Part of Freddie wants Philip to finish his sentence, to tell Freddie in just that particular, strained tone of voice what exactly Freddie is.
But he doesn't need it, really. He can feel it in the hard coil of Philip's muscles under his palm, the stutter of his hips as he arches forward, sliding further into the heat of Freddie's mouth, the wide of his eyes where he keeps his gaze locked on Freddie the entire time.
Freddie hums in response, lips wrapped tight around the thick of him, eyes fluttering at the tight clench of Philip's fingers in his hair. He makes a show of sliding back, slurping noisily though not loudly enough to actually be heard. Not unless someone's wandering the garden, that is. Still, the idea that someone might is thrilling all on its own and Freddie presses in harder, sucks deeper, hollowing his cheeks in an effort to draw more noise from Philip, to feel him thrusting deeper, to make him come down Freddie's throat.
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But he doesn't need it, really. He can feel it in the hard coil of Philip's muscles under his palm, the stutter of his hips as he arches forward, sliding further into the heat of Freddie's mouth, the wide of his eyes where he keeps his gaze locked on Freddie the entire time.
Freddie hums in response, lips wrapped tight around the thick of him, eyes fluttering at the tight clench of Philip's fingers in his hair. He makes a show of sliding back, slurping noisily though not loudly enough to actually be heard. Not unless someone's wandering the garden, that is. Still, the idea that someone might is thrilling all on its own and Freddie presses in harder, sucks deeper, hollowing his cheeks in an effort to draw more noise from Philip, to feel him thrusting deeper, to make him come down Freddie's throat.