Illario knows Jim doesn't care. Part of him, in Caterina's voice, says he should care. That Jim should have someone better. But Illario's thoughts are quicjly crumbling away, replaced with desire and lust, far more welcoming that lingering on those poisonous reflections.

The spot just below his ear is such a sensitive one, making him laugh softly as Jim's lips brush against it, making him wriggle even before the other man's hand even gets to his thigh. While he still moves with all that grace and elegance of an Antivan Crow, there's a desperate wild air to his movements too.

Especially when Jim's fingers find his hole and Illario groans happily, his arms folding around Jim's shoulders.

"I need you inside me, bello. I need you so deep I don't know where you end and I begin. Please." He says as he grinds against Jim's fingers, so close and so big, so ready to fill up every empty part of him.

"Fuck me. I want to be yours."

Illario groans, not the groan of desire and lust but like a brat who has been told no.

"You won't hurt me. I trust you. You don't need to wait." He begs, mind sinking low into that desire, the only thing he needs is Jim. He doesn't care how. He just wants and the noise he makes is base, animalistic.

His body moves with Jim, rocking himself in pace with the other man's fingers, riding them with his head tipped back to give Jim access to his throat, his cock already fat and full and lifted in the small space between them.

"Ecco fatto, ecco fatto amore-" Illario moans, Common beginning to fail him.

The potion, Illario's own nature, his love for Jim, it's all of it together. All of it combined into a hunger that he can't deny and doesn't even try to. He wants, and he lets out a petulant noise when Jim shows some measure of restraint.

"Amore, bello, vita moi, I need-" he groans, the words becoming a sharp moan when Jim's teeth catch his throat and a shudder runs through him, unable to suppress it.

"Il primo?" Illario whines, thrusting back onto Jim's fingers and then into his hand, his breathing fast, his cock already leaking and those trembles mark him being embarrassingly close to coming already. "Ti voglio dentro di me-"

Is ot the instruction the third finger stretching him out, making sure he's ready to accept his lover? Illario couldn't say, the orgasm hitting him hard half a moment later and making him arch off of the couch. He cries out Jim's name, clinging to him tightly and still riding his fingers even as he spills, eyes rolling back.

It takes a few seconds, Illario breathing hard and fast, but he doesn't stop moving, shivering and shifting between Jim's hands, a little bit lost in the pleasure, in the aftermath of that first orgasm. He looks half ruined, but he can't the way he craves Jim. And he stretches himself out under the other man, showing himself off.

"You're so good to me, amore. So good." He says, trembling fingers moving over Jim's shoulders. "You don't have to hold back. I want you, I need you to fuck me. Breed me. It's all I want."

Illario whines, achingly empty and desperate when Jim's fingers pull free all at once, leaving him hollow: body and soul waiting to be filled, bereft of the man that he needs so desperately. He hears the apologies, soft, sweet words from Jim's lips, and he tries to catch each one with his own, needing them inside him just as he needs every other part of Jim.

He wants, despite what Jim has just said, to roll over and arch himself, face down into the couch cushions and hips held up, ready, easy, eager to be mounted, his cock already filling again. But Jim says he wants him like this, and Illario just nods, obedient, accepting, even if his fingers hold tight to Jim's shoulders, clinging hard to the man he's chosen, not prepared to let anything steal Jim away.

"I'm ready, I want you-" He repeats, lifting his hips as he's asked, breathing when Jim prompts and keeping his eyes focused on Jim, gasping as the press of Jim's cock finds his hole and then with that incredible steady thrust, fills him just like Illario begged him too.

"Yes yesyesyes-" Illario groans, hips trembling even as Jim holds him, body flexing around Jim, stretching readily for him, hot and wet and so keen for him, so much so that Illario's hips are already beginning to move, eager for everything Jim is willing to give him, eager to show his lover how good he can be for him.

Men will tell you they love you when they fuck you and it means nothing. It's a lesson Illario learned when he started his training. They love your ass, they love they that a pretty thing has given them the time of day, they love the validation. But Jim isn't one of those people. Jim isn't a man like that. Even with the aphrodisiac humming in his veins, enough of his own sense remains to take it to heart.

Jim loves him.

Jim Kirk loves him.

He might have died and found himself in the Golden City as happiness rushes through him. Not bliss, not orgasmic ppleasure, but something that he has never heard and believed before now. Jim is kissing the breath from him, distracting Illario from the thrust of the other man's hips, and from the hot tears that run down his cheeks, unchecked and ablut to ruin the kohl around his eyes and the gold dust on his cheekbones.

Why it hits him so hard he doesn't know, but he buries his face as best as he can in Jim's shoulder and clings tightly, trying to hide those tears.

"I'm alright, amore. You would never hurt me."

He tries to control it, to shake it away, the emotion that bubbles up over him, bursting out. But how could he not cry, how could he fail to feel the overwhelming joy of it? He's loved. Not just by anyone, not by someone he doesn't love in return, but it's Jim. Jim, who he gives his heart to so freely. Jim, who he couldn't help but adore.

It takes a few seconds more, his nod is sure when it comes. He's okay, he really is. And if Jim meant to overwhelm him, he did so incredibly well, more so than anyone else ever has before. But Jim is so close, so safe, so comforting above him that the slower, gentle thrusts help, ease him back from hyperventilating and from sobbing. It's no longer a mad rut, a desperate need to be fucked and ruined. Now he feels... loved.

He shifts, as best he can, to nuzzle into Jim, lips against his jaw, kissing every bit of skin he can reach. He wants to be with this man, body and heart, still wants to give himself over entirely, but it's no longer mad with the aphrodisiacs. It's balanced, somehow, between desire and devotion.

"I love you, James Tiberius Kirk."