Yussa aches to respond. He wants to grab Caleb, to hold his hair or his arms, to respond to the way his lover pinches and teases him with more than just another ripple of tension through his body. The callouses on the younger man's hands feel good against his soft skin, providing a rough edge to an otherwise tender encounter. Caleb has learned so quickly how to take him apart.

Caleb's hips press against him as he pushes deep again and again; Yussa cannot spare himself that awareness, teetering still on the line between full consciousness and his trance. He can tell Caleb is pacing himself and that excites him as much as it tests him.

In truth, he too has been thinking of Caleb for days. Since the young man left his tower with a satchel full of potions, ones he was willing to spare with some idea of what his lover - and his friends - were rushing toward. And since he's been aware of their return, he has ached to hear Caleb's voice, to feel his lips and his hands, to be assured of his survival in the most primal way possible.