[Even Dylas knows that one syllable was loaded; it surprised even him. His cock is restrained effectively by a pair of black boxer-briefs, though near the head is where it's the darkest—it's an obvious stain of prerelease, visible if someone is really looking for it. He palms himself again, trying to be more subtle about it, unaware that Waver is watching him more closely. He huffs more quietly this time.

He really can't take it anymore. He's snapped out of it by Waver's question, and he finds himself nodding and dragging his second hand in front of his face before he actually speaks.]

Y-yeah. It's driving me crazy. I can't...

[Fuck. Fuck, his mouth is so wet, and he can't stop fidgeting. If he could get his tail to slow down, he would, and he adjusts his seat on the mattress for what feels to him like the 800th time in the last minute. He's hungry for this, and it's a new feeling for him.]

I can't stop thinking about how nice that was. Having you in my lap was...sexy. [He's literally never used that word before, and he half-expects Waver to burst out laughing.] I want you with me again.

[And all sorts of lewd thoughts...or maybe...sexually healthy thoughts are occurring to him. He's held back on sex for so long, but it feels really, really good. And it's just hand stuff.]

Come on. Don't just...stay far away from me like that.

[But instead of pleading, there's a hint of urgency, command to his voice that wasn't there before.]