Peter's jeans were around his knees, his cock standing proud in Neal's face. Neal had no clothes on, because that's how Peter liked him: bare -- revealed -- every inch of him available. Peter handled his own cock and stroked it against Neal's cheek. Neal sighed and whispered, "I want it." He was slicking the prolific juice down the long pole of his own dick. "Choke me with it."

Peter fed Neal his cock, the sweat dripping down the middle of his chest with the effort to restrain himself. And as Neal's mouth opened, the moan of pleasure high in his throat, Peter licked his lips, holding back for now the hard thrusts that would come later -- letting his lover just get a taste now, letting Neal feel what it was like to still have some small measure of control -- before it would be taken irrevocably away.