Thomas's grip, the silent demand for his stillness, was a good one. It gave Krem a moment to adjust. He was not uncomfortable, but the angle was one he hadn't done in months. He flushed just to remember, and then quickly stopped thinking about it, focusing instead on Thomas's hands on his thighs and the the slow relaxation of his face.

When he shifted a little, it eased a soft, needy noise out of Krem. Thomas had barely told him it was good to move when he started.

He kept his hand next to Thomas's ribs, leaning forward a little as he started to roll and rock his hips, building a rhythm with his hips that matched the soft, breathy noises he was sighing out after only a few shifts of his hips.