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Joss’s apartment was quiet, but not silent. There was something in the air—a sweet aroma hanging thin yet sticky, filling Gawin’s lungs the moment he opened the door. Vanilla. Butter. Sugar beginning to darken at the edges of a pan. A scent that rarely appeared in Joss’s kitchen, especially at night. Warm, soft, like an unspoken invitation.
Gawin raised an eyebrow, hesitating for a moment at the threshold. His guitar bag still hung from his shoulder, oversized T-shirt, shorts clinging to his thighs. He had just come home from practice, too tired to think, let alone be suspicious. But the smell—and the dim light from inside—slowed his steps, made him careful. As if something were waiting for him.
Gawin stepped in, slowly closing the door behind him. The hinge sounded too loud. The living room lights were off; only a few small candles on the dining table glowed softly, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Golden light reflected off the wooden floor, making the space feel warmer, tighter. More intimate.
For a moment, Gawin thought this might be some kind of surprise. But they had agreed—no party. No big celebration. Joss himself had said he still had to finish his last bit of work tonight; maybe if there was time they could order food and watch a movie together.
But then Gawin saw him. And every sane thought stopped dead.
Joss stood in the kitchen, his back to him. Barefoot, that tall body wore nothing but a plain black apron—and from the angle Gawin had, it was clear there was nothing underneath. Bare legs. An exposed back. The apron strings crossed his shoulder blades, framing a broad back and a narrow waist Gawin knew by heart.
Yellow light from the stove washed over his side. There was flour on his hands, some clinging to his elbows and wrists. His cheeks weren’t spared—a pale dusting of white sugar marked them, whether intentionally or not.
When Joss turned, that sweet smile appeared. Complete with the dimples Gawin adored. Slightly crooked. Slightly wicked. Infuriatingly perfect.
“Took you long enough, birthday boy.”
Joss’s voice was low, lazy, but there was something beneath it. Something vibrating. Like he knew exactly what he was doing—and was savoring every second of Gawin frozen in place.
Gawin opened his mouth. Then closed it again. His brain went blank. His eyes stayed locked, trying to process. Joss, the bastard, started walking closer instead. His steps were slow. Smooth. His hips moved with a small rhythm that was far too deliberate, yet looked effortless. Every inch of skin visible through the apron felt like a visual trap. Broad shoulders. A neck damp with a hint of sweat. A chest rising and falling slowly as he laughed.
Gawin only managed to speak once Joss was just a few steps away.
“What is this?” he murmured, voice a little rough. “You cooked? By yourself?”
“Cake,” Joss answered casually. “Been making it since noon. But that’s not your real present.”
His tone was far too light for what it meant. Joss stepped closer again. Gawin could smell his skin now—a mix of sugar, vanilla, and the body wash he always used. Warm. Familiar. Tempting. And before Gawin could pull back or ask anything else, Joss took his hand.
The touch was gentle. Cool fingertips, maybe from washing his hands. Joss guided Gawin’s hand to his own hip, pressing it to the lower edge of the apron—and the skin beneath was completely bare. Warm. Soft. Instantly scorching.
“Want to open it now?” Joss whispered, his voice dropping an octave. “Or should I make you beg before you get to enjoy dessert?”
Gawin sucked in a sharp breath, his throat tightening. His eyes dropped instinctively, to the fold of fabric that clung far too tightly to the front of Joss. His breathing had already grown heavy.
“Fuck..” Gawin hissed. “..you’re serious?”
Joss chuckled softly, a low sound that echoed straight into Gawin’s chest. Then, like a magician, he slipped a hand behind the apron and pulled out a strip of thin black fabric—soft satin, neatly rolled.
Joss waved it in front of Gawin’s face, then stepped closer.
“Blindfold first,” he said. “The best things are worth waiting for.”
Gawin didn’t move. His eyes searched Joss’s face for a sign, a hint of a joke—but there was none. Joss was serious. And more than that—he was enjoying this. The control. The dominance. The way Gawin was caught off guard, unprepared, and utterly undone by nothing more than steps and touch.
