The stroke of Sam's finger against his prostate, from the inside out, is almost unbearable. His back arches again and he silently moans, his hips rocking as he pushes harder against Sam's fingers. The counterpressure is good, and it thrusts Sam harder against his body, his heels digging into the bed as he tries to get closer to those fingers, but Sam pulls away and moves up his body to press soft kisses to his skin.

Want. He wants Blue, wants the fingers back, wants something, and Sam's not giving it to him. His cock twitches indignantly, bobbing against his abdomen. He doesn't want to see himself. He feels so stretched and open, and wants to be full again, because fuck, it was a good kind of different. He nods, distracted, his eyes following the movement of Sam's hands; his lips find Sam's, kissing him with closed eyes.