by Emrys Apollo
He’d forgotten how painful it was, but he’d also forgotten how fucking good it was. Clint used his signature move: moving so little that it was continuous pressure on Sean’s prostate, constant stimulation, constant sensation. It sent him into a haze of pleasure.
And when Clint’s hand finally came to touch him, pumping his cock slowly, Sean almost whimpered.
It didn’t take many strokes before Sean was panting. Clint’s hand was hot on his even hotter cock, stroking the skin firmly, dragging it back and forth wetly, noisily. He cried Clint’s name almost like a mantra, saying unintelligible things.
When he came, it was all Clint: Clint’s hand moving faster and faster, Clint thrusting inside him firmly, Clint leaning down and mouthing against his neck. It was incredibly good, his cock pulsing and erupting into Clint’s hands.
He shuddered, feeling like he couldn’t stop coming, couldn’t stop spurting. He collapsed immediately after and Clint thrust a few more times before coming too, murmuring Sean’s name.
Clint nudged him to turn over and Sean did weakly, tiredly, and as Clint kissed him, their mouths soft against each other’s mouth, just gently touching, Sean felt emotion choke his throat.
“I love you,” he whispered against Clint’s lips.
“I love you more,” Clint whispered back, kissing Sean hard.
Sean’s last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that it was going to be just fine.
