Freddie's hands are a warm pressure on Noah's thighs, and a moment later, his hips. The way Freddie handles him, looks at him, makes Noah suddenly conscious of why it's Freddie he sought out and not some stranger.

His eyes narrow in suspicion to be told he was the best, or at least that it was the best night, but he can't hear a lie or even read one in Freddie's expression. "Probably because I don't have a gag reflex," he says, mouth curling into a shy, but amused, smirk.

Noah steps closer between the V of Freddie's legs, smoothing his own hands up Freddie's thighs, his thumbs dangerously close to Freddie's crotch. "I was thinking we could go again? If you don't have other plans."