[The response is so quick, so youthfully defensive that it actually makes Matt wince a little, though he covers it carefully. There's that sudden ache of sympathy, tenderness -- Lance is so very human that it's almost physically painful to think about it, how young and headstrong and stubborn he is when compared to the enormous, complex world he's been thrust headfirst into.
But that's why Matt's here, right? To make it easier. And if that means sitting back on his heels -- properly, back straight, shoulders squared, toes pressing into the sand, the position automatic by now, the line of his body arranged to best show off his most alluring attributes -- and letting Lance touch, then that's what he'll do. He even sets both hands on his knees, deferentially, no longer the aggressor. Lance doesn't know, he can't know, not yet, but Matt's assuming the submissive waiting position of an obedient pleasure slave, shivering but not pulling away from the touches over his heated skin.]
Yes. [He almost teases, almost says "I didn't get them on Earth, did I?", but that type of joking might not go over well. So Matt just breathes out slowly, trembling under the soft fingers tracing over the piercings, his own hands curling into fists as he rides out the dizzying wave of pleasure each touch gives him.] M-My idea, though. Humans have...different erogenous zones...
[There's another shaky breath, more of a gasp, and Matt squirms a little, unconsciously rounding his shoulders, pushing his peaked, aroused nipples into Lance's roughened fingertips. His thighs are soaked, pressed together, and he wants so desperately to shift and get friction, to come again.
He makes himself wait, gulping in air, eyes fluttering closed, words slurring a little.] I-I thought that...with c-concentrated pressure and weight and perpetual stimuli...a-and if connected for easier access they might...produce an entert-taining reaction--
[Matt shifts too abruptly, the chain draws tight over his swollen belly, a taut golden line disappearing under his robe and he lets out a moaning gasp, hands flying up to cover Lance's, to halt them, because he can't take it, the tiny stud in his throbbing clit tugged with every one of the younger boy's clumsy, searching touches.] --just. Just a. A moment.
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But that's why Matt's here, right? To make it easier. And if that means sitting back on his heels -- properly, back straight, shoulders squared, toes pressing into the sand, the position automatic by now, the line of his body arranged to best show off his most alluring attributes -- and letting Lance touch, then that's what he'll do. He even sets both hands on his knees, deferentially, no longer the aggressor. Lance doesn't know, he can't know, not yet, but Matt's assuming the submissive waiting position of an obedient pleasure slave, shivering but not pulling away from the touches over his heated skin.]
Yes. [He almost teases, almost says "I didn't get them on Earth, did I?", but that type of joking might not go over well. So Matt just breathes out slowly, trembling under the soft fingers tracing over the piercings, his own hands curling into fists as he rides out the dizzying wave of pleasure each touch gives him.] M-My idea, though. Humans have...different erogenous zones...
[There's another shaky breath, more of a gasp, and Matt squirms a little, unconsciously rounding his shoulders, pushing his peaked, aroused nipples into Lance's roughened fingertips. His thighs are soaked, pressed together, and he wants so desperately to shift and get friction, to come again.
He makes himself wait, gulping in air, eyes fluttering closed, words slurring a little.] I-I thought that...with c-concentrated pressure and weight and perpetual stimuli...a-and if connected for easier access they might...produce an entert-taining reaction--
[Matt shifts too abruptly, the chain draws tight over his swollen belly, a taut golden line disappearing under his robe and he lets out a moaning gasp, hands flying up to cover Lance's, to halt them, because he can't take it, the tiny stud in his throbbing clit tugged with every one of the younger boy's clumsy, searching touches.] --just. Just a. A moment.