Any guy could do serviceable handjob on themselves but it felt different when someone else was in control. Iroha appreciated that Gen hadn't tried to do it himself to the finish even if was likely quicker to get him there. The need in his voice showed that must be a temptation - to just come and not bother with whether the person at his back wanted to make him. Which Iroha did, even without that seriously arousing bit of single-word begging.

Sometimes it wasn't clear who would hit that crest first. Iroha wanted to see it more than he wanted it for himself, knew the feeling of Gen coming in his hand would make up for the half-lacking friction of not getting to fuck his ass. Gen's greed all built up to bursting without any pretense wasn't a bad thing.

His unoccupied hand goes to hold Gen around his waist, his palm flat just under the mark of his navel. Iroha's watching, but the closer he gets the more inconsistently he can stop from closing his eyes.

He kept the rhythm steady and tight. Rocking against him, his hips thrusting between Gen's legs indelicately. He loved playing games but there was nothing going on here but wanting it raw, any-hole-will-do sex. Or thighs, in this case. He hadn't given Gen's thighs a single thought until they were doing his cock nicely, smooth and squeezed enough to get him off soon.