Confusion rewrites his features even in the balm of the hot breaths trapped between them. No one's ever called him "sir" in his life. Teasing or not, it sends an incandescent flush into his entire face. He can barely hear the attempt to regain equilibrium in Paul's voice because of the pounding in his ears. The way Paul touched him, and the way he arched and bent under his fingers will lightly but insistently pluck at his thoughts for the rest of the night like a pleasant but untraceable chord.

"Y-Yes."

He wants to hide his face by kissing his neck again, but then they'd never leave. As taken aback as he is, he meets Paul's eyes, green on green. He releases Paul with a lingering brush of fingers down hair and neck and gaudy blue robe. It is a gentle touch to follow the rough ones--a reminder that, for all their rough play, Midoriya puts Paul's heart and wellbeing first.

To leave, he must allow a sliver of air to come between them and cut the feedback loop they created together. His eyes flick downward then up again, and his face turns even pinker.

"You should, um, rest in here a bit before leaving."