Nero let loose a loud hiss as Ephram's hand clenched across the head of his erection and his thrust jerked Nero's hips forward. The space between them was negligible and the voice against his neck was all the inspiration he needed to push back against the Foriegn Marshal's thrusting. The rocking of the Narada, apparently, set the pace, and Nero smirked as the roll of his hips matched the slide of the waves across her hull.

"Well," a thready breath, "I believe," a tight hiss, "That could be--aaarranged."

He scowls at the fluctuation in his voice as the Foriegn Marshal manages to slide his length across that most ideal of spaces. His hands instinctively spread wider against the wall, bringing the muscles of his back together as his shoulderblades pinch. His eyes slide shut and he takes a short, open-mouthed breath and then another, before forcing his jaw closed. Wordlessly, he grinds his hips back against Ephram, tightening as the man slides back, attempting to maintain their gradual timing despite himself.

It is a challenge, this, and it irks him. But never once has Nero, Commodore of Her Royal Highness Mandana's fleet, backed down from a challenge.