It's a sweet sort of filth, the way that Caleb handles him, the noises he makes. Occasionally he bends down and sucks, or spits, or otherwise makes sure that things are slick and moving. He keeps his breasts pressed tight around him, likes the tension of fingers in his hair.

"Feels good," he assures, soft, tender. "You look so good. Are you going to come for me, Caleb? I want you to make a mess of me. I know you'll still be hard afterwards, or in a minute. I want to feel it. Please."