You're not sure how you're going to handle this.

You're insanely attracted to him, and now you'll be sleeping in the same bed. You're pretty sure he feels the same way: you two have been subtly flirting over the last few days. "Subtly" because he is still with Laura (even if they're on the rocks), and you've been around his parents. You don't want to seem like the tart who heavily flirts with an attached man. And that was rather difficult for you, because Benedict is... well... quite possibly the sexiest thing alive. He doesn't know it, either, which makes him even sexier. He's a touch insecure, a bit shy, and extremely smart. As well as kind, gentle, decent, sensual, and breathtakingly beautiful. The last couple days, you've caught yourself staring at him and imagining slamming him into the nearest wall, biting at his neck and lips (god, those lips!), sliding your tongue into his mouth while you grab his hair and grope at his lean body... And then you snap back to attention, wondering if you were actively drooling or even moaning. You're friends with the family, but only recently you've grown (quite) close to Benedict. Because your holiday plans fell through, the kind Slippery family invited you along to theirs. The first few days have been great fun, but your main focus has been on the eldest son. Fresh out of university, and though officially an adult, he's still brimming with naive charm and excitement. There's an undertone about him of wanting his innocence stripped away, and that has only fueled your fantasies about aggressively taking him. This flirtation is not just in your head. You're well aware he's flirting back, and he's also aware he can't do it openly. He stands next to you whenever he can, and it's a bit closer than casual. His hand brushes against yours regularly, and oftentimes neither of you pull away. He smiles at you... a lot. Much more than he smiles at anyone or anything else. There's that touch of slyness to his smiles, like the two of you are sharing a private joke, that makes your heart flutter and warmth spread through your stomach. His eyes linger on yours a couple heartbeats too long. And you've caught him staring, much more than once. God, you just want to rip off his clothes. You want to pull him into an alley and suck him dry. You want to taste that gorgeous mouth and feel his long, dexterous fingers up your skirt. You want to see his face when he comes. And now... because of a booking mistake, you and the family are short one room at the hotel... and Benedict casually offered to let you stay in his room. His brothers are relieved, clearly not wanting a girl to stay with them (one they're not attracted to, anyway), and their parents are clearly hoping to finally shack up tonight. Each small room only has one bed at this quaint hotel. Of course you accepted, and now you're overwhelmed with a mixture of flirty excitement and dread... because, let's face it, how on earth are you going to get through this without doing something taboo? As Benedict and you haul your luggage into his room, you notice you can hear his brothers doing the same through the wall. Hmm, thin walls...

You claim the far side of the bed, closest to the window. As you unload your belongings in a semblance of order, you feel his eyes on your back. Your heart is beating so loud you can barely hear. You straighten up and turn around, intending on bringing your toiletries to the bathroom counter -- and Benedict is standing right behind you. You both start slightly, then both smile shyly. "Oh, sorry," he murmurs, running a hand through his dark ginger hair. "I was just... going to..." he gestures vaguely past you. He trails off, and you both just stare at each other. You feel yourself heating up, and his gaze grows more and more intense as the silence (and desire) stretches out between you two. Your libido is screaming at you to grab him and kiss him. Your lips struggle to obey, and you feel yourself parting your lips slightly, and now you're quietly panting through your mouth. He mirrors your movement and licks his bottom lip as his lips slowly part. He takes a long, slow inhale... And you both suddenly break the moment at the same time, realizing that if it continued any longer, something would happen. "I was just--" you begin as you gesture towards the bathroom with your toiletries kit. "I needed to get to the--" he gestures towards the armoire behind you with the dress trousers and nice jacket on a hanger in his hands. You both stop talking, not wanting to talk over the other. And then you laugh, quickly moving past him, trying to affect an air of nonchalance. As soon as he can't see your face, you grimace and chide yourself. He's unavailable. And his parents are right through the wall. But dear lord, he is insanely sexy... Without intending to, you glance over your shoulder at him as you reach the bathroom counter. He's fumbling with the armoire but looking at you. He smiles, shy but flirtatious, when you meet eyes. You return the smile. Your fantasies take over again and you imagine ripping open his button-up shirt as you bite his lower lip (that full, sensual mouth) and then shove him backwards onto the bed. He'd look up at you, stunned but not protesting, as you straddle his hips and-You see on his face -- slight confusion and intrigue -- that your thoughts must have changed your expression. In what manner, you don't know, and you don't want to know. You blush a little and return to unpacking, once more scolding yourself for your obvious attraction to him. After a moment, you inwardly sigh. How on earth are you going to make it through an entire night next to him, in the same bed? Your panties are already damp just from being around him all day.

