[He inhales deeply when she finally lets go of him, turning his face just enough so he doesn’t cough directly into her’s. He is covered in sweat, vaguely dizzy, and tinted red from all of the activity — spent. Its easy, pleasant even, to let her hands hold his head still. As oxygen worms its way back into his lungs, he finds himself reaching up weakly to wind his arm around her’s. The attempt fails with what little cognative coordination he has left, and he instead lets it drape over her back.
His throat is too raw to speak, but there is an acknowledgement on the other side of their link. Its ok. He’d even enjoyed it, despite the fact that she’d almost knocked him out in her carelessness. And despite the fact that she keeps using that name.]
no subject
His throat is too raw to speak, but there is an acknowledgement on the other side of their link. Its ok. He’d even enjoyed it, despite the fact that she’d almost knocked him out in her carelessness. And despite the fact that she keeps using that name.]