Despite his active effort to pace himself, it is impossible to resist giving in at least a little. Yussa feels too good. The hot, silky walls of his cunt squeeze too perfectly around his cock, the wet sound of their fucking is too loud; he is perfectly pliant, willingly at his mercy, and utterly lovely. Caleb's rhythm picks up, not fast, but a step away from the slow, measured thrusts he was maintaining at first.

The sweat on his skin is cooled by the sea breeze wafting in from the open window. He can hear his own breathing becoming increasingly uneven. Yussa's breasts are soft and warm under his hands, and he takes to gripping them while the rough pad of his thumb rubs over his nipples. Preoccupied, he misses the subtle twitch of the elf's fingers entirely.

What will Yussa say to him when he wakes? Will he call him bold with that coy smirk of his and long lashes drooping low over eyes of molten gold? Will he feign surprise and playfully admonish him for taking liberties? Or will he obligingly allow it as his reward for returning to him alive and whole?

Anything is fine, so long as he can lay down beside him and hold him.

"I have missed you," he murmurs, and can't help a soft, throaty moan when he angles up on the next thrust. "I know it has not been long, but--oh, fuck, you feel good--"

Not what he was intending to say, but that doesn't matter. His hair hangs into his face as he leans down to kiss his lover's parted lips again, unable to resist the alluring softness of his mouth.