Well, he’ll be able to walk, that’s for sure. There is an almost smug grin starting to creep up on his face. He thinks about how both of them will have to work on their stamina, but for right now, he doesn’t care. Right now, he listens to Destan’s racing heart slow down to regular. He relishes in how the other falls against him. How he is completely exposed and open then.
The nuzzle against Destan’s cheek, now, is just loving. Not possession or heated rubs or anything else. Just something nice and soft to tell him he was still there. He holds him tightly and then makes a bid to move…
"Destan…" He finally utters. "Let’s go to bed… We shall rest there."
As clarity returns and his instinct settles, he glances up just in time to see the bastards smug expression. Bastard.
"Shaddup." he mumbles wearily, pushing up against the throne’s armrests and sliding out in the process. His legs are as tired as the rest of him, but he’d never forgive himself (ore live down the embaressment) if he fell over or something equally as pathetic.
"C’mon then." He says, holding out a hand to the other as he lays splayed out on the throne.
He’s dazed. He doesn’t feel the other come or whatever, but he’s not quite aware past the haze in his head and his eyes that fail to focus. He’s tired, drained as the energy leaves him almost instantly. Destan’s arms go slack, his head tips forward to rest against the toher’s chest and his breath gradually slows until it’s something akin to normal.
He’s hungry, he realises, but the heat of his mind has faded and his rationale wins over instinct and he figures the feeling of wanting to eat is probably just an overflow of the moult or something. Who knows.
He’s sated, sweaty and exhausted but he winds his arms around the other and holds him tight as he breathes against his chest.