When Tom opens his mouth, when he actually tries to catch it on his tongue, it's too much. He can't see anymore. He moans, low and thick, and when his eyes fall closed the hand cupping the back of Tom's head turns gentler, encouraging.

Fuck, he's wanted this for so long. And felt sure that he shouldn't want it. Felt that it's close to blasphemy.

It still feels like that, a little.

It starts to fade. He can open his eyes again. Slowly his hand loosens, combs forward through Tom's hair and trails over his cheekbone to his chin, slicking his fingers. He stays that way for a second, breathing hard, and then steps back, falling onto the mattress, sitting up with his fingers moving up to his parted lips. Tasting himself.