He wonders if, with experience, this feeling will stop seeming like he's going to die or lose his mind. Stop seeming so urgent and dangerous. J isn't sure what he wants the answer to that to be. It scares him, but so little does anymore that it's exciting. Upsetting, confusing, somewhat angering, and exciting. He doesn't know if he even trusts himself for the fact that he likes it, but he does like it. As long as there's something to balance the strangeness of it and keep his mind focused.

The knife scrapes over him again, less deeply, and he arches --thrusts-- into Mitch's grip. A grip that tightens painfully, only sliding freely care of a steady flow of precum. J's shoulders are driven down to press hard into the mattress as his body attempts to thrust up off of the bed, lifting himself and Mitch, but falls short.
"Nnn...gah.."

He pants, feeling himself teetering on the edge of that still-unfamiliar abyss. It's so much harder to keep pace with his hand like this, but he just barely manages. The rhythm only stalls and stutters a moment or two as Mitch's steady, firm pumping drags J's climax from him. He wanted more. He wanted to see what Mitch would do to him next. J still hasn't learned to show stamina, though. He cums in several short bursts and shuddering moans. He tightens his hand and tries to mimic the same for Mitch. He wants to see Mitch feel that; wants to be the one that does it.