[With Yuuri breathing his name like that there's no chance of Conrad hearing the rational part of his mind that's tickling at the edge of his awareness. He's not even aware of twisting his fingers to open Yuuri's pants until it's done and his fingers and palm are sliding over bare, hot skin.]
[He can't think about how this will feel tomorrow. He'd be hard pressed to even acknowledge that there is a tomorrow. Nothing matters except Yuuri and the way he moans Conrad's name, the increasingly desperate movements of his hips.]