[ Matt watches them move in the mirror. Himself, of course: fingers trailing over his cock, which seems to become rosier and harder by the second; mouth falling open around soundless oh's, in perfect time with the stroking of Quentin's thumb at his hole. His eyes track Quentin with a hungry attention, desperate for more than glimpses of him from behind his back, his legs. Matt sighs as Quentin starts to sucks kisses into his thigh, something he can watch as well as feel.

And when he feels Quentin's finger breach him, his head falls back on a gasp. ]

Quentin ... [ Matt shifts back until he feels Quentin's finger start to sink deeper into him. He rubs into the touch--and something about feeling himself rocking back onto Quentin's hand, seeking friction against sensitive nerves, makes him flush with animal want. Quentin said to fuck his own hand, but honestly, Matt's not sure he could do otherwise right now. His fingers clench into a tight ring, hips hitching forward. He groans. ]

Ohh. [ Instantly, he misses Quentin's hand. He shifts back again, desperate to find him, and sighs as he feels the welcome brush of his finger again. Matt tries to be careful as he rocks back, but the pleasure of heat-seeking, friction-chasing, is too strong an urge to resist. Blessedly, Quentin's there to stabilize him while he wriggles. ] I feel like--we're gonna get along really well.

[ His hips start to grind in little circles. Back, onto Quentin's hand, and forward, into his own fingers. ]

God, you make me feel so good. [ Sighed. ] I'm so fucking horny for you.