Jedao whines so loud it's almost a yell muffled into the kiss. Eiffel's long legs are around him, Eiffel's body covering over him. It's not quite the full-body weight of being fucked but it makes him feel warm and held and precious and good, melting-liquid-gold-good, and completely unprepared for the electric jolt that is Eiffel's nails scraping his scalp.

He wants to say harder and he wants to never stop kissing. He's abruptly, desperately hard, twenty and quite literally made for it, and if it weren't for the katydos he'd be terrified of Eiffel realizing and running off again - but he isn't, so he gets to just enjoy the heady hungry delight of the moment.