Ari wakes up with a lithe little twink grinding on his cock, a familiar and thoroughly welcome sensation.

"Morning," he rumbles lazily, reaching down between his partner's legs to swipe a thumb across his pussy. "I see you're up for another round."

"Nn - yes, I thought so."

He thrusts his hips to try to catch Ari's thumb, extend the contact. How are his hands so fucking big. How are they the same species.

Ari can thumbfuck for a bit, sure. He's got nothing but time.

His thumb is slightly rough, and, as established, pretty massive, especially in comparison to his tiny partner. It dips between Tintin's labia, and curls in as it pushes deeper and deeper. His other fingers frame Tintin's prick, nestling in his wispy-fine pubic hair.

Tintin's muscles flutter around him. "Nh," he comments. "Feels - feels good."

"Should I fuck you," Ari muses, "or just keep on like this? I bet I can make you cum. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Yeahhhhh," Tintin moans. "- but I bet you could make me cum with your cock too," he adds more coherently.

"Mm. Bet I could, at that."

Ari's thumb continues plundering Tintin.

"But maybe I want to make you cum and then do it again. And again, and again."

Tintin trembles. "Wh-what if - I want to get on with it?"

"You're awfully impatient. How long are you here, anyway?"

Ari's voice is casual, even as his thumb searches around for Tintin's g-spot.

"Two-ooh. Two weeks."

"You've got time for me to fuck you however I want," Ari says decisively. "And right now I want to go slow. I want to make you cum until you can't anymore."

"I can't help taking that - ngh - some sort of challenge."

"What, are you going to try not to get off? Be my guest. Think about baseball."

Ari's other hand wraps around Tintin's cock and starts stroking.

"I have ways of making you cum, Mister Saint-Martin."

Tintin tries thinking about baseball, and fails because baseball is profoundly uninteresting, especially compared to the things Ari is doing to his genitalia. He tries prime factorization, which is only marginally better. He tries thinking about dance routines - Asari striptease, which is mechanically fascinating and has never been anything else before, the things asari can do with their pseudoamphibian flexibility - and manages to halfway trick himself into thinking it's working until he has a vivid mental image of his cock vanishing into a silky azure, tentacles reaching around to infiltrate his holes, and he's spurting all over his belly and Ari's hand.

"Feeling a little less rushed?"

"You somehow accidentally caused me to have a heterosexual thought," Tintin says reproachfully.

"You're going to have to unpack that for me."

"I was trying to think of mechanically fascinating but unsexy things, and I thought of asari dance routines. Which - I'm not attracted to asari, even if, well, a lot of people are - but when I lost the tug-of-war I was thinking about fucking one."

"My god you're gay. Never once before had you looked at an asari and wanted to fuck them?"

"Breasts are terrible. Even asari pseudomammaries."

"You can have sex from behind!"

"Were you going to fuck me or argue about the objective sexiness of asari?"

"Well. If you ask nicely."

"Fuck me. Please. Fill me with your ridiculous, beautiful cock and make me cum until I can't anymore. Until I can't walk."

Ari hisses in a breath. "So you do know how to ask nicely," he murmurs.

He withdraws his thumb from Tintin's pussy and lines up the blunt head of his cock, then starts pushing in.