"I want to taste you," Burr says, as his hand continues to work. "I want to feel it--" without the plastic, without anything between them. Skin to skin.
He's working himself up. The car is moving again, though it will take a while to get to the Bronx from Manhattan. Traffic is at a standstill. Jefferson's windows are tinted, but Burr can see crowds around them, as his hand creeps up the hard outline in Jefferson's pants, pulls the zipper down and slips his hand inside.
Warm. Very warm, and how Jefferson reacts, when Burr takes him in hand, when he works the cock free, exposes it to cool air. A very pretty cock--long, and slender enough to not hurt.
It feels different. More intimate, more new, to have Jefferson's naked cock in his hand, in the middle of a New York street. To work it up and down, to drag the pads of his fingers over the head, sliding back the foreskin. To bend over and taste it.
His seat belt is undone, as he leans over the center console, and props himself in Jefferson's lap. A stretch, but oddly comfortable, to be resting half against his stomach, to have his cock standing there erect before his face. He lets his breath puffs against it, before extending his tongue, giving little tentative licks as his fingers continue to trail up and down.
"Do you like that?" He breathes. "How does it feel? Tell me." Because he wants to hear Jefferson--the hitches in his voice, when Burr leans forward and seals his lips over the head. Not pushing down, but dragging his tongue back and forth in slow, torturous motions.
He hums, a little pleased sound, at the taste of him. At having him in this way, and twists his other hand tight into Jefferson's thigh. Sucks, and slides wet lips lower.
Jefferson's cock twitches, and Burr pulls back, just for a moment, before diving back down. "Good boy," he purrs, petting a hand up and down Jefferson's thigh. "You're doing so well."
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He's working himself up. The car is moving again, though it will take a while to get to the Bronx from Manhattan. Traffic is at a standstill. Jefferson's windows are tinted, but Burr can see crowds around them, as his hand creeps up the hard outline in Jefferson's pants, pulls the zipper down and slips his hand inside.
Warm. Very warm, and how Jefferson reacts, when Burr takes him in hand, when he works the cock free, exposes it to cool air. A very pretty cock--long, and slender enough to not hurt.
It feels different. More intimate, more new, to have Jefferson's naked cock in his hand, in the middle of a New York street. To work it up and down, to drag the pads of his fingers over the head, sliding back the foreskin. To bend over and taste it.
His seat belt is undone, as he leans over the center console, and props himself in Jefferson's lap. A stretch, but oddly comfortable, to be resting half against his stomach, to have his cock standing there erect before his face. He lets his breath puffs against it, before extending his tongue, giving little tentative licks as his fingers continue to trail up and down.
"Do you like that?" He breathes. "How does it feel? Tell me." Because he wants to hear Jefferson--the hitches in his voice, when Burr leans forward and seals his lips over the head. Not pushing down, but dragging his tongue back and forth in slow, torturous motions.
He hums, a little pleased sound, at the taste of him. At having him in this way, and twists his other hand tight into Jefferson's thigh. Sucks, and slides wet lips lower.
Jefferson's cock twitches, and Burr pulls back, just for a moment, before diving back down. "Good boy," he purrs, petting a hand up and down Jefferson's thigh. "You're doing so well."