[Broca should feel proud of that- if Matoba was even a little miffed by being taken off-guard, he seems plenty willing to ignore it for the time being so long as it moves them along towards where they're trying to go.]
[And where they're trying to get to- Matoba's abdomen flinches and flexes taut as their cocks grind back against it, leaving wet trails over his skin. His thighs pinch at Broca's sides to keep his leverage when he tries to angle his cock this way or that back against him, hand moving them against each other, one dragging against the skin of the other. The head of his cock nudges against Broca's glans and a sticky pulse of pre dribbles down against him. His breaths, messily muted and gasped against Broca's mouth, stutter quiet groans. His hand speeds up over them both, feeling a throb signal pleasure against his palm.]
[Matoba's nails drag angry skidmarks across the backs of the other man's shoulders every time he has to scrabble for purchase against him again, stinging marks that will surely be left behind after this- and maybe a little bit of revenge for the bites that will be left bruising his lips. It's hard to make out any other sounds that might come from the other side of the door between the sounds of their breaths, the knocking their bodies make against the door, and the quiet slickness of his hand working between them. Was anyone even still there to let them out, even if they did fulfill their seven-minute obligation?]
[If they're listening, watching, Matoba hopes they at least enjoy the show. Five minutes... maybe four.]
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[And where they're trying to get to- Matoba's abdomen flinches and flexes taut as their cocks grind back against it, leaving wet trails over his skin. His thighs pinch at Broca's sides to keep his leverage when he tries to angle his cock this way or that back against him, hand moving them against each other, one dragging against the skin of the other. The head of his cock nudges against Broca's glans and a sticky pulse of pre dribbles down against him. His breaths, messily muted and gasped against Broca's mouth, stutter quiet groans. His hand speeds up over them both, feeling a throb signal pleasure against his palm.]
[Matoba's nails drag angry skidmarks across the backs of the other man's shoulders every time he has to scrabble for purchase against him again, stinging marks that will surely be left behind after this- and maybe a little bit of revenge for the bites that will be left bruising his lips. It's hard to make out any other sounds that might come from the other side of the door between the sounds of their breaths, the knocking their bodies make against the door, and the quiet slickness of his hand working between them. Was anyone even still there to let them out, even if they did fulfill their seven-minute obligation?]
[If they're listening, watching, Matoba hopes they at least enjoy the show. Five minutes... maybe four.]