Oh Gabriel would get his lectures. He would direct nearly everything, not out of a need for control but some deep seated desire to narrate his own life. The first dozen thrusts were not entirely a pleasure, though not entirely painful either. Discomfort might have been a more genuine word for it and he made deep and penetrating breaths even as Gabriel penetrated him. He invited the man closer first, invited him to drop his arms down against his own so that the sweat of their skin mingled.

Mohinder directed the pace at first with his lips and tongue and then, when discomfort washed away to a deep tingling and then utter bliss, the Indian moved his body instead, professor turned conductor.

He wasn't sure what he found most beautiful. Gabriel's voice as he tried to hold on for as long as possible in the slick, molten heat of his lover's body? No. The way he panted against his neck? No. The stretch of it, the way his body enveloped the other? No, not even that. It was their skin, he decided, Gabriel's pale hands on his darker skin, the slap of his balls, the slick feel of exertion--

It actually took a moment for him to realise that the turn of his head brough all of their glorious beauty into view through the reflection of the oval stand mirror by the closet door. The friction against his cock left his heart pounding and his moans thick in his throat. It shadowed his next command. "Gabriel... Turn your head to the left... See how beautiful this is!"

It wouldn't take too long. Watching Gabriel make love to him on the top of the feeling of it left him on the edge of orgasm.