[He can understand Sunday's predicament with surprising ease, really—only a few years ago, he was in the same space, keeping every unnecessary emotion and desire locked away never to be seen.

Not that he says that, or even has a chance. The sweet tinge of color on the halovian's cheeks, the urgency he can feel beneath deft fingers—all of it captures his attention deeply. Greedily, even. Weight presses him closer to the heady scent of that cock and it takes some control not to dip down immediately.

He really does enjoy this part.]

Haah... you'll have to tell me what you think...

[It might be backhanded, but Olivine is both used to being teased and into being observed, especially if he's trying to hide something. So, it's all fine. A hand grasps his own and guides that crown to his lips and he presses a remarkably sweet kiss to the sensitive flesh, green gaze turning upward to watch his face as Sunday speaks.]

... you don't need to excuse your wishes, Mister Sunday. I'm happy to serve.

[a sweet whisper, a promise before his tongue slips between those lips, the soft teal gem of its piercing teasing along his slit before his mouth wraps around the head. Cheeks hollow as he lowers down, slurping greedily while his tongue twists and laps up his taste.]