[Matt murmurs sweet nonsense against Lance's ear, one arm still around him, stroking up and down his shivering back, tracing the line of his spine, waiting for the aftershocks to abate before he moves his fingers again. He knows from experience that Lance can go again, that every climax will make him want more, crave it on a bone-deep, instinctive level, until he's mindlessly helpless at the mercy of his own desire. Perhaps it's wrong, morally, objectively, to get him addicted like this.

Then again, Matt gave up morals a while back. Instead he presses closer, letting Lance feel the curve of his body, the heaviness of his stomach, his chest, the warmth and softness that beckons for touching, exploration. He thumbs over Lance's clit again, softer, a whisper of sensation to undercut his words:] You've wanted him for a while, haven't you? I know, I remember how it is. Have you imagined being underneath him, in his lap, riding him? Have you imagined those hands on you, that voice in your ear?

[He presses a line of kisses along Lance's heated skin, down his neck to his shoulder, starts moving his hand again, wanting to make this sweet, helpless boy come at his touch again.] Have you imagined him fucking you, Lance?