It feels inevitable when Henry presses marks into his neck, edging closer toward his mouth. Gabe moans, shuddering under him, and stops trying to hold himself still. Stops treating it like something to be endured, or a point he means to prove. Henry squeezes his hands and fucks into him in the same breath and Gabe makes a low sound, unable to hold it back. Unable to remember why he cared about that, why it felt important. He fucked Henry like this not so long ago, in this same bed. Kept him on his back, kept it slow. The symmetry feels appropriate.

He leans in and kisses Henry. Worries at Henry's lip with his teeth, though he doesn't bite.

No. Not this time.

He kisses Henry and he shakes under him, and he feels himself hitting that edge. Getting close to slipping over.