Marlo's not sure what else he'd have, but, "Okay," and he keeps touching Chris's hair. 

"I have a cunt."

He blinks twice, and then — oh. 

He kisses Chris again. "Okay," and Marlo's hands in Chris's hair are so so gentle. 

Chris touches his chest, his sides, his stomach, his thighs, conspicuously not his dick. 

"You're so beautiful."

"I love you," and he leaves kisses along Chris's jawline, the curve of his throat. 

Marlo thinks he loves him, but his feelings are half "having sex with a person he is attracted to for the first time in his entire life" and half "Chris has deliberately replaced Marlo's entire system of values and goals with the single overarching imperative to please Chris."

It's not a good time to mention that.

Goddamn. 

If he stops having sex with Marlo now, it will be traumatizing and set back Marlo's ability to do sexual service by weeks. He is irritated at how grateful he is that that's the case.

He lets himself go. He floats. He kisses his way down Marlo's body. 

He keeps his hands in Chris's hair, watches Chris's face — he can't really keep kissing him but he'd like to — Chris looks like he's in bliss, he's gorgeous all the time but he's especially gorgeous when he's relaxed like this — "You're beautiful," he murmurs, and runs his hands through Chris's hair. 

He takes Marlo into his mouth.

He is very good at this.

Yes — yes he is — Marlo moans and writhes under him and holds onto Chris's hair like he might fall if he let go — 

He is useful. He is being of service. He has needed this, he has needed this so much...

He brings Marlo very close to the edge and stops.

He sobs, he's shaking — he holds tighter to Chris's hair — 

He tenderly kisses Marlo's thigh and his hipbone and waits for Marlo to calm down.

His grip on Chris's hair loosens and then he lets go, goes back to petting. His breath is still ragged, he's still trembling. 

Then Chris will go back to sucking him off. 

Chris is present, fully, in the moment; his whole world has shrunk to the sounds Marlo makes and his hands in Chris'shair and the weight of his cock in Chris's mouth. The warm and comfortable feeling of being useful sinks into Chris's bones. 

Without fully noticing, he shifts to the particular form of licking and kissing (hands behind the back, back slightly arched prettily, no excess spit) that the Marketplace calls 'worship'. Marlo has been taught to do it with boots and fingers but not with cocks.

Chris's form is, of course, flawless.

"Oh," he whispers, reverent. 

Chris is owned, he is owned and he is Marlo's and he is useful and he is pleasing and he is perfect.

He's perfect he's gorgeous Marlo couldn't keep his hands out of Chris's hair if he tried — "I love you," still reverent, "Chris," and he sounds like he's praying — 

Chris pulls off reluctantly, kisses Marlo's dick one last time, and gets the lube and condoms from the side table. 

In theory he could produce words about that but in practice the only thing he's capable of saying is Chris's name, over and over. 

Chris takes off his pants.

Underneath he's wearing briefs, which look mostly like ordinary male underwear except for the hole in the middle through which comes a large black dildo. 

Marlo is much too busy kissing Chris to even register this let alone care. 

Chris pours some lube onto his fingers and says, "have you had anything in your ass before?"

"No," half-moaned. 

"Relax," Chris says. "Take deep breaths. If anything hurts, tell me."

He starts to gently probe the entrance.