Sylvain is rather fond of the real thing, too. Especially in moments like right now. That clench is just as much teasing as it is in reaction to the scrape of nails over heated flesh, body jolting in response to the thrill of sensation.

His body rocks on instinctive, driven by need rather than any actual intent on his part, but Jesper's silvery eyes locked on him has a flush stealing over skin that's mostly all arousal. Especially when those curses turn into murmured orders mingled with dirty talk. It's enough to steal what's left of his breath into a wanton moan as his head falls back and he obliges him, fucking himself back onto Jesper's cock, taking him deeper and deeper until he's seated on him fully and even then he doesn't stop moving, restlessly chasing that delicious rhythm that had pleasure shuddering along his nerves from the friction.

And every so often, Jesper's hips give a rock as well and the other man is rewarded with obscene little sounds or hitches of breath, or the occasional strained curse when that shift of his cock strokes along sensitive nerves and sends a jolt straight through him. Each time that happens, he tightens
on instinct, his own cock jerking in reaction to the maddening friction and the growing ache of desperation. Although he keeps to the same rhythm for as long as he can. He's not in a hurry, and as Jesper hadn't seemed to be yet either, he drags out the delicious friction and pleasure, letting it build. Although it's getting harder and harder (no pun intended) to maintain it.