Any smart reply, or any at all, that he might have had in response to Poe's quip immediately died a swift death when Poe pinched at his nipple. Brendan swore in his increasingly disused Spanish out of some automatic instinct, but it was a good kind of swearing, the kind he never got a chance to do around Manabu. He blinked, dazed, falling onto the bed and swallowing. Brendan steadfastly refused to think about how long it had been since he was with another guy. Depressingly long, long enough to make him an incredibly easy lay, but he'd lived a long time without a sense of shame and didn't intend to develop one now, not with Poe's hands driving him crazy, making him dizzy with anticipation. He wanted those fingers in him and he wanted more of that sharp pleasure that bordered on pain in his chest and he wanted everything else Poe was willing to give, anything, just to blot it all out.

He was almost painfully hard as he kissed back, frantically, enthusiastically, as if he needed to reassure Poe this was a good idea. He shuddered at how Poe used his tongue, his vivid imagination supplying him with a slew of dirty mental images; he pressed his hips upwards against Poe's, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a shudder and a moan at the contact. He wasn't normally this vocal in bed right away - that usually came later - but Poe's touches were rapid-fire sensations that destroyed his already shitty concept of a filter. It was just the right side of overwhelming and he needed more, immediately.

"Sounds like a start," he replied, voice low and slightly snarky, still trying to grind against him impatiently. "If I don't scream at some point, though, you're not doing it right."