And still Rhys kept kissing him. Over and over, taking his mouth every way that it seemed possible, fitting their lips together in different configurations, dancing with his tongue against the younger man's, leading Cy on into kiss after kiss after kiss, barely pausing between them to breathe. His hands stroked and soothed and explored, but never under the Runes professor's clothes - he barely needed to, with the way he was touching. Melodious counterpoint to his mouth, hitting all the right notes. Aggressive when his mouth was aggressive, running up the smaller man's chest, or over his thighs; soft when the kisses were more gentle, stroking along the spine, tenderly carding through the other man's hair. It seemed Rhys's mouth and hands were working in tandem to keep Cy off balance, to reduce him to a breathless state of want, all without ever even touching between his legs.