Jerome bristles when Vincent first raises the question. "Why, are they testing that now too?"
Vincent shrugs. "I should know everything, just in case." Is he joking?
"Well, it's not like I can show you now, can I." He waves a hand in the general direction. "It doesn't work quite the way it used to, just like everything else down there."
There's a long silence, and he hopes that they’re about to drop the subject and move on to something less humiliating. Instead Vincent sits across from him, so their eyes are level, and says "How does it work? I mean, now. Can you still…"
"What the fuck does it matter what I can or can't do now? You're not trying to be me now, you're trying to be me… before." He starts to wheel away, but Vincent catches up easily. Yet another embittering facet of his disability - he can't even storm off properly. "Get out of my way."
"Not until you answer the question."
"Why do you even want to know?"
"Let's say I'm curious." It's clear Vincent isn't going to let this go. He's stubborn that way.
"Fine. I can get an erection under the right circumstances - that part's mental as much as physical. I can't feel much of anything down there, though, and I don't have orgasms. Happy now?"
"No, of course not," says Vincent, and Jerome thinks he might actually mean it.
"Don't fucking feel sorry for me."
"It's not that. It's just that…"
"What?" The look on Vincent's face confuses him. It's sad, wistful, and a little…hell, is he actually disappointed? "I'm sorry I can't give you the full 'how to have sex with Jerome Morrow' demo," he says, trying to force some levity into his voice and break the tension, but then realizes what he just said. "'Like Jerome Morrow,' I mean. Not 'with.' Obviously."
Vincent cracks a smile. "Why not 'with'?" He lays a hand over Jerome's, and suddenly Jerome can't think of an especially good reason why not.
"Sure," he says. "It'll be as close as I get these days to masturbation."
Vincent carries him up the stairs, lies him in the bed, helps him undress. He lies down beside him and begins to stroke his arm, his chest - parts that still have full feeling. They kiss, first awkwardly, then more enthusiastically, tongues meeting, teeth biting gently down on lower lips. Jerome had forgotten how good it could feel to genuinely kiss someone.
"Is there any point in…?" Vincent gestures to Jerome's half-hard cock.
"Only if you want to," he replies. Vincent's own erection is pressing against his side, so he reaches over to grasp it and gets an instant reaction as the other man moans softly. He feels nothing comparable when Vincent touches him, though his body apparently knows that something is happening and increases blood flow accordingly. After Vincent gives him a few strokes, he stops him, saying "Just go back to what you were doing before."
Having a stiff, responsive cock in his hand is oddly gratifying, even if it isn't his. Watching Vincent's face as he gets jerked off is better. The things that Vincent does with his mouth - biting his earlobe, sucking his nipples, licking the space between his thumb and forefinger - are best. It's like his body compensates for its paralysis by making every nerve ending in his upper half fire twice as strongly. The less he thinks about what he isn't feeling, the more he's able to enjoy what he is. It's not an orgasm, but on the other hand, it lasts longer.
Vincent's close now, gasping for release. It's remarkably satisfying to know that he's the one responsible for that urgent need. "Move up," he tells him, and Vincent brings his cock to Jerome's waiting mouth. He takes him in fully, accepting the thick, hot spurts against the back of his throat.
Afterwards, Vincent asks if he'd enjoyed it. He has this ever-present need to do well, to seek approval. "Of course," Jerome tells him reassuringly. "Don't worry, you passed."