A tremble raced up through Krem's body, starting at his toes and going all the way up. He arched a bit, pressing his body close to Thomas, tilting his head to kiss at his hair and his forehead between ragged breaths.

All his squirming--he was a little embarrassed for squirming so much, but he couldn't quite help it; being more expressive with his body was probably better than trying to hold back--had hooked his shorts low on his hips and he whined just a little. He reached down, hooking his thumbs in the waistbands of them and pushing them down his thighs. It was easier to squirm out of them almost entirely, leaving them on one leg and himself exposed and bare.

Thomas's fingers were pleasantly filling, long and determined, and the heel of his palm ground down on him with a sort of clumsy lack of knowledge that was all friction with no direction. The sheer fumbling innocence, the discovery of it, made it better. Krem brought his hands back up to cup the back of Thomas's neck, squeezing gently.