Those praises have Wesley cracking his eyes open and staring up at Q with hazy gaze that speaks louder than a hundred words about how gone he is. He wants to be good for Q, each praise sending a new shudder crawling down his spine.

He makes himself welcoming whether Q goes in deep or shallow, paying him just as much attention. His free hand plays with the Quartermaster's balls, rubbing them gently under his palm and feels the gradually draw tighter and tighter as Q is dragged closer and closer to his release. Every spill of salty precum makes him groan deep within his throat, his tongue busily pressing to the slid at the tip of Q's dick to lap it away.