Krem whined and sigh a little, incapable of staying quiet even if Thomas was going to try to. He might have gotten off, but he was still sensitive, and Thomas's body was close and warm and rubbing against his, his cock grinding into his hip and thigh, the neat crook there, a close metaphor for the invitation Krem had given. It was more than enough, more than Krem could have thought possible.

He clung to Thomas, kissing him again. It was sloppy now, disorganized, full of tongue and rapid breathing and a little bit of teeth. His fingers slipped into his hair and he held on, swallowing up Thomas's desperation.

"Yes," he whispered back, rolling and rutting back against him, careful to not let Thomas slip from that safe little crook of his hip, that private, intimate divot, slick with sweat and the dribble of Thomas's precome. "Yes, keep going Thomas, come on."