Freddie's still staring down at his own fist on his cock, squeezing out the last few drops when Noah turn to face him, streaks of come doubtlessly still slicking down his back. It's utterly filthy, really, the idea of Noah letting his shirt drop and pulling his pants up, going back out into the bar with Freddie's come painting his skin.

He lets out a quiet laugh as he lets go of himself and lifts his wet, come slick fingers to Noah's mouth, smearing his thumb across that full bottom lip. "Were you really looking for me specifically tonight?" he asks, not entirely sure why that makes a difference. But it does. He steps in closer at he same time, crowding Noah further against the wall as he wipes two fingers along Noah's jaw like war paint and then leans in to lick it off.