Joss moved behind Gawin, his body brushing slowly along his side. The fabric circled up to Gawin’s eyes, gently, the edge touching his temple first, like it was asking permission.
Gawin nodded, barely perceptible. And then everything went dark.
The satin was soft. Far too soft to be this cruel. Joss tied it slowly from behind. The ends were tucked carefully at Gawin’s temples, then wrapped once, twice, until the entire world disappeared into blackness. No light, no color—just his own ragged breathing, and the heat of Joss’s body so close.
The final knot was tightened. Joss didn’t say anything, but Gawin could feel his smile. Especially when Joss’s lips brushed lightly against the side of his face, almost a kiss. Almost.
Gawin swallowed. His entire body tensed, like he was waiting for something he couldn’t see coming.
“Walk slowly,” Joss whispered, his voice nearly touching Gawin’s ear. “Follow me.”
Joss’s hand closed around Gawin’s wrist, guiding him back a few steps. Gawin obeyed. He could hear the soft creak of the wooden floor. The scent of vanilla and sugar grew thicker. The air felt warmer too—heavier.
After a few steps, Joss stopped. He led Gawin into the bedroom.
“Sit,” he said gently.
Joss’s hand pressed lightly between Gawin’s shoulder blades until he felt the edge of the bed touch the backs of his knees. Gawin sat down slowly, both hands braced at his sides. Their bed was soft, familiar—but like this, blindfolded and guided, everything felt strange.
There was movement in front of him. Then two hands touched his knees, sliding slowly up his thighs, pressing just enough to steal Gawin’s breath. Joss knelt before him, his face surely very close to the shorts now clearly tented between Gawin’s legs.
“This shirt.. is too big,” Joss murmured, as if to himself. “But easy to take off.”
Joss’s fingers hooked under the hem of Gawin’s T-shirt, lifting the fabric slowly. His touch was unhurried, tracing over the skin of Gawin’s stomach, up along his ribs. Gawin’s breathing went ragged. He could feel the shirt starting to cling to his skin with sweat—and Joss seemed to deliberately trace it slower than necessary.
The shirt was finally pulled up, over Gawin’s head, then stripped away completely. The air of the room brushed his chest, making his nipples harden instantly. And Joss stayed silent. Still watching him, surely. Gawin could picture it—those eyes, those lips, with traces of sugar cream still on his cheek, savoring every reaction his body gave.
“Take off your shorts, or should I do it?” Joss asked, his calm lethal.
Gawin bit his lip. “..you do it.”
Joss let out a small laugh. His hands moved to the waistband of Gawin’s shorts. The first tug was deliberately slow—fingertips tracing the skin of his hips, brushing the line of his inner thighs. The shorts slid down gradually, along with the thin underwear beneath, and Gawin knew Joss could see just how hard he was now.
His cock strained, exposed to the cooler air of the room. Gawin drew in a slow breath, holding back a sound. Joss kissed the crease of his thigh. One side, then the other. Not touching anything sensitive. Not touching what Gawin needed. His lips were wet, soft, intentionally too light.
“Already this worked up?”
“And we haven’t even started yet.”
Gawin growled softly.
“Joss..”
“Relax, babe. Patience.”
Joss stood up. The clothes he’d stripped from Gawin were left pooled on the floor. Gawin’s body was now bare on the bed, eyes covered, breathing uneven. But he didn’t move. Didn’t resist. Didn’t touch.
Joss wasn’t done. His hands returned to Gawin’s shoulders, then gently pushed him back until his spine rested against the headboard. Cool sheets met naked skin, making him shiver. He didn’t know where Joss was now—only felt the mattress shift softly, then stillness.
“Your hands,” Joss’s voice came again, close. “Lift them up.”
Gawin obeyed. His arms lifted, bent above his head. Then something wrapped around his left wrist. Fabric. Thick. Cool.
Joss pulled the tie toward the right side of the bed, fastening it to the headboard. Then he took the other hand and did the same on the left. Not too tight. But enough. Enough to keep Gawin from lowering them. From touching. From protecting himself. All he could do was take it.
