[He knows what Oliver will do before his lips even part over his cock - his intent is in he way he looks at Connor, and on his sweltering breath over his skin. But even so he gasps and, overpowered, his shoulders flatten against the bed. His back arches. His body stretches like a wave on the sea, rolling forward, and Oliver is the shore for which he reaches.
His hands are in his hair again. His name is on his lips, sinking into a quiet groan, an encouragement.
Somewhere in the haze that is becoming of his mind, he wonders if this is Oliver's way of doing penance for his remark that Connor cares about his friendship only when he's willing to suck his dick. He too seeks penance through his body, which is perhaps the only way he knows how when it comes to Oliver, as if all might be undone through the union of mouths and limbs and flesh.]
no subject
His hands are in his hair again. His name is on his lips, sinking into a quiet groan, an encouragement.
Somewhere in the haze that is becoming of his mind, he wonders if this is Oliver's way of doing penance for his remark that Connor cares about his friendship only when he's willing to suck his dick. He too seeks penance through his body, which is perhaps the only way he knows how when it comes to Oliver, as if all might be undone through the union of mouths and limbs and flesh.]