Fuck, but Leo is a vision.

Crouched between his legs, pale skin flushed, heavy, dark lashes casting shadows over his clouded gaze – fuck, fuck he's beautiful and perfect, and Elliot's thoughts are sort of reduced to nothing but intelligible, lewd things, curses and prayers of how good he looks.

He always comes too fast with Leo, but neither of them ever seem to care. Leo is always a bit taken by surprise, but he handles it gracefully enough, even when Elliot pulls back, cock still sticky and a gossamer strand snapping between Leo's parted lips and the very tip of it. Elliot's mouth goes dry as Leo's lips part and he can seethe come on his tongue, can see Leo's slow, hard swallow and watches his soft, ragged panting afterwards as his cock, still jerking, twitching, rubs against a soft cheek.

Elliot shudders, because god if he isn't oversensitive still, and Leo is like some feline thing, nuzzling back against it as Elliot's fingers cinch into his hair to pull him closer once more.

"God," the noble mutters, "you look so…"

There aren't words for it. Like a harlot? That's fine. Leo's his harlot, at the very least.