Jesper won't be left waiting long. No sooner has he settled on his hands and knees than Wilhelm is dragging his hands along the slope of his spine and the curve of his ass, squeezing him, helping himself to his beautiful body. The impatience sizzling under his skin doesn't let him practice the art of sharpening Jesper's anticipation to a sweetly treacherous point with teasing touches. It doesn't let him admire the view for more than a heartbeat either before he's draping himself over Jesper. Pushing into him again, he dips a hand down his hip to grab his cock.
"Okay, Jes," he pants like it's a promise. "Okay—"
It's not that he's thinking about Simon in all of this. There's no room for those thoughts to breathe when Jesper fills every inch of his attention. His heat sticking to him, all of him arching for Wilhelm — and it feels good to be needed. So, no, he's not thinking about his ex-boyfriend, not consciously, anyway. But those memories are still a part of him. They still guide him the way an old injury does: you learn to walk a certain way to avoid putting weight on it. To avoid hurting yourself again.
That's a piece of what makes this so appealing to Wilhelm. It's raw and rough, hard and wild, so different from everything he had with Simon. When he's with Jesper, he doesn't have to be the boy who fell in love too hard and too fast, the boy who got his heart broken. He can be a boy who makes Jesper laugh and moan and pant for more.
After that, he comes undone fast. Wilhelm fits in a few thrusts, reckless and rushed the way Jesper wants it, skin slapping together, every breath snapping into a groan, and a few strokes of his cock to match. As he comes, he keeps pushing through the rhythm that's pulled him apart. He folds over Jesper, hair feathering his sweaty back, fingers digging into his hip.
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"Okay, Jes," he pants like it's a promise. "Okay—"
It's not that he's thinking about Simon in all of this. There's no room for those thoughts to breathe when Jesper fills every inch of his attention. His heat sticking to him, all of him arching for Wilhelm — and it feels good to be needed. So, no, he's not thinking about his ex-boyfriend, not consciously, anyway. But those memories are still a part of him. They still guide him the way an old injury does: you learn to walk a certain way to avoid putting weight on it. To avoid hurting yourself again.
That's a piece of what makes this so appealing to Wilhelm. It's raw and rough, hard and wild, so different from everything he had with Simon. When he's with Jesper, he doesn't have to be the boy who fell in love too hard and too fast, the boy who got his heart broken. He can be a boy who makes Jesper laugh and moan and pant for more.
After that, he comes undone fast. Wilhelm fits in a few thrusts, reckless and rushed the way Jesper wants it, skin slapping together, every breath snapping into a groan, and a few strokes of his cock to match. As he comes, he keeps pushing through the rhythm that's pulled him apart. He folds over Jesper, hair feathering his sweaty back, fingers digging into his hip.