Hermes' breath came in gasping whines and moans against his Master's lips, whispered praises for him spun in poetry in all the languages he knew. When one didn't suffice, he moved to another.
Eventually, he managed to relax enough into the pain and rock with Carrick, breathing for the both of them to heat the air between their bodies as he sweat and arched and worshiped his Master in more than just words.
"Nothing feels like you, Erastes," he said, pulling back enough to look at Carrick again. "Nothing. You're all I've ever dreamed of, I swear it."