A light ringing filled his ears. Then a new sound. The scrape of a glass bowl dragged across the wooden surface of the small bedside table. A metal spoon stirring something. The scent of cream grew stronger. Sugar. Vanilla. Butter. And Gawin’s breath began to hitch.
Joss climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped softly. Gawin could feel the weight of that body moving over him—kneeling astride him. The air around him warmed.
Silence. No sound but Gawin’s increasingly unsteady breathing. He caught the ticking of the clock on the nightstand. Everything else felt smothered by Joss’s quiet.
“Open your mouth.”
The voice was soft. Deep. Undeniable. Gawin parted his lips. Hesitant, but wide enough.
Something cold touched his tongue. Sweet. Thick. Buttercream. Rich, dense vanilla melting slowly over his tongue. Then fingers. Two of Joss’s fingers slid in gently, making Gawin’s lips close reflexively around them, licking sugar cream straight from Joss’s own skin.
“Good boy,” Joss murmured, that low voice almost a caress. His fingers slipped free with a soft, wet sound.
“Now keep that tongue out. You’ve got work to do.”
The bed shifted. Gawin could feel Joss moving—weight changing, air shifting, warmth drawing closer and higher. And then, the blindfold was removed.
Dim light turned the world soft, like washed gold shadows. Gawin blinked, his eyes adjusting. His breath caught instantly in his throat.
Joss. Kneeling over him. Thighs spread on either side of Gawin’s hips, sitting upright in full command. The apron was gone. Joss was completely naked, his skin warm and flushed under the light, his chest smeared with sugar cream—messy, sweet, obscene.
His nipples gleamed beneath a thin coating of buttercream. A small mound sat at the center of his chest, then a sticky line trailed down his stomach—following the sharp lines of muscle, disappearing between his thighs. The insides of his thighs glistened too—soft cream mixed with edible glitter, glowing faintly every time he shifted.
“Happy birthday, G,” Joss said, lips curving with sin. “Lick it clean if you want your present.”
Gawin swallowed. Hard. His throat was dry. His hands tugged uselessly at the bindings above his head—not to escape, but desperate to touch. But all he could do was look. And hold himself back.
“Fuck, Joss—”
“I said: lick, not whine.”
Then Joss leaned down. His body lowered slowly, and that cream-covered chest pressed to Gawin’s face—soft, but leaving an immediate imprint. Sweet sugar cream mixed with the heat of skin. The scent hit him, and Gawin couldn’t stop himself.
He stuck out his tongue, licking along the side of Joss’s chest—starting beneath the collarbone, closing his mouth around a thicker spot of cream near the nipple. Joss exhaled sharply. His hands braced against the headboard behind Gawin’s head. His body trembled faintly.
“Start from the top,” Joss whispered. “And don’t miss a single spot.”
Gawin followed the command diligently, his tongue gliding slowly from the top of Joss’s chest downward. He licked melting cream from the side of Joss’s neck, tasting the salty-sweet skin beneath. Then he moved to the left nipple, drawing it into his mouth slowly, making Joss groan softly and bite his own lip.
Joss was clearly sensitive. Every sweep of Gawin’s tongue, every pull of his mouth, made Joss’s hips tense reflexively above him. His hands briefly clenched the sheets, then returned to either side of Gawin’s head, as if fighting to keep control.
Gawin didn’t stop. He shifted to the right side of Joss’s chest, licking the ring of sugar cream around his nipple, then kissing it, drawing it deeper until Joss closed his eyes and took a long breath.
“A–Ah—fuck..” Joss muttered, more to himself than to Gawin.
The cream melted instantly against hot skin, sweet and thick, clinging to the corners of Gawin’s mouth. He pressed in deeper, licked wider—flattening his tongue against Joss’s sternum until he reached the peak. He paused. Looked up. Joss was watching him, head tipped slightly back, jaw tight. Trying to stay dominant. Trying to hide the sharp inhale that slipped free the first time Gawin’s tongue touched him.
Gawin gave a small grin. Then he took Joss’s nipple back into his mouth slowly, wet and gentle, cream and skin melting together on his tongue. Joss’s body jerked.
