Eggsy tried not to react to the encouragement, he really does. He’s not good at it, though. He likes praise too much, even when it’s some dumb bullshit about how well he can deal with floggings of various nature. He sort of smiles, though manages not to look all the way back at Quentin, just shifting his glance to the side.

His body is a constant betrayal, though, obviously seeking more contact when Quentin brings the cop up against his balls. He knows he’s too sensitive, too easy to read during shit like this. Hopefully no one from home ever realises. It’s probably an embarrassment.

Dorian has done similar, putting pressure on freshly bruised skin. Quentin’s hands aren’t like Dorian’s, even in this VR simulation. He’s slightly taller, built bigger. He doesn’t have Dorian’s grace (though Eggsy imagine he doesn’t have Dorian’s strength; it’s probably not a good idea to assume everyone is a normal human until proven otherwise, but he does anyway).

Either way, Quentin’s hands feel different on him. The pain he incites is different, though it still hurts, and Eggsy fidgets under his hands. He’s trained to take a lot, and he could of he wanted to. That’s a giveaway, though, and it’s also entirely unnecessary here so he lets it go.

He groans outright when Quentin’s hand comes round to his cock. It’s not enough, with the fabric still between them.

“Yes, fuck,” he says. He wants to make some remark about wanting more than that, but his brain short circuits enough that eloquence escapes him.

“Please,” he says, more used to that idea than he’d once been.