[A few deep moans leak out from him, against Steve's skin, his lips, almost like sharing the sound with him where he can't really help it. What he's saying, the wide spread of his legs in eager anticipation and heavy need- and, yes, the way Steve's suddenly clutching to his hair. He's willing himself to climb back down from his drunken haze so that he doesn't get overzealous and possibly hurt Steve.

He slides a finger deep into him, pressing up immediately against his prostate, withdraws, and then back in again slow repeating the exact same motion while he tries to get his brain together. If that's even possible at this point.]

I think- maybe- half on your side, with your leg over my shoulder. It's a great angle.

[And a position he can manage while drunk. Maybe. He's mostly sure. Confident enough. One finger turns to two while he scissors them gently in and out, going for deep, long strokes every time.]

Wanna watch you take me and turn into a mess. Unless you want something else- in which case- speak now- etcetera etcetera.