"Nohhua," Nero hisses in response, a correction, and a light laugh breaks his heavy breathing. His eyes part briefly, half lidded as he sneers, grinding back faster, more demanding, unable to keep the pace of the waves any longer. His vision lands lazily on Ephram's hand and he shifts, pinning it beneath his own. His fingers card between the Foriegn Marshal's but the gesture is neither intimate nor tender, merely an extra expanse of skin against skin.

"Faster--nnuihs, n' stronger," Nero demands, his voice so low that it nearly stops halfway through the sentence, slipping speed and inflection as it passes out of the international standard. His back arches, pressing him against Ephram's downthrust and the jerk of their hips forces him against the white-haired man's hand. The motion is hypnotic and his breathing quickly times to it.

The ship rolls, a slight motion comparatively but it causes Nero's foot to slip. The sudden change is immediately evident as Ephram slides into him with sharp force and strikes keenly. The sound that errupts form him is loud and involuntary and his hands tense against wood and the Marshal's as it tears out of his lungs. Their motion is involuntary at this juncture, and the second stroke occurs before his breath is ended. His head jerks back as his body tenses. The withdrawl almost pushes him over, leaves him gaping and breathless. It is Ephram's hand across the head of his arousal, tight and languid, that brings him to fruition.