Tony sucks cock like a whore, all slick spit and suction, putting his smart mouth to good use. Obadiah fists his hands in Tony's hair and holds on tight, pushing forward even as Tony chokes and whines, his thin shoulders shaking as his lungs protest the lack of air. His eyes are closed and leaking, and his fingers scrabble uselessly at Obadiah's hips. Obadiah holds on for another second and then pulls out a little, gives Tony a brief chance to breathe, and then shoves his cock right back down Tony's throat.

"Okay, Tony," he says, holding him there. "Question time." He's stopped thrusting, and he eases up a little on Tony's hair. "Stop a second, and look at me." Tony does, mostly, except for his tongue, running back and forth, back and forth, just under the head of Obadiah's cock. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, bright with moisture from the lack of oxygen. Obadiah reaches down, brushes a tear away with his thumb, licks the salt away.

"You like sucking my cock?"

For a few seconds, Obadiah wonders if he's gone too far -- if that's even possible at this point -- because Tony gets this look in his eyes that Obadiah hasn't seen in months. That tongue is still moving, though, and eventually Tony answers the question by digging his fingers into Obadiah's ass and swallowing as much of his cock as he can take. Obadiah comes roughly four seconds later.

Tony swallows it down, licks his lips, sits back on his heels, and looks up. His bangs are plastered to his forehead, and most of the rest of his face is slick with sweat and tears and spit and come. Obadiah doesn't know if he's disgusted or turned on.

"Well?" Tony says, expectantly. "That was a pretty straight answer."

Obadiah drags his hand through the mess on Tony's chin and smears it into his hair, brushing the bangs back from his forehead. "Your father is a sorry cocksucker," he says.