Suddenly, your realize that you both won't be wearing a whole lot. You usually sleep in a camisole (with no bra on) and men's boxer shorts with skimpy panties underneath. And you had the (incredible) pleasure of seeing Benedict stumble out of his room the other morning -- you were there at the Slippery's house early on the morning you were all going to leave, and all the boys slept in. He was headed to the bathroom, and he was only wearing his boxer-briefs. You realized in retrospect that you must have looked stunned, because... well, you were. His long, lean body was beautifully housed in that pale, almost translucent skin... you wanted to run your hands over his slim, corded muscles, through his dusting of ginger hair on his chest, arms, and legs, and lick those pale pink nipples. God, and his arse in those tight boxer-briefs! Such a fantastic arse, unexpectedly full and muscular on his slim frame... He saw you and immediately snapped fully awake, apologized, and hurried into the bathroom, looking clearly flustered. Later, when he was dressed and the family was loading up their car, he wouldn't meet your eyes for awhile. His embarrassment was endearing, especially because you were far from uncomfortable in seeing him so scantily-clad. Now, standing at the hotel room's bathroom counter (separate from the toilet and shower, which were behind a closed door), you watch his reflection in the mirror, remembering what he wears to bed. All those long limbs in bed, right next to you, under the sheets... You groan inwardly. There is no way you're going to make it through the night. You already are considering taking a shower now just so you can rub yourself and come before you have to lie down next to him. But it's very difficult for you to be quiet when you come, and you'd be mortified if he heard you masturbating in the shower right before you lie down in bed with him. You both finish unpacking, and he glances around the room a lot, avoiding your gaze. "Well, it's pretty late, and we had a long day today... I suppose we'd better just pack it in." He meets your eyes as he says the last few words, then stiffens and blushes when he realizes the unintentional innuendo. You pretend you didn't notice it, though a spike of heat stabbed into your abdomen just now. You nod. "Yeah, that's fine. I'm pretty tired." There is a moment of silence and stillness as both of you are unsure how to proceed: do you start shedding clothes in front of each other? Or each take a trip to the toilet to change? It occurs to you that you could pretend to be more confident about this than you are. He's so awkward and shy about this (whatever "this" is); you could pretend none of it is sexual, and it's all normal. That would probably help dispel your mutual discomfort over your impotent desire. Decisively, you sit on the bed and strip off your shoes and socks. After a few seconds, he follows suit. As he sits on the bed, you stand and rifle through your suitcase for your sleepwear. Suddenly, a thought occurs to you: what if you could make it his idea for you to wear your usual (revealing) pajamas? Then you won't feel weird about stripping down so much, and hopefully, neither will he.

You casually hold up your camisole and boxers. "I usually wear this to bed. Would that be weird for you? I mean, do you want me to put on some yoga pants or something?" You smile reassuringly. "Just so it won't be weird?" Benedict looks up and his eyes lock on the clothes in your hand. He looks like a deer in the headlights. His mouth works for a moment, trying to respond, but the words don't come. Finally he splutters, "Oh. Yeah. That's fine. Totally fine. You should be comfortable. I don't want to make you wear winter clothes to sleep, or something," he adds, feebly vying for a joke. You smile at him, trying to keep the sly, flirty feeling from your expression, but it comes through anyway. He quickly looks away, a little flushed. "Same goes for you, you know," you affect casualness as you turn back to your suitcase and clothes. "Wear whatever you normally wear; I don't want you to be uncomfortable. We both need good sleep tonight." As if either of you will get good sleep tonight. You glance back at him as you finish talking. Without looking at you, he stiffly nods. You pause. Should you go to the bathroom to change? That would be the polite thing to do. But it seems strange, considering that what you're changing into is pretty revealing; you wouldn't be showing much more by changing out here. And that devious inner voice is egging you on, pushing you to play to the edge. You love flirting with him, you love toying with him, and him with you. The endless teasing is soaking you, and you love it, even though it's also driving you mad. Something in you snaps, and a wicked smile spreads over your face. Fuck it, I want to make him freak out over me. You casually turn your back to him, and then strip off your shirt... and your bra. You hear his movements suddenly cease completely as he notices your bare back. You slowly pull on your camisole... then undo your jeans and slowly slide them off, bending over as you go, showing him how little of your ass your panties actually cover. The energy in the room suddenly shifts, and it makes you catch your breath. It takes you a moment to define it, but then once you do, you doubt you'll be able to start breathing from the thickness of the anticipation. His awkwardness is (largely) gone, now eclipsed by his desire. All you feel... is heat. Shit. Perhaps you pushed this too far. You can't actually shag him... His parents are through the wall, remember? And his girlfriend--

