[Lance is already straight up naked, Keith ain't gotta wish for jack. There's a two-handed squeeze when Lance leans into the touch, a gesture he assumes is out of appreciation. He's trying to press him close at the same time, enough where he can roll his hips forward with little effort, rubbing on him -- not that his hand isn't enough, but it is, but he's grown a certain fondness for the crotch-to-crotch variety of friction.]
You can try.
[He draws a hand away, reaching for Lance's thigh instead, pulling it apart from the other -- forcing his legs to part some bit. Blunt nails rake the underside of that very leg.]
no subject
You can try.
[He draws a hand away, reaching for Lance's thigh instead, pulling it apart from the other -- forcing his legs to part some bit. Blunt nails rake the underside of that very leg.]