It was a different sort of connection, being in this role, the way someone like a rough n'tumble pirate pleaded and gripped and began to unravel - a different sort of pleasure, and perhaps that's why he wanted it this way. Killian's words, garbled as they were, came out in a gasp as shiver after shiver tumbled its way along his spine - felt like fire ripping north, through his veins, over his skin, and the sensation of forcing pleasure to build (he had to, had to keep it together - if he came first the sensitivity would murder him; luckily he had enough experience to also have control) was different too.
Hand was finally put to use as well, on himself, strokes that fell into the same rhythm, in sync. "You're going to kill me, you know." Well, seemed he was going to die anyway - alright, not literally, and only in the best way possible.