A desperate exhale came out of Kieran's mouth. He'd fantasized about Jude's tongue on him for so long that there was a part of him that was still convinced this was a fantasy. But if it was a fantasy he would be less aware of the pile of his dirty clothes on the floor, and no dream could actually compare to the texture of Jude's tongue, or the feeling of the other man's pleasant weight on top of him.

"Oh," Kieran said, arching his hips upwards to bring back that delightful friction between them, "I'm always happy to give feedback." He put his left hand in Jude's hair, tangling his fingers in it, the way he'd wanted to for years. Kieran grasped outwards with his other hand to pull at the knob of the bedside table, and it took him a few tries to successfully pick up the dusty bottle.

"You have to open me up," Kieran said, flushing — either with anticipation or sheepishness, he was not sure. "With your fingers?" Kieran knew he could do it himself, but — fuck, he wanted Jude to.