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Summary
Come on, baby, just relax.”
March purred from where he was between Healy’s legs. He rested his cheek on the older man's knee, looking up at him through lidded lashes.
“I am relaxed. Perfectly relaxed,” Healy grunted, absolutely not relaxed whatsoever. He had a death grip on the couch underneath him and his thighs were uncomfortably taut.
“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, March, you beg for weeks and when your face is finally inches from my cunt you say that?”
//OR March eats Healy out because, may God strike me down if I'm wrong, that man is an EATER.