Faster, deeper, long slow strokes -- whatever Ned wants, Daneel is only too glad to try it. If he's good at it, perhaps that's only an artifact of a mentality entirely focused on his partner. What, after all, is his own pleasure in this but a reflection of Ned's? He listens, he tries, he adjusts.
Daneel wraps his hand around Ned's cock, and begins stroking in time with his thrusts. His touch is gentle, as always, but he judges what force he uses carefully: enough for pleasurable friction, not enough to hurt.
To ask Ned to orgasm, to ask him to rush over that crest with Daneel's guidance -- well, it's not something he can do. It's selfish, in a way, wanting this to happen, to drink in Ned's pleasure and remember it, always, to know he did this and can do this and that he is loved, even if he doesn't know what he can return of it.
"Please," he murmurs, not entirely sure himself what he's asking.
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Daneel wraps his hand around Ned's cock, and begins stroking in time with his thrusts. His touch is gentle, as always, but he judges what force he uses carefully: enough for pleasurable friction, not enough to hurt.
To ask Ned to orgasm, to ask him to rush over that crest with Daneel's guidance -- well, it's not something he can do. It's selfish, in a way, wanting this to happen, to drink in Ned's pleasure and remember it, always, to know he did this and can do this and that he is loved, even if he doesn't know what he can return of it.
"Please," he murmurs, not entirely sure himself what he's asking.