“F—uck—” he whispered, hips instinctively pushing forward, both hands braced on the headboard. The smirk on his face cracked for a moment, lips parted with a trembling breath.
Gawin could feel it—how Joss shook above him. He smiled softly.
“Sensitive?” he whispered, lips brushing over Joss’s slick skin.
Joss’s gaze sharpened as it dropped downward, his eyes dark and sharp, but there was a crack there—his cock was already hard, pressing into Gawin’s stomach with undeniable heat.
“Gawin—” it sounded almost like a warning. But also almost like a plea.
Gawin kept looking up, mouth wet, chin sticky with sugar.
“Still want me to behave?” Gawin asked. His voice was low, his breath hot. Even Joss’s twitching cock could feel it—already leaking, flushed and frozen at the tip.
Joss swallowed. Hard. His chest rose and fell quickly.
“If you want your real gift..” Joss whispered, “..you’re gonna have to earn it. Every. Inch.”
Lower again. Gawin moved closer, following the trail of cream down the center of Joss’s chest and lower, licking along the curve of his abs. Joss’s stomach tightened every time the warm tip of Gawin’s tongue swept over his skin. At the center was a larger dollop of sugar cream already beginning to melt. Gawin took it into his mouth, licking it slowly while looking up again—watching Joss struggle to hold back a sound.
“Gawin..” Joss’s voice nearly trembled. “Slow—down—”
But Gawin didn’t listen. He grew bolder instead. Bent lower. His tongue traveled down, closer to the hips, then traced along Joss’s side where the sweet remnants lingered. Joss writhed softly, his hips reflexively moving in slow rolls over Gawin’s body, making the friction between their skin increasingly unbearable.
Gawin kissed the lower stomach, licked along the final line of cream that led to the thigh. And there, on the inside of Joss’s thigh, sugar cream still clung—glittering with fine shimmer.
Gawin licked it without hesitation, one side first, then the other. Joss bit his lip until it reddened, eyes squeezed shut, his body giving a small tremor. Every sweep of the tongue felt like a sting.
When Gawin licked just beneath the crease of Joss’s thigh, Joss couldn’t hold back anymore. His hips rocked gently, and the cock that had been hard for so long now throbbed, sticky, demanding attention.
But Gawin still couldn’t touch. His hands remained bound, his body tight with frustration. And Joss was still above him, that naked body now trembling subtly from too much sensation.
“Someone’s frustrated, huh?” Joss whispered, his voice heavy with uneven breath. “Patience, baby. You’re just getting started.”
Gawin hadn’t even been able to truly take in the sight before him—Joss completely naked, thighs spread wide framing his hips, his cock hard and gleaming with melted sugar cream. Joss straightened. His rigid cock now hovered right in front of Gawin’s face. He slipped two fingers under Gawin’s chin and lifted his face.
“You know what to do.”
Still bound, breathing hard, Gawin didn’t answer. He simply opened his mouth, leaned forward, and licked the thick stripe of buttercream on the head of Joss’s cock. Warm. Melting instantly on his tongue, turning into a sweet-salty mix against hot skin.
Joss’s thighs tensed immediately.
“Fff—uck,” he breathed, his hips jerking forward slightly. “God, your mouth..”
Gawin licked again, slower this time, teasing. Then he sucked at the tip—just the tip—his tongue circling lazily, tasting sugar and skin, a soft bitterness that intoxicated.
He couldn’t hold Joss. Couldn’t guide him. He could only surrender completely—mouth open, lips wet, eyes locked on Joss’s face.
Joss began to break. His hands braced again on the headboard, right beside Gawin’s head. His body writhed. He tried to keep his voice steady, but every time Gawin’s tongue swept the most sensitive underside, his voice cracked.
“That tongue’s going to kill me,” Joss muttered, his voice shaking. “You love making me fall apart, don’t you?”
Gawin groaned softly around him, mouth wet, busy working. He sucked harder, lips tightening as he took more, greedy and messy. Cream melted down his chin. Onto his neck. Between their bodies.
Joss groaned, gripping Gawin’s hair, holding his head—not rough, but firm enough to make control unmistakable.
