There's a soft, thoughtful hum from somewhere above Rook's head as he takes his kisses down Ulysse's chest. Nuzzling the top of the mage's head, Ulysse murmurs, "I supposed you'd better take responsibility, then."

His arms loosely wrap around the mage's neck and head, one of his hands shifting to trail blunt fingernails lightly along the top few knobs of his spine. It's as natural as breathing, then, to shift their hips so Ulysse can press his thigh up between Rook's legs while his cock rests warmly against the mage's hip, drawing a low, pleased noise from deep in Ulysse's throat.