Justin knows it's cold out. It's not deathly cold, they won't freeze in what they're wearing, don't need gloves or mittens or scarves. What they're wearing is fine. For now, at least. Justin's looked into the weather forecast enough to feel confident that they won't wake up at three in the morning, shivering cold with their teeth chattering—it'll be a little cold, but nothing that what they've brought can't handle. That, and they have each other, so unless a freak snowstorm appears from nowhere and weighs down on them, they'll be fine. He's well aware how an erection can feel against cold air, which is why he moves his hand to take a firm grip of him the very moment he hears that moan.
Justin's read a good deal of literature in his time from all different eras. He's read poetry and non-fiction. He's done a lot of reading. He's seen writers talk about the sound of a woman's voice can seem like angels singing or another holy thing blessing the man in love with her, even if she doesn't love him back. Tony's not a woman by any stretch of the imagination, and writers didn't have the freedom to use that same scenario with two men for a damn long time, but the moan and his words are like sacred, beautiful music to his ears. Maybe that's melodramatic, he'll think later, but at the moment? There's nothing else that could sound as good as Tony's breathy reactions during pleasure, be it the very start, the middle, or the end. Justin loves it all, even if he doesn't say as much or make it exceedingly obvious, and it draws a short, chuffed laugh out of him as he works his hand along his length slowly. Eventually, he stops just shy of a proper rhythm, letting his thumb rub the head in circles as he catches his own breath and thinks of what to say.
Tony once said he loved his mouth, sometimes because of the things he used it to say. Something about him always knowing the right thing to say. Justin was not at all perfect. There were flaws and cracks that ran deep and jagged. He didn't want Tony to ever think him perfect. But if it took him a moment to think about what to say, no one could blame him. He wanted to say the right thing for as long as he possibly could.
"Neater, huh." It's far more difficult to sound unruffled when he's quickly on his way to being totally erect himself, but by God does he try. "Anthony, haven't we been over this? If you want me to blow you, just say so. That's—ah—that's neater, isn't it? I swallow, there's no residual evidence. Just slide back a bit and open your legs for me, let me get down here. I'll be completely neat. Promise."
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Justin's read a good deal of literature in his time from all different eras. He's read poetry and non-fiction. He's done a lot of reading. He's seen writers talk about the sound of a woman's voice can seem like angels singing or another holy thing blessing the man in love with her, even if she doesn't love him back. Tony's not a woman by any stretch of the imagination, and writers didn't have the freedom to use that same scenario with two men for a damn long time, but the moan and his words are like sacred, beautiful music to his ears. Maybe that's melodramatic, he'll think later, but at the moment? There's nothing else that could sound as good as Tony's breathy reactions during pleasure, be it the very start, the middle, or the end. Justin loves it all, even if he doesn't say as much or make it exceedingly obvious, and it draws a short, chuffed laugh out of him as he works his hand along his length slowly. Eventually, he stops just shy of a proper rhythm, letting his thumb rub the head in circles as he catches his own breath and thinks of what to say.
Tony once said he loved his mouth, sometimes because of the things he used it to say. Something about him always knowing the right thing to say. Justin was not at all perfect. There were flaws and cracks that ran deep and jagged. He didn't want Tony to ever think him perfect. But if it took him a moment to think about what to say, no one could blame him. He wanted to say the right thing for as long as he possibly could.
"Neater, huh." It's far more difficult to sound unruffled when he's quickly on his way to being totally erect himself, but by God does he try. "Anthony, haven't we been over this? If you want me to blow you, just say so. That's—ah—that's neater, isn't it? I swallow, there's no residual evidence. Just slide back a bit and open your legs for me, let me get down here. I'll be completely neat. Promise."