“Don’t stop,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
But when Gawin drew a deep, wet pull—strong and thorough—Joss jolted, hard. Nearly losing control. His thighs shook in front of Gawin’s body, his cock throbbing violently inside that hot mouth. His head dipped, nearly touching Gawin’s forehead, lips parted in a soundless moan.
“Shit—shit—you’re gonna make me—”
He pulled away fast. There was a wet pop, and Gawin gasped, left breathless—chin slick, lips swollen, lungs burning. He looked up, dazed and wrecked, wrists still bound tight.
Joss looked down at him, breathing heavy. His cock still throbbed, slick with saliva, cream, and tension yet unreleased.
“You thought that was your gift?” Joss said low, teasing. “Mm-mm. I’m not done playing with my food.”
And he proved it. Joss didn’t give him a pause. Still astride Gawin’s bound body, he lowered himself. Sat comfortably on Gawin. Began to roll his hips—slowly, deliberately. His hard cock slid against Gawin’s stomach, leaving sticky trails of cream and spit on warm skin. Gawin groaned low, his body tensing as if to buck, but he still couldn’t move.
Joss smiled, slowed his rhythm, then rolled his hips downward, tracing the thin lines of Gawin’s abs until he finally brushed the tip of Gawin’s own cock. Both of them hard, hot, pulsing. The friction was slow, but it stole Gawin’s breath outright.
“Fuck,” Gawin hissed, eyes squeezing shut. “Joss—”
Joss didn’t answer. He just smirked, kept grinding himself slowly. Up to the stomach, down to the thighs, then back to the most punishing point—Gawin’s cock, aching from being hard for too long.
And just as Gawin began to shake, on the edge of desperation, Joss pulled back slightly. Still straddling Gawin, but now upright, his hand reaching to the side of the bed—retrieving the bowl of cream he’d prepared earlier.
His gaze dropped, piercing straight into Gawin’s eyes, already glossy with frustration.
“Watch,” he said softly. “Eyes on me.”
With two fingers, he scooped sweet cream from the bowl—thick and soft, white and gleaming at the tips. Then, slowly, Joss brought it behind his own body.
Gawin froze.
“Joss..” he whispered, almost pleading. But Joss only let out a soft breath. One hand braced on Gawin’s thigh, while the other spread the cream into the cleft of his own ass. His movements were slow, sensual. Then, with slick fingers, he touched himself—gentle, slipping in just a little, then out, then in again.
His body arched forward slightly. Lips parted. Breath hitching.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself.
Gawin could only stare. Bound. Unable to touch, unable to stop anything. All he could do was watch as Joss bit his lip, his hand working slowly—stretching himself open, his body trembling every time his fingers pushed deeper.
The cream was already a mess, running down his thighs, onto the sheets. But Joss didn’t care. He was lost in it. Gawin could only whimper, his body rigid, nearly unhinged.
“Joss, please..” Gawin finally breathed, desperate. “Let me touch you.”
Joss ignored him. He only tilted his head slightly, then reached for the bowl of cream again. His hand sank into the soft mixture, then he smeared a thick stripe across his chest—over his flushed nipples, down his stomach, and finally circling his hard cock. Gawin nearly choked just watching. Then Joss climbed back over him.
“You don’t get to touch,” Joss whispered, his knees bracing again on either side of Gawin’s hips. “But I do.”
He pressed his body into Gawin’s—chest to chest, sugar cream between them turning into warm, sweet slick—and began to grind.
The friction was torture. Joss’s cock dragged over Gawin’s stomach, hot, wet with cream and pre-cum. Gawin could only stifle a moan, his body tight with unbearable need.
“You feel that?” Joss whispered into Gawin’s ear. “So warm.. so tight underneath me. And you can’t do a damn thing.”
Joss exhaled sharply, a deep, hungry sound, then pressed his cream-smeared nipple to Gawin’s chest—rubbing it fast, shallow. Then he slid higher, dragging it along Gawin’s jaw.
By reflex, Gawin tried to catch it with his mouth, but Joss pulled back just in time.
“Nope,” he breathed, heavy. “Just your body. That’s all I need right now.”
