[He resurfaces slowly from that haze past pleasure, rubbing his face against the warm skin at the back of Cy's neck — shuddering hard through the too-sensitive drag of wet friction across his cock as it softens in the shelter of thighs, a weak noise of unmeant protest. Cy's praise rolls over him, meted out with that physical affection across his knuckles, palm, wrist, each spot tingling where those kisses land.

Another aftershock jolts him, and he tries to pry himself from between Cy's legs before he's tormented further.]

I feel good. [And how far they've come, for him to state this so plainly. He feels connected, close to Cy, demonstrated in the nuzzling as his hand tries to slip lower down Cy's body, palm flat at the sternum and lower on the man's abdomen, fingers searching for his cock. It's a curious touch — but a desiring one, too, because he wants to make Cy feel as good as he does.] It's not fair, though. That I can't leave any marks on you the way you can with me.

[A petulant huff matches a tone implying no seriousness, because it's not Cy's fault.]

I want everyone to know you're mine.