“Look at this fucking mess.”His tone wasn’t angry. I didn’t speak.This wasn’t performance anymore. Gay sex Cold metal clicked against warmer flesh. Jason’s socks were kicked off early, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, toes splayed and relaxed. I hated it. Fucking tongue-whore. But don’t ever forget what you are.And I didn’t.Jason stretched and stood, lazily tucking his hoodie into place. It stuck to the back of my throat, clinging like oil. Or I’ll just crash your place with tequila again.”Sean smirked faintly. The kind that didn’t need words. Filthy. I should have hated it. Not just to protect his property, but to protect me.He had drawn a line.And I would’ve stayed there—in that fragile warmth—if only for a second longer.But Sean wasn’t finished.He turned to me, crouched down slowly so we were face to face, and dragged his fingers across the corner of my mouth, scooping a small, pearly streak I’d missed.He held it between his fingers, looked me in the eye, and said softly:“You missed a spot, pig. Fucking tongue-whore. You missed that one. A soft scrape of a chair leg on concrete.
