You're 'bout to be in your own. [It's a playful purr of a drawl right back, Vrenille's hand sliding down over the front of his track pants, fingers playing against himself.]

Start rubbing yourself through your pants, just easy, slow. Not in any rush. Let your body relax.

[The fabric stretches a little beneath his fingers, the view of an outline just fleetingly, only semi-hard. He adjusts himself and the material around him as he hardens, and it's probably obvious he's got no underwear on beneath, especially when he pauses to trail his fingers back up.]

Touch your nipples. Could be through your shirt, or maybe you wanna slide your hand inside, touch your skin like I'm doing. But don't pinch or pull 'em. Just slow, gentle.

[With one hand he touches his own, forefinger tracing carefully around the nub of skin, a light friction that tugs and rolls beneath his fingertip. And then, languid touch running the span of his chest, he teases that same touch against the other.

A little sigh of pleasure, and his cock throbs, untouched, a visible pulse that lift the fabric of his pants for a moment as he hardens further.]