He watches Monty's body with open, naked fascination, his own cock practically throbbing in his slacks at the sight of their cock and their cunt tensing and jerking with the force of their orgasm. His fingers are practically soaked with the physical evidence of Monty's pleasure.

"My, my," he coos, gently drawing Monty's attention, finally drawing his hand away from them, watching the way their cock slowly slips out from inside of them, their body still dripping onto the covers of the bed. He glances up to Monty's hands, still held above their hand, obedient to Justin's earlier command. "You're being so good for me, aren't you, Monty? You really want this, don't you?"

For a brief, infinitesimal moment, Justin considers the circumstances, the potential of the situation between them, and then he inhales, a quiet, steadying breath.

And reaches for his shirt again, draped at the foot the bed.

"You may put your hands back down now, Monty," he says, offhanded, shrugging the shirt back on, apparently heedless of the stickiness on his hand.