Tonight, as ever, there is nothing like feeling Yussa come apart with pleasure. He does very little, truly, just works his tongue in and out of him as Yussa exhausts himself fucking his fingers. Caleb can still feel the gentle trembling in his thighs as his hips drop heavily down to the bed. He must be absolutely soaked--when Caleb pulls back, withdrawing both hands and mouth, he sees the sheets are damp between Yussa's legs, and Caleb is certain that isn't entirely his doing.

"Gods, you are perfect," he murmurs, stroking the back of a splayed thigh as he admires the tattoo there from this angle before he gets his knees under him.

His wet mouth begins to trail up his lover's back along his spine as his hands walk up the bed on either side of him, bringing Caleb further over the smaller man's body with each progressive kiss. His erection rests heavy and hot against his ass, and a rock of Caleb's hips slots the length of himself between his cheeks, dragging through the slick mess over his hole--and perhaps, without perfect finesse, brushing his folds once or twice. For the moment, Caleb teases himself with this friction without pressing inside.

"I have not forgotten," he says, a touch more breathlessly, "that you complained of being empty, Herr Yussa. Should I fix that for you?"