"Fucking asshole, don't you do it."

Locus's teeth grind together as Felix works a hand over his cock, trying to set a pace of his own, stealing just enough pleasure to bolster those sharp crackles of pleasure setting them both alight with each push, each thrust. Trying in vain to push them both over the edge at least once, to find some measure of relief.

And maybe squeeze some of York's composure loose in the meanwhile.