[Michael is doing nothing to discourage the leaving of marks, arching up into the touch and mewling. The mingle of sting with the pleasure is better than he could have imagined, and soon enough he's squirming under the attention, his hand stuttering in its pattern. He tries to do what feels good to him-imitating how he'd touch himself, which is easy enough with the way they're so close.
Connor's hand up his shirt is equally welcome, and he helps a bit by pushing up his shirt higher with his spare hand, squirming more under the touch. A familiar heat tightens in him all over again, making him squeeze at Connor a little harder.]
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Connor's hand up his shirt is equally welcome, and he helps a bit by pushing up his shirt higher with his spare hand, squirming more under the touch. A familiar heat tightens in him all over again, making him squeeze at Connor a little harder.]