He gasps and shudders at the feeling of nails against his back. His hands gripping Kronid's ass to encourage him to press down, rocking up against him in return. He hasn't done something like this in many, many years. Not since university, really, but the feeling is as familiar as it is new.

Distantly, he smells something metallic, but his lips are against Kronid's chest, his collarbone, and Georg can't be bothered with anything outside of the feeling of the other man's body.