Sinric drinks down Athelstan's release with hungry fervour, lapping and licking to catches every drop. He rests his cheek in Athelstan's thigh, panting raggedy.

He feels right, good. Filled and stretched and content. Their pleasure may have surmounted his own but his own pleasure to a wild and terrifying thing he can't face so soon. This is what he needed and they have giving it to him with such vigour and kindness. He purrs happily, clenching around Ragnar once more before kissing the inner curve of Athelstan's thigh.