Jedao whines and wriggles and pumps jerkily into Eiffel's fist. He keeps losing his rhythm, keeps gasping at the catch of an unfamiliar callous, at an unexpected shift of pressure, at the light glinting on Eiffel's sweat-damp urls.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jedao whispers between broken grunts and moans. "You - said something like - keep that up, and you'll be putting me away wet?" It takes him a couple attempts to put together the warning.