Percival's words were almost white noise in his head, the praise instinctly hitting each positive nerve in his mind and heart even as he struggled to comprehend the full things that were being said. It all seemed to be coming in fragments, but the words that did get through -- good, tight, perfect, so well, proud -- provoked the tears that had been rimming Leiland's eyes and silently slipping down when he had lost control of keeping them as bay to blossom in earnest, a loud sob crossing his throat as the last word hit his brain.
It was painful, intense. It really shouldn't have probably been possible at this point considering how much Percival had milked him dry and then continued after that point, but as Percival requested that he come and then redoubled the force of his thrusts, Leiland bucked up into his hand, rocking into the touch and then back into the pressure before he exploded fully in the other man's grip.
The teeth in his shoulder, the sensation of being fully by Percival, that absolute and utter debauched satisfaction that came with all of this left Leiland feeling rung out, limp, exhausted. So much so that it took almost a full minute for him to realize that he was crying in earnest as he blindly reached out to cling to Percival, to keep him in place for a moment to not lose the sense of being whole that was washing over him in the aftermath.
Because, in all fairness, this might as well have been his first time. In essence, it sort of was. And certainly the first time that anyone had actually wanted him for just who he was... and nothing more.