He shivered a little at the trace of her fingers on his back. But he didn't want her to stop. To signal this, his fingers took up a similar, light pattern between her shoulderblades.

His other arm, the one beneath him, had been crooked under the pillow under his own head. He shifted it now to be under hers, supporting and propping her up. Closing another circuit: this one of himself around her. Hoping he wasn't trapping her—keeping alert for the merest movement she might make that indicated she wanted out, in which case, he'd instantly release her.

But she's not making any such move. Instead they're… loosening, melting, sinking deeper into one another. Like they'd been made to fit together. And he really hasn't felt this in… years upon years… maybe never? …and the idea of ever having to go without it again feels unthinkable…

No future. No past. Just now.

"Yes," he whispered back, cheek resting on her hair. "You? Okay?"