He's not known for his patience. His ability to sit back and let someone else lead things is atrophied at best. But before he can complain Kyle's hands are on him and in him and Quentin's head falls back to his pillow.

"Ahh," he groans and hisses a breath through his teeth. Quentin's hips rock forward and back as he tries to decide which he wants more of.

Telling him is relax is usually a good way to further inspire his irritation, and maybe Kyle knows that, but the promise that follows does everything to temper him. He blinks through the bleariness that obscures his vision of Kyle and blushes violently. I'm relaxed. I just... need something to hold on to, he admits, reaching for any part of Kyle he can get his hands on.