"Not planning..." he gasps out, when he can spare some air around the moans that are being dragged out of him every time Azwel makes one of those languid thrusts, "... hoping. You feel so good... you always..." he can't keep talking for a moment, has to just throw his head back and feel.

His own magic is a bit muted at the moment, unable to think to pull it up, to tease, with how good these first few moments always feel. Azwel doesn't remember, but this kind of fucked boneless is usually how he both starts and finishes things, but he usually regains himself enough to be a bit of a handful in the middle, of the best kind.

"Should have more... restraint but I... god, I've missed this. You."