And it hurts. Damn, it fucking hurts to hear how much he wants this, but he can’t bring himself to ask for it. Demand it, even. My tongue lashes against his tip, the bead of pre-cum hitting my tongue with a salty tang. He hisses out a curse, the hand in my hair tightening painfully, but nowhere near as much as the ache in my chest or throat when I see that look in his eyes, barely discernible in the dim light. “I want to,” I mutter,
