At first, Caleb has to remind himself to prioritize his own pleasure. Yussa should be feeling good too, of course, but he's already decided not to focus on getting him off, instead allowing himself to take what he's earned. If Yussa wants to come, it will have to be from this alone, without his help. It seems he's making an attempt; his thighs spread wider and he repositions himself on the pillows, probably to grind his clit against the bolster.

He likes that. His hands slide up to seize the other man's hips, gripping tight and guiding his back into a deeper arch as he sinks more of his own weight into his next thrust, fucking down into him harder. The sound of their bodies meeting is louder, sharper. Caleb submits to his own needs, and something decompresses in his mind. He gives in to the intoxicating pull to fuck his highly receptive lover the way he likes, taking his pleasure self-indulgently from the soft, lavishly slick heat of his tight ass.

Yussa's desperate Elvish is lost on him but for tone, and part of him likes it that way. His reactive twitching and pleading only encourages him to demand more with a rasping undercurrent of his own breathless praise, mostly in Zemnian, but occasionally heavily accented Common. Promises to plug him up and have his ass again later, how he'll be thinking about this for months to come.