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Taylor feels hyper-sensitized, all at once captured by the way the hotel carpet feels rough on his knees even through his suit pants, the smooth wool under his palms, and the taste and smell and solid weight of cock in his mouth.
Sutty grips Taylor's wrists and pries his hands from their place at Sutty's hips, pressing back-back-back until they're held tight against the wall above Taylor's head and the arch of his body is pressing his dick so almost-but-not-quite perfect against the fly of his pants.
"Yeah," Sutty breathes, and it's the first thing either of them have said since the door closed behind them. Taylor feels slutty and desperate and sore, abs aching from the game and from straining forward to take more of Sutty's cock. He's sucking hard and pulling back even as Sutty shuffles closer into the space between Taylor's spread knees, fucking Taylor's mouth in tiny increments and crowding him until the back of his head just touches the wall. Sutty's hands tighten on Taylor's wrists, and between the clench of those hands and the way Taylor can't see past Sutty's body no matter where he looks, Taylor feels well and truly caught.
"Fuck, we were good tonight."
Taylor can't help the noise he makes at that, and Sutty grins down at him. "Fine, we were okay tonight, you—" he punctuates that with a thrust— "were amazing, and we won. I was starting to forget what that feels like."
Taylor knows what Sutty means, and he knows exactly what that feels like: it feels like this, like being taken to the edge and given everything he wants.
The smooth control Sutty's been bringing all night starts to fall apart then; he's squeezing just this side of too tight on Taylor's wrists, thrusting just past where Taylor's comfortable taking him. Taylor's so hard, untouched in his suit pants, and every slip and tug of Sutty's cock between Taylor's swollen lips heads straight to his dick. Even the tingling numbness in his hands buzzes through his body like it's another kind of pleasure.
Just when Sutty's thrusts start to get kind of jerky and desperate, he pulls out and shoots all down Taylor's chin and neck, his big hands still holding Taylor to the wall. Taylor gasps like he's drowning, and his hips buck up without his permission. He's not even usually into that, but right now he feels like he'd be into anything, whatever Sutty wants, as long as he can get off. Sutty shudders, hands clenching around Taylor's wrists, and the come cooling on Taylor's skin is just another sensation overloading his nerves.
It takes Sutty lifting with both hands under Taylor's arms and Taylor re-arranging his brain a little to get him standing up, and once he's there Sutty ducks down, hunched over, to lick at the mess on Taylor's jaw and finally gets his hands where Taylor wants them, palming his dick through his suit pants. They're both just short of coordinated enough to get his zipper down, but Taylor's too far gone to hold out anyway so he ends up just gripping Sutty's shoulders and grinding against his hand. When he comes, Taylor can't help the high-pitched whine that squeaks its way out of his throat, but he can—and does—punch Sutty in the shoulder for laughing at him.
"Hey, it's not my fault you make the stupidest orgasm noises," Sutty says, but he's fond-eyed and smiling as he pets Taylor's hair, careful of the stitches that trail up his hairline.
"Stupidest, eh? What, are you some kind of expert?" Taylor just grins when Sutty shoves him back against the wall, the cold seeping in through his thin dress shirt in perfect counterpoint to the heat in his used-feeling skin.