[he gasps and his hips stutter against yours again, tilting his head to feel the rough scrape of stubble against his throat, moaning quietly into your ear. his fingers clutch at your hair again, useless and grasping as he presses shaky kisses over your shoulder, struggling to muffle the sounds he's making]

Sh-Shingo. [managing, finally, his knees trembling a little as his hand slides down to touch your wrist where it's pressed to the back of his hip, his cheeks burning] And--yes. Please, yes.