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The thought is intriguing. Concerning, in its own way, too –– he looks at the crown of her head, wondering.

"I think we should try it."

"Let's try," she agrees. They can easily abandon it if it's too strange. "I'll do my best not to be terribly jealous of myself."

"Perhaps that's the good sort of jealousy," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. Then: "When?"

He'd go now, if he wasn't rapidly losing steam.

Not now, when she's looking forward to curling up with him for the night. Jill's hand moves to trace along his arm, around the curve of his bicep.

"Tomorrow? If you're not busy."

"Clive will be busy." He tangles a leg between hers, thigh pressing up against her wet cunt. "So someone else will be there to meet you."

For half a moment she looks confused, but then she laughs, charmed that he's playing along so soon. She wiggles so that she's flush against his thigh, pleased.

"Not to meet me," she teases back.

"To meet a surprise," he confirms, smiling into her hair, deliberately grinding against her.

A surprise for them both, really. She has no idea what type of character this stranger will meet. At least she has a day to think of something that isn't terribly dull or off putting.

Jill huffs out a little groan, hand dropping to playfully pinch his side. There's more to grab there these days.

"You're going to get me worked up again," she warns, as if he doesn't know. "You fiend."

He shivers at the pinch, a chuff under his breath.

“Are you tired?”

"No," she replies, as if it's obvious. "Are you?"

"For you I could be fiendish a little longer," he murmurs.

She rubs herself against his thigh, gazing at him with nothing but affection.

"I think I could have you a dozen times every night and never tire of it."

“The lady wants to be very sore, then.”

He’s steadily getting hard again, with her grinding on him.

She laughs under her breath. She can't be too sore for tomorrow. A different person she may be, for their fun, but the body remains one and the same.

"I do enjoy gentle," Jill reminds him, tipping her face up to kiss him softly. She doesn't always need to be railed into oblivion. "And gentle is your nature."

Maybe it’s the time of night or all-consuming desire to please her, but the reminder feels like a surprise. Oh, yes. There’s that too. He kisses her, lazily sinking into it, his expression softening.

“Gentle it is, then,” he says, a hand roving to palm a breast.

She hums at his touch, fingers tracing over his cheekbone and up into his hair. He really is the closest thing to perfection. Sometimes she can't believe he's chosen her, even now.

"I like making love with you." If she sounds a little dazed, she's only just happy.

Nose to nose with her, it's easy to sink into the softness of her gaze and remind himself that he once walked away from the chance to ever do this again. Her skin is bed-warm, her touch is gentle, and she is the most beautiful being to ever walk any earth. He is scared to hurt her. He is also scared that he ever thought he could live without this.

"I love making love with you," he replies, and his hand runs down her side, reverently.

There's the tiniest scrunch of her nose as he one ups her. She steals a kiss, slow and gentle, pressing closer to the heat of his body.

"I love doing anything with you." So there. Watching Star Trek, maintaining their home, or simply curling up together. She couldn't ask for more.

He pulls her in, a strong arm fully enveloping her waist.

"And you get to," he whispers, with another kiss before he continues: "Forever, and always, for the rest of our lives."

"Happily ever after, if you will," she smiles, and it's her turn to kiss him again.

"Nights like these with you are all I ever dreamed of."

"Happily ever after," he agrees, and he rolls her under him, just enough weight on his elbow to press her into the mattress with the length of his body. He looks down at her, damp hair hanging in his face. "This is all real."

Jill looks up at him with a warm smile. Both hands go up into that hair, gently gripping at the roots.

"Good. I look forward to every day with you. Even if you do sometimes come home reeking of monster intestines and rub it on me."

Torgal does it too.

Her fingers are wonderful, her touch is wonderful. All of her is wonderful.

"Is there much to complain about when you can then coax me into the shower?"

"Complaint? That was no complaint. Only stating a fact. I have no complaints about you, my love," she says. "Just as I know you have no complaints about any cold feet finding you in the middle of the night."

“They’re freezing,” he says, fondly. “But I’d have them poke between my calves any night.”

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