Sure enough, a faint flush rises to Cloud's face at being called out and teased all in one go - not to mention the way Genesis is looking at him. Arousal and self-consciousness war for supremacy in reaction to it. "Bite me," he mutters, clearly neither meaning it literally nor thinking about the fact that it could be taken that way deliberately.

Cloud sighs in relief when Genesis pulls him out into his hand, but the relief is short-lived. Soon a frustrated whine leaves his throat and he can't help struggling against the rock trapping his hands in place. He can feel more of that sticky moisture under his palms now, but it still won't let him go.

His head falls back against Genesis' shoulder after a moment as he pants for breath and his hips push forward as much as they can. The need for real friction is swiftly overcoming little things like dignity or reservations. "More," he breathes, the word itself almost a breathy little moan.