He can feel eyes on them, and it's easy not to care: he has something worth showing off. He presses deep, rocking her back and forth along the bench with every draw in and out. He feels a trail of sweat roll down the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades.
"Then I'll smile at you when you least expect it," he says. "At the market. On a walk. On my way across the hall."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Then I'll smile at you when you least expect it," he says. "At the market. On a walk. On my way across the hall."
no subject
She doesn't tell him that his smiles are sometimes so rare they often are unexpected.
"I'll never survive," she pants, whimpering with the effort it takes not to be absurdly loud.