Two is - more. It doesn't seem, abstractly, that it could feel like that much more but it does, a blunt obtrusive discomfort, a more insistent stretch, even as heat ripples over his skin in excitement at the intrusion, even as the air tingles in cool contrast in the wake of Fives' slick tongue, his warm breath.

Jedao rocks against Fives' fingers, moderating the pace a little, delaying when he needs to, panting against Fives' mouth, accelerating when the coiling hunger in his body overpowers its resistance. He gets a hand against the side of Fives' face, means to guide him a little there, too, but ends up just stroking, just caressing, hypnotized by the edge of his occipital bone, the texture of his skin.