Ignorant of women's pleasure as he is, Benedict does not know if the noises slipping from Ninon's lips are, in fact genuine. But, knowing what he knows of men's pleasure, being a man himself and also having spent a large portion of the last ten years living in dormitory situations with others of his own gender, he knows enough to be at least a touch suspicious.
Benedict is no stranger to masturbation, even though he does not particularly indulge in the habit himself, and despairs of the entire invention when others around him do. (They seem to forget what he is, late a night when the urge strikes; he can hear every rustle of clothing, every slick slide of skin, can smell the musk and bitter saltiness that ensues. It's quite upsetting, to be honest, since it almost always manages to pull him out of a decent doze well on the way to a true sleep, and then he struggles for an hour or more to fall back asleep after his now-sated neighbor is snoring away contentedly, truly relaxed.)
Still, feigned or not, this time Benedict has no problems with enjoying the sounds of Ninon's gasps, or with watching her avidly as she shifts to meet the touch of her hand.
In shifting to settle on the bed properly, he has moved to kneel over her legs, more or less pinning them together. At the time, it hadn't even registered as something that might pose a problem to him, but now that he is here, watching her touch herself, he has discovered a major drawback to this situation: he cannot actually see very much. So, sliding the hand he has left on her thigh out to her flank, he curls his fingers beneath her leg and tugs gently, coaxing her to shift beneath him so that in the end she can drape her legs over his thighs as he kneels between her legs.
no subject
Benedict is no stranger to masturbation, even though he does not particularly indulge in the habit himself, and despairs of the entire invention when others around him do. (They seem to forget what he is, late a night when the urge strikes; he can hear every rustle of clothing, every slick slide of skin, can smell the musk and bitter saltiness that ensues. It's quite upsetting, to be honest, since it almost always manages to pull him out of a decent doze well on the way to a true sleep, and then he struggles for an hour or more to fall back asleep after his now-sated neighbor is snoring away contentedly, truly relaxed.)
Still, feigned or not, this time Benedict has no problems with enjoying the sounds of Ninon's gasps, or with watching her avidly as she shifts to meet the touch of her hand.
In shifting to settle on the bed properly, he has moved to kneel over her legs, more or less pinning them together. At the time, it hadn't even registered as something that might pose a problem to him, but now that he is here, watching her touch herself, he has discovered a major drawback to this situation: he cannot actually see very much. So, sliding the hand he has left on her thigh out to her flank, he curls his fingers beneath her leg and tugs gently, coaxing her to shift beneath him so that in the end she can drape her legs over his thighs as he kneels between her legs.