"You'll never be able to stop me from having you!" Turkey declares, her breath forcefully passing from her lungs as her hand moves, thumb pressing down on that right spot, that spot right there andohgodfuckyesplease she watches Egypt's body squirm and arch violently upwards, her hips unconsciously rocking into her hand and finally that sound vibrates from the others throat. That deep, wanton moan that makes Turkey go dizzy for a moment, makes her head spin and her hand speed its actions, driving her forward, aiming to shove her, push her, trip her over that edge of resolve. "Yes," she whispers desperately, "Yes pretty." She moans as well, watching the other bite her lip, arch her head back into the colorful fabrics.

Egypt is not prone to begging, she is not used to needing someone so badly she would cry for it, but right now she cannot help it and she cannot fathom why her breaths and words claim this want, this need for release, the tension in her body screaming at her to let go and she in turn relays the message, hesitating but nonetheless letting those words pass her lips.

"Please," she moans.

"Please!" she begs.

And Turkey smirks, gods above she smirks, because she knows she has won this, that this is her victory. Listening to the others voice, her breaths, her cries of pleasure she stops her movements and slowly withdraws her hand from the addicting heat of the other, feeling the wetness trail outward, down her own fingers and slipping down onto her hand and wrist, and she listens still as the other lets out a strangled cry, the loss of her hand making her shake, tremble.