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Arousal poured through him.

After so many kisses that his lips tingled, Will reached down between them for Itori’s cock. It was just beginning to come out of the slit, drenching them in slick. Will coaxed it farther.

When Itori went to reach for him in return, Will stopped him.

“Wait. I want–I want to watch you first. Is that okay?” Too often he became distracted by his own pleasure. He wanted to remember this.

Itori kissed him hard. “Yes.”

“It’ll still work with the exchange–the energy?” Will needed to be sure.

Itori nuzzled down to his throat, rumbling into his ear. “I am already tasting it. It is not the act, it is the giving, the intent.”

“O-okay, good,” Will said with a hard swallow.

Then he dared himself to look down.

It was harder to see in the dappled light, but the feedback from his hand filled in the blanks. Will watched himself stroke Itori to fullness, the slick seeping from the tip in dark pearls. His cock was pale, but a good handful. There were ridges and bumps down the sides that felt strange under his hand. He squeezed to feel the give and another flood of liquid poured from the tip. Itori made that fluting sound, hand tightening on Will’s waist.

Will stroked as he soaked up every sound and quiver of Itori’s body. He tried different pressures, focusing first on the tip and then farther down the shaft to figure out just where Itori was most sensitive.

Itori gasped at a particular flick of Will’s wrist.

“Okay?” Will asked, pausing.

“Yes,” Itori said, breathless. “Again.”

Will did it again. It was along the ridging, they seemed to be sensitive, almost more so than the tip. Itori gasped, clutching at him, and Will felt it like a victory.

“Willowtree,” Itori whispered, finding Will’s mouth and kissing him.

It took everything in him to keep focus, to keep his hand working up and down Itori’s length.

“You are a marvel,” Itori said between messy kisses.

A flood of want and emotion filled Will’s chest. He sidelined it, kept focus. He needed to see this through. Wanted to give this to Itori.

Then Itori was making that deep, guttural sound that made Will’s body clench in anticipation. He kept his hand moving steadily, twisting when he got to the ridges, applying just a little more pressure on the upstroke. Itori’s nails pricked at his skin as his hips bucked into Will’s attention.

Will didn’t breathe, couldn’t look away. His hand kept moving, doing that flicking stroke. The wet was viscous, making the simple motion of his hand sound obscene.

Then Itori was jerking Will impossibly close, growling as he mashed Will’s hand between them.

A new explosion of heat. Will could still see between them, and watched the oil slick of it drip over his hands like a cup running over. Itori panted in his ear, making sounds that blistered his ears.

Toward the end, Itori mumbled something, a hiss of his own language. They were soft sibilants, and Will’s mind swirled to imagine it was something sweet and tender. That there was the possibility for anything so lasting between them.

He closed his eyes and ached and ached and ached.

When Itori finished, everything stilled. Will’s heart was a batter in his chest, and the rush of what he’d done sat behind his breast bone. He felt powerful, proud, weightless. Like anything might be possible in this world they held between them.

Then Itori sighed, and the hands on Will’s hips shifted. They grabbed under Will’s thighs, and he was suddenly being lifted.

Will squawked, hands finding purchase around Itori’s neck. He smeared a bit of a come there without thinking, and fumblingly apologized.

Itori only made a sound that Will thought might be amusement. Then Itori was on his feet, Will in his arms, and he was being moved.

Itori pressed him gently against the tree trunk, and kissed him.