It's hard not to just fully lie back into him, but the position they are doing this from requires some degree of separation to keep those thrusts deep and impactful, and Enver's hips roll into them, with greater relish when the Dark Urge's moves a hand, and he feels utterly engulfed from every direction by his warmth. His moans are the beginnings of words he cannot fully form.

Pleas. Praises. Vain warnings that he will arrive too soon. Meaning conveyed more by tone than language, which is gone from him.

His own hands are more firmly anchored where they are as he puts more into his efforts, determined not to let the pace falter because he was off balance. A fool's errand; he can feel it coming, the fluttering clench of his inner walls around his member. Demanding, releasing and demanding yet again with no controlled tempo as his own member begins to release.

For a moment he is still, his entire body drawing taut, and he falls silent.