Joss ground harder. Faster. One hand braced on Gawin’s chest, his body lowering as he chased his edge. His cock rubbed hard against Gawin’s slick, sticky skin. Every movement made them both wetter, hotter.
“You always look so fucking pretty when you’re helpless,” Joss murmured, his breath nearly breaking.
Then he dipped two fingers back into the bowl of cream, scooping up a handful and spreading it between his thighs—slow, sensual, until his fingertips brushed the entrance of his own body. Again.
Gawin held his breath.
“J–Joss—what the fuck—”
“Shhh.” Joss turned around, now facing away from Gawin, back arched, ass lifted into the air.
“Eyes on me.”
And with one deep inhale, he pushed a finger inside—cream and all his resolve. A soft moan slipped from his lips. Then another finger. His movements were slow, teasing, his body rocking in time with his hand.
“You like watching?” he hissed, glancing back.
Gawin’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
“Bet you wish it was your cock, huh?” Joss added, his voice starting to shake, fingers moving faster. “Bet you’re dying to fuck me full of frosting, ruin me on your birthday.”
Gawin whimpered softly. His back arched, hands clenched tight, his cock throbbing hard against his own stomach.
Joss turned back and sat down on Gawin again, knees planted on either side of his thighs. Without warning, he rolled his hips down. Cock met cock.
Skin slick with cream and bodily fluids, hot and full of friction. Gawin arched off the bed, his body so tense it felt ready to shatter. He was trapped, forced to feel every inch of Joss’s body grinding against his—from tip to tip.
“Fuck—fucking hell, Joss—please—”
“What?” Joss panted, one hand still between his own thighs, the other gripping Gawin’s chest. “Can’t handle it?”
Joss lifted his hips just enough to press his ass directly against Gawin’s cock. Not taking it in. Just rubbing. Up and down. Smearing cream and pre-cum between them.
“Joss.. you’re twitching,” Gawin gasped. “God—you’re so hard it’s like you’re gonna burst—”
Joss’s body shuddered, his hips still grinding as his release spilled hot between them, mixing with sweet sugar cream, coating Gawin’s stomach and chest. Joss nearly collapsed, hands shaking as he caught himself after climax. His lips brushed Gawin’s ear.
“Still hard?” Joss whispered, checking on Gawin’s restrained state.
“Still desperate?”
Gawin could only nod, breathless. Dazed by the erotic spectacle that had just unfolded above him.
“Good,” Joss growled.
He reached back, wrapping his hand around Gawin’s cock—hard, hot, throbbing violently. Joss lifted himself, guiding it toward his own body.
“Then you’re gonna let me fuck myself on this cock until you scream.”
Gawin barely had time to protest before Joss finally lowered himself. Hot. Tight. Slick with melting sugar cream. Joss sank down slowly, taking every inch of Gawin’s hard cock with movements that trembled. His thighs shook—whether from the recent climax, the renewed stimulation, or the deliberate cruelty, even he might not have known.
“Fuuuck—” Gawin’s head slammed back into the headboard, his body arching as far as it could. Being swallowed after all that torment nearly made him come right then. “Joss—God—”
But Joss didn’t hear him. Or rather, he couldn’t. He was too far gone.
“So—fucking—deep—” Joss muttered in broken gasps as he finally sat fully down, Gawin’s cock buried completely inside him. His body trembled, his back curving forward, hands braced on Gawin’s shoulders for balance. “God, I can feel you everywhere.”
Gawin shook. The sweet scent of cream, hot sweat, and ragged breath filled the air. Between their bodies, leftover sugar cream and spilled cum slid together—making wet, sticky sounds every time Joss’s chest pressed to Gawin’s. Their skin fused in a sweet, messy, soaked chaos.
Then Joss began to move. Slowly. Deeply. Rolling his hips, lifting and lowering himself in a punishing rhythm. The muscles inside him clenched every time he sank down, each drag of friction lashing pleasure across Gawin’s already screaming nerves.
Gawin swore softly, his body arching.
“Untie me—fuck, let me touch you—”
“No.” Joss’s voice was low, almost cracked. “You’ll stay like this. Feel everything.”
