[he was practically panting. He hadn’t felt that undone... as long as he can remember, so enthusiastic about letting him know exactly how he felt— it ended up drawing attention to the sensations he knew he liked but tended to ignore, in favor of keeping himself under control.

He can barely see anything, feel anything outside the hedonistic lust. There’s coolness when he’s finally freed from his shirt. Then sharp, tantalizing pain that sends a jolt down his spine.

He recognizes Shrike’s cries as encouragement to keep going, and he’s desperate to not fail the one thing he still has some semblance of control over, lifting his mouth to use his fingers, his thumb taking the place of his tongue, with a trail of saliva left behind before he licks his lips.]

Nero...

[he’s breathless, and then he moans again as he strokes him. Twists and arcs despite himself— or because he can’t hold back, can’t resist the urge to press himself flush against him as his cock twitches in his hand.]

I— cant’t...

[he can’t hide his face but he can close his eyes, face flushed, sweat dripping down him. Nero can feel how close he is more than Jason can vocalize it coherently.]