His hands were doing their magic on my behind, and Neville became extremely aware of how the rubber balls were being used there. One of them was pressing against him there, teasing, circling with clear purpose.

Neville’s body completely froze.

He was shaking.

He could feel himself trembling.

When did he start shaking?

His experience in this body was limited, and the reality of the situation was catching up to him fast.

"You’re shaking," Grayson observed, pulling back just enough to get a good look at Neville’s face. "Why are you shaking? Isn’t this what you wanted?"

"When did I say I wanted this!" Neville’s voice pitched higher than he would have liked, cracking on the last word. He was sure that his face must be burning as hard as it could. "I gave you the balls to play with! Not to—not for—!"

He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His brain had short-circuited somewhere between ’play’ and ’with it.’

Grayson hummed, his thumb patted Neville’s back, somehow both soothing and maddening. The rubber ball had paused in its movements but remained positioned right where it had been, a constant reminder of Grayson’s intentions.

"Your ears are red," Grayson blurted out.

"Don’t look at them!" Neville exclaimed, turning his head away.

"It’s hard not to when they’re right in front of me."

Neville wanted to die. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He wanted to rewind time and never give this man those stupid rubber balls in the first place.

What was he thinking? Rubber balls? To distract a fcking intelligent alien human—beastman? He might as well have waved a red flag at a bull and expected it to look away politely.

Under ’Things On The System Mall That Have Betrayed Me’, Neville firmly put it on TOP of his block list.

Grayson watched Neville’s expression change several times with doting fascination. He was really adorable like this. Those ocean-blue eyes were glossy, and that pretty red mole stood out starkly against flushed skin.

It made Grayson want to devour him completely.

But, he wasn’t that much of a beast after all.

"Vee."

Neville looked him in the eyes.

"I will never force you," Grayson said, and his voice had lost its teasing edge. The words were sincere. "You know that, right?"

Neville blinked rapidly. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders.

Looking at Grayson now, he was giving him a way to refuse him

And that... that somehow made it worse.

Because if Grayson had pushed, if he had been forceful, Neville could have justified his actions. Could have blamed his reactions on Grayson, on circumstance, on anything other than the truth.

The truth being that he also wanted this.

His hand moved before his brain caught up.

Down, past Grayson’s rock-hard abs, to the unmistakable hardness straining against the expensive fabric of the sweat pants.

"...Here." Neville’s voice came out barely above a whisper. He couldn’t meet Grayson’s eyes. "Let me help you."

Silence.

The pause stretched long enough that Neville felt increasingly nervous.

Did he make a mistake? Did I get it wrong? Was Grayson going to laugh at him now?

"Are you sure?" Grayson carefully asked like a man holding himself back enough to pause when Neville decided to say it was just a joke.

Neville pursed his lips. His fingers twitched against Grayson’s clothed length, feeling it throb in response.

"What else?"

"I just told you I won’t force you, right? If you’re not comfortable—"

"What are you trying to do now by acting like that?" Neville finally looked up, irritation bleeding through his embarrassment. "Let me get down and be done with it."

He tried to slide off Grayson’s lap, to position himself in between Grayson’s legs. But Grayson’s hands caught his hips, holding him in place.

"If you’re being forced," Grayson said slowly, "we’d better stop here."

"As if." The words came out sharper than intended.

Neville glared at Grayson, genuinely irritated now. Maybe at himself, at the situation, at this insufferably considerate person before him who couldn’t just take what was being offered.

"You—" Neville jabbed a finger at Grayson’s chest. "You are the most infuriating person I have ever met."

Grayson’s eyebrows rose.

"First, you prevent me from cleaning." Another jab.

"Then you tease me with—that—with the balls." A third jab, harder.

"And now, when I decided to do this—this thing with you—you get all meek and Virgin Mary? Pick a lane, will you?!"

A startled laugh escaped Grayson.

He was even more handsome when he laughed like that.

They stared at each other.

Neville’s lips twitched.

"Let me down," he said finally, and this time there was no resistance when he slid off Grayson’s lap.

Neville’s knees pressed into the plush carpet before the couch. He could feel Grayson’s gaze burning into him with every movement. Grayson’s eyes had darkened considerably, meaning his rut was resurfacing again.

His oversized shirt slipped off one shoulder. He hadn’t meant for it to look seductive on him. But the way Grayson’s jaw tightened at the sight of it falling and exposing the pale curve of his collarbone told him that intention hardly mattered at this point.

Neville’s fingers found the waistband of Grayson’s sweatpants. The fabric was soft, worn from use, and it slid down with embarrassing ease. He tugged, and Grayson lifted his hips just enough to help.

And then—

Neville’s hands froze.

He stared.

Blinked.

Stared again.

"Seriously?" The word escaped him before he could stop it.

His voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and a hysterical laugh threatening to bubble up from his chest.

Grayson’s member stood at full attention, and the sight of it only made this situation worse or better, depending on perspective. Neville was somewhat horrified, as it twitched and grew even harder under his gaze.

He hadn’t thought it could get any bigger.

But he was wrong.

Grayson let out a rough exhale, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch cushion. His knuckles had gone white.

"Are you really sure about this?" His voice came out strained, almost pained, holding back with sheer willpower. "I know we—neither of us has done this before, and if you’re not—"

"I’m kneeling in front of you with my hands on your sweatpants," Neville cut in flatly, though his cheeks burned. "I think we’re a little past the point of asking if I’m sure about this."

"That’s not—"