"What was that?" It's hard to be smug but damn if he doesn't try, skating the next grind right along that swollen, crackling gland inside of Sam. So much time left on the clock and he's gotta hold out. Focus on equations, on variables, on the sound of Sam's voice echoing through the room, the taste of his sweat on his tongue-

"Slower?" Cuz he can go slower. Will go slower.