The sharp cry of relief is high keening sound, before Nero cuts off into pants, taking the pace that Cid sets. He's a talker, half nonsense: like fucking a piston, don't stop, don't you dare stop, give it to me, all of it--! It just runs from his mouth like a fountain of incoherent half-sentences interrupted by sharp cries when Cid starts to ruin hims with the right angle.

All the muscles of his legs stand in sharp relief, tensed; his body welcomes Cid in but the flex of muscle grips him tight, demanding he stay, too, until Nero's beyond thinking about reaction or teasing and is just groaning into the mattress like he's going to die from bliss.