"Yes," he murmurs. "And I have no desire to move."

Having Caleb pressed against his back is comforting. Yussa can feel the slick mess between his thighs, the sweat drying on his skin, but he cannot bring himself to care about either. He will bathe in the morning. Or whenever he wakes up.

Slowly, he relaxes more, the tension fading from him and replaced by relief. Blissful relief. The archmage says nothing else, quickly sinking back into sleep now that his body and mind both feel quiet and utterly worn out.

And, by the grace of all that is holy, he sleeps hard through the rest of the night.