He tries to do what Jedao asks, but his kriffing blacks are still in the way, pushed down around his thighs. He has to take one hand off himself and reach to shove them farther, far enough that he can catch one leg with the other foot and strip it off. It gives him the freedom to splay his legs wide, dig his heels in and arch his shoulders against the wall so his body's a taut line as he goes back to rolling and tugging at his balls, stroking himself in a rhythm that's starting to go erratic.

He can't take his eyes off the shadow, off the gleaming eyes gazing steadily back at him, and he bites off another ragged, tearing groan as it comes closer. And he wants to touch, wants to touch so badly, but he knows he can't. So he listens to that voice, thick and slow and rich, and feels it almost like hands on his skin, fingers down his spine.

"Fuck... fuck, Jedao... Jed'ika-" Thinks about Jedao's hand on his balls, his mouth on his cock, breath ghosting over spit-slick skin, that kriffing voice. And curls forward over himself with a hoarse cry and a look on his face almost like shock as he comes in thick, milky ropes and spatters precisely aimed at the lurking shadow as Fives keeps his gaze locked on the central pair of unblinking, golden eyes.