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He could not explain it, but it was almost compulsory, this need he had to feel Nasir's lips upon his own as he spilled over the edge of the fucking world itself into release.
It did not matter what they did – whether it was just a quick fuck against the wall, hurried and rushed as Nasir's pants were lowered just enough and his chest was pushed against the wall and hips held back just enough to keep his cock from scraping against it with one of Agron's hands and the other hand upon Nasir's own cock; or if it was hands only, some sort of slow foreplay that never really progressed because they were too caught up in watching each other to actually bother moving to fuck; or if it was actual love-making, slow and sensuous and from a million different angles – when the end came, Agron's lips always found Nasir's. Whether they were face to face, with Nasir's lips ready and available, or Nasir's back pressed against him, or his own back pressed against Nasir on the occasion they felt need for change, it did not matter.
All that mattered was that as he spilled his seed, he breathed in Nasir, replacing what was lost of himself with the other man. It was like an even exchange – his seed for Nasir's lips. The loss of himself for the acceptance of Nasir.
And perhaps, just maybe, if he did it often enough, he would find himself, and all of his rough edges smoothed away by the exchange. He would see his impulsiveness spilled and replaced by Nasir's own calm. He would see his passions give way to Nasir's reasons. Perhaps, in this exchange, he would see himself better. Perhaps, in this, he would see himself enough to be worthy of the man who slept in his arms every night, and greeted him with such undeserved warmth. Perhaps, in his kisses, he could communicate what his rudimentary way with words never could.
That he would give all, for just the chance to have a portion of what Nasir could give.