[True to his nature, Glacius is gentle, but undeterred by Carlisle's hesitation, waiting only to see if he has permission to continue before doing so; he is otherwise unafraid of what he feels, and what it is he causes Carlisle to feel, so long as they are sharing that moment. The pressure against the clergyman's hips, fingers gliding so carefully along his bare skin, are enough to drive him nearly mad.

He'll be more flattered with what Glacius is saying to him when he can actually process it.] Will take- you up on that, but—

[He can't think through the heavy breathing and how hot he feels, his head starting to pound, his hands shaking. Tension has crept back into his muscles with the sudden onset of unfamiliar arousal, and his attempts to rein it in have met with only limited success. Even now, his hand still grips the couch cushion, curled tightly around it as though it'd hold him afloat in the flood of stimulation he's received.]

Ah- another time, perhaps. I don't- I don't feel well. I mean, I feel well, but too well? If that makes- makes sense. It's not you. It's- it's not you.