Mitch's mouth on his neck is almost better than on his lips, though it leaves J unsure of what to do with his mouth and with nothing to muffle the noises Mitch pulls out of him. Short, sharp little moans and breathy laughter often cut short in his throat.

He feels that hand between them and his body moves on its own to seek Mitch's touch. J surprises himself with how much he wants this again. The fear and confusion are so much less now and he accepts this all so much more easily. He's ashamed, on some strange level, but it feels good and shame isn't something he's good at. Mitch's teeth dig in and nothing else matters. J gasps and cries out, one hand finding its way to knot in Mitch's hair and hold that mouth to his throat.