Andy swallowed a whimper and went to work on Scooter’s pants. It seemed vastly unfair how fast Scooter could get Andy to the point of begging, like fire under his skin just seeking something to consume. He slid downward, mouthing at Scooter’s skin, flicking with his tongue, letting his teeth drag from time to time, working Scooter’s pants down. He dropped the rest of the way to his knees—oh, nice, the carpet here was softer than the throw rug in Scooter’s bedroom—and gazed up at Scooter through his lashes. When Scooter focused on him, Andy licked up the length of Scooter’s cock like a Popsicle.