If Jesper jumps in, Wilhelm jumps too. That's what it feels like, a current taking him away as he unzips his jeans to let Jesper squeeze his ass with greater ease, and grinds, and grinds, and grinds against him. Only, he's not drowning — he's floating, all warm and weightless in the heat of Jesper's kiss, basking in the sweltering hardness pinned beneath him.

"Who's impatient?" he teases, as if he isn't half breathless and hard as a rock in his suddenly too-tight pants. His head lolls back to encourage Jesper's mouth to slide down his throat, and his touch spins around Jesper's Wheel of Fortune tattoo. "Anyway, I didn't say I wouldn't..."

As comfortable as he is perched in Jesper's lap, he's pretty damn fond of the view from between his thighs too. Less gracefully than he hoped, Wilhelm slips off of him to kneel in the footwell. Whether there should be enough space for him to curl up there is up for debate, but somehow he fits. Wedged between Jesper's knees, he kisses a slow trail down his stomach, slips his hand inside his trousers to pet him. When his lips reach the top of the waistband, he tugs, pants and underwear both hooked in his hungry fingers, to spring his cock free.

"First, I'll suck you." He presses his lips to Jesper's shaft, a messy open-mouthed kiss to preview what comes next. "Then..."

He tilts a mischievous smile up at Jesper, on the verge of splitting into a laugh, letting him fill in the blanks to finish the rhyme.