Jeff is spread out on the bed naked. Not tied up, because if he were tied up, Craig couldn't lift his leg to kiss the back of his knee or the arch of his foot, couldn't turn him over to lick along the crease between ass and thigh.
If Jeff were tied up, Craig wouldn't be able to map out every last inch, and he wants that. Needs it. He could spend forever just memorizing the taste Jeff's skin and feel of him under his lips and tongue and teeth and hands.
Tied up is good, but this is perfect.
The twink says his name is Jeff and that he needs to get to LA, doesn't say what he's doing in a rest stop outside of Denver in the middle of the night with no jacket, no backpack, no nothing. Craig's happy to give him a ride; he's headed there anyway, and he's definitely not going to complain about that in his passenger seat.
Really, he's not planning on doing anything other than admiring the view, but Jeff, who's nowhere near as innocent as he looks, says, "I'll do anything you want," and how could he say no to that?
Craig idly skritches behind Jeff's ears and Jeff nuzzles closer, hmming happily when Craig sets his book aside and runs his hand down Jeff's naked back.
Jeff still won't wear the cat ears, much less anything...furrier, but he's a far cry from the guy who sighed and said fine, but don't expect any stupid fake purring or anything when Craig first brought it up.
The sound Jeff makes when he slips under Craig's arm to nose at his crotch isn't quite a meow, but it's close.
"Oh, you." Craig smiles, skritching him some more. "Such a greedy kitty."
There it is, in all its '80s glory: the brightest pink, the puffiest sleeves, the biggest bow. Craig pulls it out of the closet and holds it up to Jeff. Too short, obviously, but Craig was chubby in high school, so it shouldn't be too tight. Too bad the shoes won't fit. They're here somewhere, too: also pink, natch.
"I can't believe you saved your prom dress," Jeff says. "I mean..."
"Honestly, Jeffrey, do I seem like the sort of man who'd get rid of a dress this fabulous?"
Jeff laughs. "I guess not."
"See? Now let's get this on you."
Craig leans against the cold tiles, both hands gripping fistfuls of Jeff's hair, which is surprisingly soft considering the amount of product he uses. Jeff's mouth is on his clit, three fingers up inside him, thumb rubbing over his urethra. Craig can feel every last ounce of those five glasses of water, but he holds it in as long as he can.
"Jeff, Jeffrey, now," he groans, and Jeff pulls back slightly, uses his fingers instead of his mouth as a stream of piss splatters down on him.
The sudden emptiness when it's over feels even better than his orgasm.