Ram gave a fervent nod, their bodies briefly becoming a tangle of limbs as they both tried to find a balance between helping with their own clothes and tugging off each other's. Finally, there was nothing between them and Ram used one hand in the centre of Joe's back and another cupping Joe's ass to guide him back into position over Ram. Since they still hadn't managed all that much time going slow, Ram tried to control the urge to simply race ahead and reach for the lube he knew he'd want before the night was over. Whatever discipline or control Joe had, however, Ram seemed to have somewhat less; his fingers traced the ridges of Joe's spine, the crease at the top of his thigh, the constantly-moving touch surely a tease whether Ram meant it that way or not.
Doing his best, he kept his nuzzle into the spot beneath Joe's ear affectionate before trailing his lips down the line of Joe's neck. Reaching the hollow of his throat, he lapped delicately, no teeth or suction. Joe had never said so, but Ram guessed that West Point wouldn't be exactly impressed if Joe kept turning up with visible hickeys, so Ram tried not to inflict any. One of the many benefits of being a tattoo artist: nobody cared whether Ram showed up covered in passionate love bites. Most of his coworkers and clients would congratulate him on the clearly excellent sex he was having. Pursing his lips, he blew a stream of cool breath onto the damp skin before moving away to scatter kisses across Joe's shoulders.
Now that he could feel Joe's cock hard and bare against him, Ram couldn't resist flexing upwards, grinding against Joe in small, disrupted circles. "Want," he breathed, indecisive as ever about what exactly it was he wanted, knowing only that it involved Joe, the warmth of muscles shifting beneath smooth skin, the hard heat of his arousal, the delicious noises he would make. "Please."