This kind of mindful, slow dragging out of the foreplay is so unnatural in their dynamic, but it's also incredibly novel and sweet that Ulysse can't imagine putting a stop to it. He also somehow can't imagine it coming from anyone except Rook, even when the mage has been more prone to shoving him against the nearest hard surface to shove his bottoms down to bottom-out in a hard rut. Maybe it's because of the kisses they'd shared in Grey's cabin, or the way Rook had stared at him after the slavers were dispatched, as if Ulysse were the most precious, dear thing he'd ever seen in the world.

It warms him as much as it tears down his defenses. It leaves Ulysse trembling in Rook's arms, soft gasps gusting against those kisses as thin fingers tease and probe at his ass. It makes his answering laugh weak and airy and his voice soft as he retorts, "Is that so? You've been watching my face that closely, hm?"