick, half-timed with his exhales and with long firm sweeps of his thumbs over Stephen's temples and masseter and bowstring of his neck. "Jesuschrist, Stephen. You want it like this? You want it on your face?"
A dry laugh as he draws out till his tip bumps light over Stephen's shielded teeth. "If you want it inside, you're gonna have to fuckin--stop me up, cuz I'm--"
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Breathed words, sincere words, but he doesn't put voice to the conclusion: if Stephen wanted to stop him, he could do it. Fingers massage in the hollow of Stephen's throat, and Quentin fucks his mouth. Erratic, until he's too hard for affection to get in the way of arousal, and he finds a pace that matches his heartbeat. Quick, half-timed with his exhales and with long firm sweeps of his thumbs over Stephen's temples and masseter and bowstring of his neck. "Jesuschrist, Stephen. You want it like this? You want it on your face?"
A dry laugh as he draws out till his tip bumps light over Stephen's shielded teeth. "If you want it inside, you're gonna have to fuckin--stop me up, cuz I'm--"