The first thin stripe of his own spend to trickle down his wrist caught him by surprise — like the jolt that followed having misjudged a dismount in the dark. Arthur's low, rumbling voice repeating his desire was the last thing Erron heard before the second and then the third scorched their way out of him. A small, distant part of him was dimly aware of the way he snarled like a wounded animal around a mouthful of Arthur's neck as his vision whited out and then went dark, but the greater concerned itself only with the harsh, erratic squeeze of his fist wringing himself out.

Raw, sharply oversensitive nerves alerted him to Arthur’s own climax seconds before the telltale swell of his cock. Erron could just about sense it rising right up out of him from somewhere deep in his gut all the way to his lips a long and rattling groan that dragged a punched out sound out of him, too. Each searing line of Arthur’s spend felt molten against his bare skin; ran down his chest to pool in the shallow divot of his navel as he pressed a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses just under the point of Arthur’s jaw.

Erron coaxed the pleasure from them both with his hands until the friction became just shy of unbearable, carefully slipped them away when Arthur got to shuddering just to languish a while in the feeling that he might shake apart. A private, secret part of him wondered if he might not have been broken — hadn’t never been with another man that liked being messed with after the fact before to know for sure. All Erron knew for sure was that it felt good to tease himself ‘til he wanted to holler and shout and jump right out of his own skin.

“Made a mess a you, now, didn’t I?” Erron murmured upon regaining his breath and faculties both, his smile slow and unmistakably wolfish above the most recent of the reddening crescent weals along the side of Arthur’s neck.