[The second the boy on his lap realizes his mistake, his hand snatches back in an instant, widened eyes glued on the torso above him, pink rising to his cheeks.

It's not as though he can't touch him at all, just as Miyuki's said, but he's already made embarrassed by his inability to perform with only death as his encouragement, by being the smallest bit honest, and this error only adds fuel to the fire of his shame. Slowly, almost thoughtlessly, with only the objective of creating distance in mind, he's drawing away to sit on the bed instead. And still thoughtlessly, his knees have curled themselves up, wishing to shield him.]

It doesn't matter. It's not necessary. I was being... [scared? stupid?] Truthfully, I don't want to touch you at all, and I don't want you to touch me at all, but I want to go home... I want to go home, so could you quit derailing us and hurry it up?

[Just do what he has to, in other words, because while their first attempt has proven that it's quite the discomfort, maybe arousal will find him if they're patient enough. He can't say, since he's never been in a situation where whether he was aroused or not mattered much, it just happened to be an ego-boosting bonus for the men he was made to lie with.]

Knocking me out would've been the wiser choice, after all, it seems.