[Finch's hand keeps moving, though it slows - eventually stills, only slightly abrupt in that's when he feels himself start to peak. His breath is hot and shallow against Dom's neck, forehead pressed to his shoulder as he keeps his eyes shut and lets the heat coil in his gut before it erupts. He lets out a hissed, bitten back grunt, and then exhales hard and deep as pleasure rolls through him.]
[ It's hard to tell when he's supposed to stop, sometimes, until someone speaks up or they squeeze his arm to say enough, the orgasm is over, and what follows is an oversensitive protest from their own body. Dom's strokes slow down, this time before he felt Finch's shudder and the fluid that followed, hanging on to that weird lull between the build up and the heavy charge of arousal, leaving them both floating in the moment, anchored to each other. His breathing is steady by the time he lets go of Finch, looking down at the glossy mess on his hand, then their cocks so close together, back in the real world, back to being someone who never quite knows what he's doing. What he does know is that he'd like to not move for a while. ]
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Was that good?