It might be comical if he weren't right in the middle of it. Very suddenly, the echo is gone and Yussa doesn't have the strength to flail for balance. Caleb, too, moves suddenly when he realizes he is holding Yussa's throat. He slumps onto the chaise, trying to support himself on his forearms, at least, but even that is a near thing. He can hear Caleb cursing and apologizing behind him and the words trickle through his mind without really landing.

With Caleb's help, Yussa sinks down onto the chaise, making only a soft, weak sound in the back of his throat when Caleb's cock slips free. He's left feeling utterly empty, and his awareness is far more pronounced with how well fucked the echo and Caleb have left him. Yussa doesn't have the strength to resist - or help - as Caleb eases him onto his back. His eyes aren't quite closed, but they aren't focused on anything in particular. His breathing is still heavy, but starting to calm; he still feels overheated, the flush lingering in his cheeks and chest even as sweat begins to dry on his skin.

Yussa blinks his eyes fully open as Caleb's fingers brush across his brow, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair. He manages to focus on the younger man, but it's clear looking at him that he's still dazed. Between his thighs he's a mess of his own slick and oil and Caleb's come, and whatever remains of a dragon's saliva.

He still feels like he's floating, even with the familiar support of the chaise beneath him ensuring that he isn't completely untethered. His entire body is too heavy and it takes far more effort than usual to do anything at all. Yussa, a man who depends on the sharpness of his mind and the precise command of his words can barely muster any at all. His mind grasps uselessly at passing thoughts but cannot hold them. His hand rests on the chaise and his fingers curl lightly in a gesture that might be beckoning if he weren't so wrecked.

It takes far too long to muster the words, but eventually he manages to murmur, "Do not apologize, sweet boy."