Andrew was bad at patience, especially when, for the longest time, it'd felt like death was closer than he would have liked. Making it through his twenty-third birthday had soothed some of his worries, but some of the related anxiety still lingered. But he was trying, he was trying to ease them both into things, to not leap into too much too fast. They would have time, and Edward meant a lot to him, and that was another reason patience could be difficult; he'd never quite felt this way about anyone before, had never experienced this level of attraction.

Pausing to look was equal parts admiration and an attempt to plan his course of action. Except he had no idea what that plan should be, and he was just going to be winging it the entire time. It was easier to be a bit less nervous about the whole 'winging it' part with Edward's hands in his hair, a welcome distraction that sent a noticeable shiver through him.

He nearly melted, right then and there, when Edward pulled on his hair, the sound he made leading Andrew to brace himself with a hand on the mattress beside Edward's hip as heat flared in his core. His other hand, he curled around his cock for a different sort of stability. And so he didn't accidentally push himself; he didn't have any concept of what his gag reflex would be like with this. He went slow, even as he groaned again. Slow suction, another slow swirl of his tongue. For all of his eagerness, he didn't want to rush this; he wanted it to be good.