Usually Luke finds his eyes squeezed shut tightly when he's this close to coming, everything too overwhelming for him to focus on anything but whatever Reid is doing to him, but he can't seem to do anything but stare blindly up at the ceiling and try to wrap his mind around all the sensations he's feeling right now. Something has happened to him, something has been done to him, and he's entirely content to rest all the blame of Reid's wonderful shoulders, because Luke knows he's never felt like this before. He's never had someone care for him like this before, he's never been able to trust someone to love him so completely, not since he was kicked out of Alicante, out of his home, and if that's what is doing this to him, then he's pleased to know it's never going to stop. Whatever it is, however Reid has gotten him this wound up, Luke also feels like it's never going to end, not today, not even when he comes, which he's terribly close to already.
"Spencer," he breathes and he realizes he's near to whispering without even being able to explain why. His hands are still clenched tightly in the sheets and he wants to say more, wants to do more, but it feels like a relatively large part of his brain has just shorted out entirely and is refusing to let him comprehend any of what's going on. Everything inside him just keeps returning to Reid, to how important he is, to what a significant part of Luke's life he's become. They both have so much going for them, they both have careers they enjoy, good friends and even family, but whenever Luke thinks about what makes him truly happen in Darrow, it always returns to Reid. At the moment, the only thing he can think about is how good he feels right in this moment, how perfect everything is and how much he wants to make it last all day. Or maybe the rest of their lives. Reid wants to marry him, after all, he wants to commit himself to Luke in that way and it's that thought that manages to clear through the aroused haze in his mind.
It's the only thought that manages to make it through and then only just. Because Reid's hand is wrapped around his cock, his tongue is in his ass, and Luke is trembling, pleasure rippling through his body. He feels helpless, completely out of control, more deeply surrendered to someone than he's ever been before and it's that thought that sends him tumbling closer to the edge. This is it for him. This is it. This is utter perfection and he wants to reach for Reid and hold him close, but he's barely able to breathe. Making himself move, making his hands work, he knows that's utterly impossible.
He's going to come soon. He's so close, he can feel it building, that tension inside him, the way it makes his entire body feel as if it's pulling tight. He's breathing so hard that his chest is heaving, but he still can't manage to make much noise, Spencer's name spilling out of him over and over at barely more than a whisper. Arching his back, pressing closer, Luke all but freezes when Reid's tongue presses deeper, swipes over sensitive skin, and then he groans, his voice finally breaking out of his throat, the sound long and loud.
"Spencer," he says, his muscle trembling. "Spencer, please, I'm... I'm so close, I'm..." But he's more than just close, he's right here, right on the edge and all his boyfriend has to do is twist his hand in just the right way and Luke is coming, wracked with it, his muscles tensing nearly to the point of pain. He lets out a strangled cry, gasping for air, riding the wave of pleasure and his eyes are still wide open, still staring up at the ceiling, seeing nothing.
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"Spencer," he breathes and he realizes he's near to whispering without even being able to explain why. His hands are still clenched tightly in the sheets and he wants to say more, wants to do more, but it feels like a relatively large part of his brain has just shorted out entirely and is refusing to let him comprehend any of what's going on. Everything inside him just keeps returning to Reid, to how important he is, to what a significant part of Luke's life he's become. They both have so much going for them, they both have careers they enjoy, good friends and even family, but whenever Luke thinks about what makes him truly happen in Darrow, it always returns to Reid. At the moment, the only thing he can think about is how good he feels right in this moment, how perfect everything is and how much he wants to make it last all day. Or maybe the rest of their lives. Reid wants to marry him, after all, he wants to commit himself to Luke in that way and it's that thought that manages to clear through the aroused haze in his mind.
It's the only thought that manages to make it through and then only just. Because Reid's hand is wrapped around his cock, his tongue is in his ass, and Luke is trembling, pleasure rippling through his body. He feels helpless, completely out of control, more deeply surrendered to someone than he's ever been before and it's that thought that sends him tumbling closer to the edge. This is it for him. This is it. This is utter perfection and he wants to reach for Reid and hold him close, but he's barely able to breathe. Making himself move, making his hands work, he knows that's utterly impossible.
He's going to come soon. He's so close, he can feel it building, that tension inside him, the way it makes his entire body feel as if it's pulling tight. He's breathing so hard that his chest is heaving, but he still can't manage to make much noise, Spencer's name spilling out of him over and over at barely more than a whisper. Arching his back, pressing closer, Luke all but freezes when Reid's tongue presses deeper, swipes over sensitive skin, and then he groans, his voice finally breaking out of his throat, the sound long and loud.
"Spencer," he says, his muscle trembling. "Spencer, please, I'm... I'm so close, I'm..." But he's more than just close, he's right here, right on the edge and all his boyfriend has to do is twist his hand in just the right way and Luke is coming, wracked with it, his muscles tensing nearly to the point of pain. He lets out a strangled cry, gasping for air, riding the wave of pleasure and his eyes are still wide open, still staring up at the ceiling, seeing nothing.