We Are Knitted

His warm fingers gripped my wrists tightly, his nails pinching the exposed vein lightly. I was more than sure he could feel the fierce, quickness of my pulse beneath the skin exposed to the acid by the ruined habber. He winced as I readjusted myself so that I fit snuggly against his body. Heated muscle lay upon heated muscle; our habbers containing our rapidly beating hearts. Quest let my hands go entirely and let his hands pass lightly over my body. He put one arm around my waist to reposition me and closed his eyes against the evening fog. His lips were warm as he kissed my neck and collarbone. His grip on me became tighter as the sound of pod cars echoed down on the streets, his kisses became more desperate, harder on my lips. He opened his eyes when he felt me stiffen beside him. He was only doing this because we may die.

Except from Bam. Excuse the nehness.