And melt he does. Realizing quickly that Glacius won't be able to hold onto his Mote and caress him, Carlisle summons a light of his own, a tangible orb of illumination manifesting in the palm of his hand; he barely has the chance to set it aside on the comforter before his fingers curl, Glacius' ministrations upon his abdomen and that pressure against his hips quickly unraveling his composure. He continues to rake against the deep hollow of Glacius' mandible, his other hand finding a spot on the alien's arm to rest.

It's there for another minute or two, his grip tightening as his breathing picks up steadily. As far as diversions from his nerves go, this one is certainly the one that works the best. Every rock of their hips is a reminder of their bond, Carlisle's quiet calling of Glacius' name just under his breath further emphasizing just how much he needs this, needs the way Glacius helps him escape from the trepidation he lives with on a daily basis. It is only with Glacius that he finds such sanctuary, after all.