poised on the stand that would keep their faces out of the frame, and Simon stared at it a long time.
There was no preamble for this one, no discussion. Rocco set Simon in the middle of the room, then pushed the button. The red light glowed—a beacon, a reminder of what this part was. Then there were hands. Large fingers tugged at his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head, dropping his jeans to the floor. Normally, Rocco remained dressed. At best, his throbbing erection was seen tenting his pants, but this time he took Simon’s hands and set them at his waist.
He said nothing, signed nothing, but he didn’t need to. Simon worked, driven by instinct and desire to have all of Rocco naked in front of him, to be the one to control the moment when the rest of the world would see him naked.
There were pieces of this Simon wanted to keep for himself, but having this control was filling him with a desperation he wasn’t expecting.
Rocco looked around, then he turned Simon away from the camera. His hard cock pushed between Simon’s thighs, thrusting into the dry heat only for a moment. Rocco let out a soft grunt, then pulled away and used his hands to ease Simon down onto all fours.
They hadn’t talked about this, they hadn’t discussed what Rocco planned to do with him during this last filming, but it didn’t matter. He trusted Rocco. He dropped his forehead to the bed, feeling both shameless and a little scared to be on display. Rocco was sitting off to the side, and Simon knew his ass was fully exposed.
Rocco’s hand curved over it, squeezing, kneading. His other joined, and Simon felt hot air over his hole when Rocco suddenly spread his cheeks wide. Then there was a finger—or maybe a thumb. It was huge, and a little rough, and wet because Rocco had licked it. It swirled through his whorls of untamed hair, then pushed—just enough, just to remind Simon he could slip inside, before it was gone.
Simon let out a sharp moan at the loss, but the empty feeling didn’t last. His body was zinging with pleasure, but he wasn’t close. Just days ago, he would have come by now. He would have come downstairs when Rocco was sucking hickies onto his neck—but now…it was more. He was ready—restrained.
His cock hung thick and weeping between his legs, but it would take effort this time. Rocco didn’t seem to mind though. He let out a low chuckle as he pressed his finger against Simon’s hole once more—then, without warning, a tongue replaced it.
Simon let out a shout—of surprise, of ecstasy, of need. His elbows shook and gave way and his whole upper body fell to the bed. Rocco kept his lower half up though with firm hands bracketing his hips like parentheses, as his tongue devoured him from the inside out.
It was too much and not enough, and perfect and imperfect, all at once.
It was as close to God as he might ever feel—the way his heart soared, and his head spun, and his heart raced.
“Please.” He wasn’t supposed to talk, mostly because it wouldn’t matter, Rocco couldn’t hear him, and being on all fours like this, he couldn’t sign. But he couldn’t stop himself from begging anyway. “Please.”
He was close—he was close, he was…
He was coming. He was fucking backward against Rocco’s face, the orgasm almost wrong because he wasn’t full enough, but he couldn’t stop it. He sobbed as Rocco plunged his tongue deeper, swirling it around, leaving him sopping wet with spit.
As he shook, Rocco laid soothing hands on his back, painting them downward with firm strokes, kissing the small of his back as he made soft, humming, soothing sounds.
“Simon,” he realized Rocco was saying. “Simon.”
Simon gathered the strength to turn, and with a sloppy, single hand signed, ‘Turn the camera off.’
Rocco didn’t hesitate. He was up in a flash, the light dimmed, flickered out. The quiet hum that Simon always forgot to listen for was gone—in its place an utter absence of sound. He swallowed thickly, his breathing too loud in that shallow space.
He wasn’t done. He needed something else.
“Fuck me.” He said it, then spelled the letters on a clumsy hand. “I need you inside me.”
Rocco’s eyes were half-lidded but fierce as they watched Simon’s fingers like he couldn’t quite believe him. His hand rose to his chin and he signed Simon’s name again.
‘Fuck me.’ Simon’s hand was stronger now—and