[He's shaking in the wash of the aftermath, gently handled, lost somewhere beneath the warm tone of that voice and the kisses spared to all of those soft parts of his body. A shower of them, equally as unfamiliar as they are grounding, putting him back into his skin as he comes down from a mindless high. He can feel as soon as fingers are extracted from a slippery hole, can feel the emptiness leftover like a hollow ache. A tingle of pleasure travels up his spine like he's chasing that friction still, that penetration even after the fact, like he can still feel the ghost of it.

Then onto the bed, on his back, and he twitches at the slick glide of a tongue across that tender, softened cock. His toes curl; a little whine starts somewhere in the back of his throat. Yet benign and placid as that lapping tongue works over him, there's no agonizing stimulation—just a suffused sense of warmth. A tug of interest on the heels of an orgasm. Bleary eyes watch Cy work, covering him in more kisses and then cleaning the evidence of everything else from his skin, marveling the amount of care demonstrated in every movement.

There's nothing hard or difficult about obeying Cy, he thinks, when this is what it grants him. There is no slice of pleasure without the gentle, soothing balm that follows.

Cy checks in at the right time, because those words have brought fresh color to his face.]

A mirror? What's so appealing about seeing it? [Huffs, sitting up already, because he has the stamina of a warrior enough to feel that second wind by now. Without sleep deprivation and aphrodisiac, he won't flop over so easily.] ... Good. I'm good. It felt...

[He seems to hunt for the word, hand already reaching for Cy, trying to pull him closer again.]

I've never felt anything that good before.