[As little as it took to drag him down, the pure satisfaction of doing something right, of manipulating tendons and muscle in just the way he needs to, pulls him right back into the experience. He's a simple man in some respects, and there's something about the low, guttural pitches Ed is hitting that is hard to resist, colour staining his cheeks with a feeling somewhere between excitement and second-hand embarrassment.]

You could perform some variation of this on yourself, easily enough.

[He eases off that tender spot, tracing feather-light, ticklish spirals over his palm for a brief change of pace.]

Although I suspect it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying for either of us.