“I love this,” Oberon said, his voice velvet in the dimness. His broad palm stroked up and down Ángel’s sweating back. “It’s been so long, beloved. Oh, you should see yourself.” His fingers tightened on Ángel’s hip, and he pulled out gradually, all the way, until Ángel could feel just the crown of his cock breaching him. “You don’t look big enough,” he whispered. “But look at you.” He slid back in, opening Ángel, the entire length of his fat shaft dragging heavily over Ángel’s prostate.

Ángel could only manage a shattered groan.

“I want to keep doing this all night,” Oberon whispered, sliding out. “I know you like it faster,” he said, idling. “But this.” He forged deliberately back in. “Ah.”

Ángel’s hands were helplessly grasping the sheets. He was on the edge of orgasm. At this pace, Oberon could keep him there for hours. He tried to push himself onto Oberon, to increase the tempo, but Oberon simply wouldn’t let him. “You came already,” purred Oberon. “You don’t need to again right away.”

Ángel made some kind of reply—he didn’t know what. A moan. A whimper. Oberon was stuffed so big and deep inside him, stroking so slow and thorough.

“Or maybe you do,” observed Oberon. He brought his hand around to stroke Ángel’s abdomen, long fingers combing into his pubes and parting around the base of his dick, lifting him up and powering in at the same time. “You do need it. Now.” His hot fist stroked up and down Ángel’s dick. “Oh Ángel,” confessed Oberon quietly. “So do I.”

It was too much. It was all over for Ángel: he was coming in a hard wave of delight and relief. He bore down hard on Oberon’s dick and spurted all over the bed and himself and Oberon’s hand, shouting with pleasure. He felt Oberon coming too: not breathing, not moving, just coming and coming.

Ángel managed to push them both over onto their sides, and twisted around so that he could hold Oberon.

Who was continuing to come.

Ángel embraced Oberon while he shook, on and on, spasm after helpless spasm.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, resting his cheek on Oberon’s sweating forehead.

Oberon seemed to prefer to be dominant during foreplay and sex, controlling the pace and the position and the dirty talk with an iron will. But during that minute-long orgasm he turned to pudding. Face pressed against Ángel’s neck, fingers flexing helplessly with every long, endless pulse. Overbearing top into mush. Just like that.

Ángel cradled him tenderly.

“We are always able to sense others, at all times,” Oberon had said to him once. “How they are feeling, what they are doing. We can always feel each other, through our skin. For us, that is comfortable.”