Fives is watching, unblinking; breath catching with each pulse of Jedao's hips, watch twitch of his legs or tremor across the drawn-tight muscles of his abdomen. He wants to touch so desperately it's almost an ache, but he's also so grateful for just this that he feels lightheaded with relief and gratitude and, Force, arousal. He's not sure he's ever gotten this hard this fast in his life, and it's all just from watching Jedao work himself, and from knowing that he's doing it, at least in part, for him.

He wants to tell him he's beautiful, wants to tell him how desperately he wants to taste him and touch him, how he can almost imagine it's his hand on Jedao, how he can smell him from here, and it makes his mouth water. He doesn't say any of it. Doesn't do anything but bite almost desperately at his bottom lip to keep himself silent and grind against the hell of his hand as he watches. And fantasizes. And wishes.