Wylan needn’t worry, he’s doing an excellent job, and the moans he’s pulling from Jesper are proof enough of that. He tilts his head back when Wylan changes tactics, takes as much of him into his mouth as he can. “Oh, Saints,” he swears breathlessly, mind too clouded with pleasure to think of much else.

He whimpers at the loss of the warmth of Wylan’s mouth, but takes the moment to reach and brush any expanse of skin on the other boy he can, fingertips ghosting everywhere they touch. “You are so beautiful,” he mutters softly. He’s pretty sure he’s already said that but he doesn’t care because it hasn’t stopped being true. He wants to kiss him, but he’s too far away and all coherent thought is gone as Wylan sinks back down, tongue working, and staring up at Jesper through his lashes.

A low moan rumbles through his chest, fingers gripping the sheets and trying with everything in him not to buck his hips too much and choke him. The heat low in his belly builds and builds and builds into something white-hot that sends pleasant tingles across his entire body in a crescendo of pleasure. Wylan’s name sounds like a prayer from his lips as he peaks and topples over into a delicious wave of release.