[momentarily stumbling, legs shuddering with the rush of your hand on him, the sharp line of barely-there touch across the bottom of the cockhead, fingers crooking deeper, more needy, less patient now. he gains balance braced against a wall, slick tile all around but it's a sure measure of up and down, which he sorely needs as your hand makes his world spin]

[switching to his other hand, slicker and unoccupied now, he gently strokes one finger all the way in, in and out until a second can easily fit. Then, gently, pushing wider, fingers held straight and scissoring slowly, methodically, his thumb rubbing your ring in little circles, coaxing it, coaxing you]

[nuzzling your temple, hair with his face, laying kisses on your brow]

Shingo.