[Affection. For the doctor now using the corner of the doorframe as a prop to hold him while he holds her, that may be the better part of what's happening here. Lust is a quicker burn, though it's not absent. This, slow and warm and lazy is something other, a degree of comfort seeking that can't often be acknowledged between the spikes. Maybe it's just the champagne but there's the faint tracery of a smile the next time breath becomes a necessary interrupting, and his hands go from exploratory to making a clumsy attempt at turning her toward him, just so he can rest his forehead more comfortably against hers.]
no subject