[ Back when he'd been touring with the USO, there had been more than a handful of times that some of the women he performed with tried to solicit him for something a little more intimate than just practicing their next performance. Wandering hands, a sweet smile or soft kiss-- they were respectable ladies, most of them, and Steve had never been the kind of guy to take advantage of a situation like that. (He wouldn't have known what to do with it anyway.) And this? The way they move together, the hitch of his breath and the sound of his laugh, the way he kisses him... He doesn't know what to do with it either, but he tries. He tries, and he pushes back against Andyr with the same sort of fervor, turned on and needing more than the simple weight of his body atop his but not knowing what to ask for.
It changes when those fingers get into his pants, dizzy with how much his body takes charge of something his mind can't wrap around, and he bites his lip again, hard enough to smother whatever sound might escape him this time. They might be alone, but Steve is so used to close quarters and limited privacy; he doesn't want to be overheard in case someone happens to wander this way. Instead, he just digs his fingers into him even harder and holds on, some subconscious thought in the back of his head telling him that Andyr isn't fragile, isn't soft. He's built to floor him, has done so on more than one occasion, and Steve has no idea why that's just as arousing as the very touch around his cock, breathing out a low noise of pent-up want as his hips jerk into the rhythm of his hand. ]
Andyr — [ He swallows thick around his name, struggling for the words and any reason that might be good enough to get them to stop this just long enough to talk about it. Still, there's no talking between them except Steve's uncertainty when it comes to trying to reciprocate, saying his name again. Then again. ] What do you want me to do? [ At least his voice is steady, absently raking his fingers up his sides before pushing them down beneath the wet material of his pants to feel skin under his palms. He thinks about trying to roll them over again, let himself explore the expanse of chest and shoulders and stomach the way Andyr is doing right now, but he waits, lingers there as he squeezes his ass and grinds them together. ]
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It changes when those fingers get into his pants, dizzy with how much his body takes charge of something his mind can't wrap around, and he bites his lip again, hard enough to smother whatever sound might escape him this time. They might be alone, but Steve is so used to close quarters and limited privacy; he doesn't want to be overheard in case someone happens to wander this way. Instead, he just digs his fingers into him even harder and holds on, some subconscious thought in the back of his head telling him that Andyr isn't fragile, isn't soft. He's built to floor him, has done so on more than one occasion, and Steve has no idea why that's just as arousing as the very touch around his cock, breathing out a low noise of pent-up want as his hips jerk into the rhythm of his hand. ]
Andyr — [ He swallows thick around his name, struggling for the words and any reason that might be good enough to get them to stop this just long enough to talk about it. Still, there's no talking between them except Steve's uncertainty when it comes to trying to reciprocate, saying his name again. Then again. ] What do you want me to do? [ At least his voice is steady, absently raking his fingers up his sides before pushing them down beneath the wet material of his pants to feel skin under his palms. He thinks about trying to roll them over again, let himself explore the expanse of chest and shoulders and stomach the way Andyr is doing right now, but he waits, lingers there as he squeezes his ass and grinds them together. ]