"Let me see what you've got, Monty," he coaxes, letting Monty grind against him, their body automatically seeking out warmth and pressure and enjoyment. "If your hands move, I'll stop," he warns, and then for a moment his hands really do stop, as he tugs open Monty's outermost parts, revealing the soaking wet dampness within to his hungry gaze. He studies Monty's body with clear and obvious fascination, sliding his thumbs against them, and noting all their reactions - the way their little cock jerks and jumps with reaction, the way they squirm and tense, both trying to spread their legs wider and futilely pulling their knees together - and putting together a mental map of Monty's preferences and sensitivities to exploit next time.

If there was a next time.

"Have you ever fucked yourself with your own cock, Monty?" He asks, almost absently, his thumb strumming over the stiff length and pressing it down between Monty's legs, along the crease. "I bet you enjoy that, don't you?"