He's trying to summon up a protest-- lube or not, he really wanted a chance to ride Victor like he'd done him-- but the protest gets swamped in a moan instead when Victor grabs his ass again and then everything's moving too quick for his pleasure fogged brain to catch up until they're standing and he's pressed against the wall. The tile is warmer than normal from the steam but still feels cooler than his body does, good against his overheated skin. He presses a cheek into it and struggles to not think about what just happened.

It's harder to do without Victor touching him, particularly on the heels of a plea like that, all of his nervousness returning the moment everything isn't just a mad rush forward into pleasure, even for that less than a minute. He's just starting to work himself up to saying it was no problem, that he didn't mean it, when Victor's back and then he's too busy trying to remember how to breathe, knowing Victor's looking at him, probably seeing things like the difference in color where he'd hit him, the bruises on his shoulders from his mouth. He can feel himself flush more, embarrassed, but he manages not to move.