Ulysse's eyes look almost as though he's ready to doze off from how heavy his lashes have gotten, but the soft moan that slips past his lips makes it evident that's not something he's in danger of actually doing. His spine arches a bit, canting his hips as Rook's hands direct.

There's definitely a sort of relaxed, even indulgent air to Ulysse in the moment. He doesn't preen or make himself look pretty as Rook keeps toying with him, but there's that liquid grace to how he writhes over the bedding, jewelry glinting in the dim candlelight as his skin turns to burnished bronze as it gleams with the gathering sweat.

His hand settles over Rook's at his hip, lightly grasping the mage's scarred wrist and giving it a gentle squeeze as he lets out another low moan, gradually easing up and letting himself enjoy getting sucked off. It's probably a bit telling that he's finding himself enjoying it even more just because he knows Rook's not the sort to go down on anyone. He knows he's already leaking heavily with each delicious suck to his cock, but there's only so much self-control he can have, and it's clearly being worn away as he finds himself letting out another airy, strangled noise from deep in his throat.