Sawyer struggles to keep a steady pace on the other's length as Bishop's hands keep working on him, as his lips keep him captured and hands keep him trembling. All that exists in that moment is Bishop's touch, his scent, his taste. Nothing else matters for the moment.

Sawyer isn't used to feeling this aroused, isn't used to how slick it feels when Bishop's finger touches his entrance. His body tensing slightly, muscle contracting but then relaxing. Need radiates off of him, aching desire.

"You won't hurt me," Sawyer says quietly, half as a reminder to himself.