Bel could see what Barcus meant -- he's drawn to how sex lets him narrow his focus on two bodies, his own and Barcus's, and the rhythm between them. The way Bel's hands rub against Barcus's scalp in time with Barcus's thumb on his belly. The way the motion of Barcus's lips and tongue keep the same tempo as the moans and signs and other involuntary sounds of Bel's mouth. He does manage to get out some words, mostly Barcus's name, in a voice that is far less polished than the one he normally affects.

Which is another part of the appeal; letting himself be utterly bare to someone he trusts. Trust had been in short supply growing up, so Bel glories in it now.

Bel was trying to keep still, to give Barcus control over how much of Bel's cock he could take, and because he couldn't decide if he needed the release now, or if he wanted Barcus to keep doing this until his jaw got tired. "'m gettin' close."