[If it is then he's doing a stellar job of it. As he rocks into each movement, Diarmuid struggles to keep his voice under control. Each sound is short and desperate, cut off by either his own hand or the next thrust sending an explosion of stars across his vision. Whether it's skill or just familiarity with his body, Berserker manages to catch him in just the right way to rob all the strength from his legs again.
It's only when he sits back, forehead damp, mouth open and eyes glazed over, that he even notices something different- a pressure at the base of his cock, just nudging against him. Any other time he might have been more curious but he's used to the unpredictability of Berserker's transformations by now- what's one more ridge or change in shape? Which reminds him-]
Could you...? [He takes one of his clawed hands in his and moves it to his own arousal. Gods, he's hard as hell and intermittant friction isn't enough anymore.] Please.
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It's only when he sits back, forehead damp, mouth open and eyes glazed over, that he even notices something different- a pressure at the base of his cock, just nudging against him. Any other time he might have been more curious but he's used to the unpredictability of Berserker's transformations by now- what's one more ridge or change in shape? Which reminds him-]
Could you...? [He takes one of his clawed hands in his and moves it to his own arousal. Gods, he's hard as hell and intermittant friction isn't enough anymore.] Please.