Page 57 of Steam

“Fuck,” Owen mutters, stroking a hand through Reese’s hair, wanting to praise Reese’s beautiful, talented mouth and everything he could do with it, but unable to even make himself form the words now as his hips hitch, as he fucks softly into Reese’s mouth and his palm.

In reality, it doesn’t take long—but the moment stretches out for Owen, everything seeming to slow down and blossom outwards as Reese makes him come, as his body gives in finally to pleasure and release, and Owen can feel himself throbbing, coming down Reese’s throat as Reese sinks down deep again, squeezing around his base, an even pressure and friction helping Owen ride the orgasm as long as he can—and it is a release beyond release, a moment of complete trust, of complete visceral pleasure—untainted by insecurity and doubt and unhappiness with himself.

It is just the two of them: together in Owen’s bedroom, a quiet moment of selfless affection, a physical reminder that Owen is not alone in this world, not isolated in his struggles, and that even if there is no one else to shoulder the burden, there are at least the men who care about Owen, who are willing to do whatever it is they can to help.

Owen isn’t sure how long he’s laid flat on his back, jeans around his ankles, gaze thrown towards the ceiling—but Reese shakes him from his reverie, flopping down hard next to Owen on the bed, smiling.

“Shit, Reese,” Owen says, still a little breathless.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Reese says. “This is a legitimate psychological strategy.”

“I do hate myself a little less,” Owen admits.

“Yeah?” Reese says, breaking into an open-mouthed grin.

“I mean, the things we talked about were good too,” Owen says.

“Yeah but I mean… the head was better,” Reese says, hitching one eyebrow and dropping into a joking voice.

“Yeah. The head was better.”

And they’re both laughing, then, as Reese pulls him into a kiss.

---