He drove his body down harder, thigh slapping against thigh, a moan torn from Gawin’s lips like a curse left unfinished. Joss rode him with a rhythm full of control—deep enough to wreck him, slow enough to torture.
“You made me come fast,” Joss breathed, his fingers gripping Gawin’s shoulders tighter. “Time for you to suffer.”
Every grind thickened the layer of cream between their bodies. Their chests stuck together. Their breaths tangled. Joss’s hips rolled down with growing need—eyes closed, mouth half open.
Gawin was close to losing control—his cock pulsing inside Joss, every squeeze making it harder to hold on.
“I—Joss—I’m not gonna last—”
“Don’t.” Joss leaned forward, his body pressed fully to Gawin’s sticky chest. “Don’t you dare come until I say.”
The movement changed—harder, faster, fueled by anger and want all at once. Gawin clenched his teeth, swallowing a cry. The bindings at his wrists were nearly painful now, but they were nothing compared to the sweet agony flooding his body.
“Please—please—I need to—”
“No.”
Joss slid one hand between their faces, gripping Gawin’s jaw firmly, forcing him to look up.
“Not until I come on your cock. Not until I feel you lose it inside me.”
And he started riding again. Harder. Wilder. The rhythm was chaotic, his breath heavy, the sound of their bodies colliding like shattered music. Joss’s cock rubbed against Gawin’s stomach, leaving wet streaks of cream and remnants of his earlier climax. His thighs trembled. His body glistened with sweat and dim bedroom light.
Joss came. His body arched back, arms shaking, his cock spilling its last over Gawin’s stomach and across their chests. The muscles inside him clenched viciously around Gawin’s cock.
And that was enough.
“Fuck—Joss—”
Gawin cried out, his body bowing, his cock pulsing in a deep, long rush of heat. He filled Joss completely, breath locked in his chest, eyes wide before he finally collapsed back onto the bed, wrecked. They fell together. Sticky. Wet. Ruined.
Joss folded down, his face buried in the hollow of Gawin’s neck, his breathing still uneven. Gawin was still bound, chest rising and falling, eyes half-lidded.
“..that was my gift?” Gawin whispered softly.
Joss laughed quietly. Spent. But satisfied.
“That..” he murmured, “..was foreplay.”
Joss’s body was still trembling. He was still straddling Gawin, not yet letting go of the cock buried inside him. His thighs shook, his body still too sensitive. Every small movement from Gawin made him flinch—breath catching, a soft whine slipping from his throat.
Joss’s body should have given out. But slowly, his hand reached up, toward the knot of satin at Gawin’s wrist. His fingers trembled, but sure. One by one, the knots came undone. The fabric slid down Gawin’s skin like a silent apology.
“You okay?” His head was still bowed when he asked softly.
Gawin didn’t answer right away. Once he was free, his arms fell limp. But only for a moment. His left hand immediately gripped Joss’s waist. The right traced along his back, supporting the body that was close to collapsing. Joss startled—still too sensitive—and gasped, but didn’t resist.
Then—Gawin moved.
With one swift motion and a low sound like a rough groan pulled from his chest, Gawin flipped them. Joss landed on the bed—his back against the rumpled sheets still warm beneath him. His breath came fast, eyes wide. He was still full, still holding Gawin inside him. Still wrapped around Gawin, who was now above him.
But Gawin didn’t thrust. Didn’t take. He just looked at him. Joss looked back—eyes wide, breath unsteady. Waiting. Expecting retaliation.
What came instead was a hand. Cupping his cheek. And a kiss. Slow. Deep. Warm. Unrushed. Untamed by urgency. Like gratitude spoken through lips.
Joss melted. His hands lifted, weakly clutching Gawin’s back. The sticky cream between their bodies no longer mattered. Nothing remained but breath, warmth, and the feeling of being loved. When they finally pulled apart, Gawin pressed his forehead to Joss’s.
“Thank you,” he whispered, eyes closed. “For everything. For this. For you.”
Joss drew a long breath, his body still trembling. His eyes were soft, fully open to Gawin.
“You’re welcome, birthday boy.”