[ He Xuan isn't so blinded by the moment of it all to be inattentive to the way Tartaglia reacts; impossible not to be affected himself, even with logic taking more of a backseat.

He notices it all. The hands in the sheets, the way he breathes like he's taking his last breath, and the desperate tightness that's all but clutching onto both of the fingers as he dares to move them in a constant motion. He Xuan even will slide them deep, taking more care here when he does, but not coming to a complete stop.

With him so close by still, it'll be a simple matter for his free hand to reach in between them, fingers lightly stroking at that hardness, to provide some more ease, but does it? Tartaglia's hands can very well reach at him like this—his face, his chest, hips, arms—and he will allow him to do so. ]

A promise? Then, you'll have one—consider my word given that I'll never look anywhere else but at you. No reason or desire to do otherwise.

Every single moment of this, from beginning to end, I'll have you within my sights. Nothing else.

[ In the end, He Xuan can't help the fact there's emotion other than simply heat and desire coloring his tone. Impossible for him to be so unaffected in so many ways—that ship has long since sailed.

But, he continues along, undeterred. ]

Are you ready for me, Tartaglia?