The sting of Fives' hand in his hair helps, the fierce possessive bites help. But -

Fives feels amazing against him, and Jedao groans uselessly, helplessly, his hips want to match rhythm, want to urge Fives on, grinding and riding, and that's a cliff in his head that makes him skitter hard away, with no idea how deep or sheer it actually is. He's only half hearing Fives' mumbled words and he still can't tell if they make him feel better or worse or possibly both at once. But the rest is so wonderful, and he wants so badly - he doesn't want to stop, he just wants it to be different and he can't - he can't -

(If he had one more once of self-awareness, this would be ironic.)

"Fives," he gasps, growls, repeatedly starts, because maybe if he can just get words out of his mouth he can manage to ask - "Fives. Roll us over."