That would have to be good enough, because Lucanis was crying out his orgasm not a moment after. Mouth slack, cheeks flushed, face painted with the overwhelming pleasure of the moment that no amount of training could suppress as he shuddered through it. His vision whited out at the edges, everything narrowing to that perfect moment. Abundantly and frustrating clear why the Orlesians called it 'the little death' - no half-hearted ultimately unsatisfying attempts to take care of himself had ever been anything near this.

It left him gasping for breath, laying utterly boneless on his bed, probably more relaxed than he'd been outside of when Davrin gave him the drugged tea.