You feel your brain start yelling a counterargument, and you shut it down before it can begin. You do not want to have an argument with yourself about whether or not you can fuck him... mostly because you're afraid of your logic and ethics losing that argument. You realize you paused while working your jeans off your ankles, and also that you haven't been breathing. You resume both. Once your jeans are in a pile on the floor, you slide on your men's silk boxers. You still feel his eyes on you, and you are desperately trying to ignore them. You gather up your removed clothes, and finally turn towards him as you move to put them away. He is unmoving, staring at you, his pupils dilated. His lips are parted, and he is breathing fast and shallow through his mouth. A ghost of a smile crosses your lips in acknowledgment of making eye contact with him, and then you look away as you move to put away your clothes. But as you slide your eyes away, you notice (OH FUCK) the bulge in his jeans. Shit shit shit shit shit shit-- Oh god, what if I just ripped open his jeans and wrapped my mouth around his cock? What if I-NO. Stop it. You put your clothes in your suitcase, grab your book, and move to your side of the bed. He begins moving, as well: unbuttoning his shirt and stripping it off. You try, oh so hard, not to look up, but your eyes move of their own accord. And it's all you can do not to wantonly moan. His beautiful, slim, taut chest is laid bare, and he's working on undoing his trousers. He looks up at you, watching you watching him, as he undoes his jeans and slides them over his slim hips. Don't stare don't stare don't stare don't-Your mouth opens a little as his boxer-briefs come into view, his bulge more obvious with the thin fabric. He isn't completely hard, but enough to create some mouth-watering definition in the stretched cotton. You realize he is slowly sliding his jeans down his thighs, his large (and exquisite) hands fully splayed across his flesh as he nudges them down. It's so sensual that you swear your ladyparts just burst into flames. You feel your nipples get hard through your thin tank top. You snap your eyes back to your nightstand, where you set down your book and fuss over turning back the blanket and sheets to get into bed. You're aware how flushed your face is, but you are determined to pay it no heed. You hear him speed up his undressing a little once your eyes are away from him, confirming that he was intentionally giving you a show. You swallow thickly. He's always been so sweet and innocent; for him to be comfortable enough to be this ("accidentally") sexual around you must either indicate that you've been very obvious in your attraction, or he's so aroused that he's forgetting his restraint. Or both. You shudder slightly against your barely-maintained self-control as you slide under the sheets.

You pointedly don't look at him as he finishes undressing. He quickly gets into his side of the bed. You feel the bed shift and creak as his weight is added, and you feel the warmth of his body radiating out to you under the covers. The part of the sheet touching your bare leg slides a bit as he noses his feet around as he settles in. "Are you going to read before you go to sleep?" You snap your eyes over to him, uncomprehending. "What?" Oh god, he's right there. You could lean over and kiss him if you wanted to. You get a whiff of his scent, something subtle and musky and reminding you of spice. You covertly smelled him many times during the day, but having his naked skin right there-He nods towards your book in response. "Oh!" You feel dumb. "Well, I was going to-- but I'm pretty tired, and... I figure I should just go to sleep." One corner of his mouth quirks up empathetically. "Yeah, we had a long day." Something in his tone catches your attention, and you peer at him. He's changed from sexual to affectionate somewhere in the transition of you both getting into bed. He looks a little shy again. His eyes flick down to the bedspread as he clearly tries to find words. Endeared, you wait patiently. His eyes flick back up to yours, and his smile reveals his subtle vulnerability. "I really enjoyed your company today. Sometimes my family drives me crazy, and I was a little worried about going on holiday with them. But you've made it really incredible so far. Thank you." His smile broadens and warms as he holds your eyes. It's all you can do from actually leaning over and kissing him. You return his smile. "You're welcome. And thank you for being amazing on this trip, too!" you add playfully, leaning in a little. Instead of looking away, as you expect him to, he continues to watch you, fondly. The moment stretches on a bit too long... His smile slowly, slowly dissolves as his eyes heat up. You feel yourself start to tingle again, and realize that if you don't end this.... You smile brightly. "Well, hope you sleep well, Benedict." You turn away from him and switch off the light on the nightstand. "You, too." As you lean back in to settle down, he quickly leans over to you and kisses you on the cheek. Momentarily stunned, your brain slams to a halt, but your body starts to react before you can catch yourself: you turn your face towards his as he pulls away from the kiss. He only pulls back a couple inches before he responds to your movement and pauses. Your lips aren't quite aligned with his, but you're mere inches from his face, feeling his breath on your cheek. There is a

moment of silence and stillness that seems to last for an eternity, but probably only lasts a second or two. Then you lean in and kiss his cheek, pretending that was your plan all along... even though your "innocent" kiss is rather close to the corner of his mouth... and lasts a couple moments too long. As he pulls his head away, he turns his head a little, aligning your lips and pausing momentarily... almost offering for you to kiss those full, sexy lips less than two inches from yours. You don't breathe. Then he pulls away, lying back down on his side of the bed. You aren't sure if you're disappointed or relieved. You lie back against the cool pillow and try not to sigh loudly, as you want to. After a few moments of you both settling in, the silence consumes you again. After several long moments, Benedict whispers, "Good night." Is there disappointment in his tone, or are you imagining that? "Good night." Silence again. You doubt you'll ever fall asleep. You feel on fire, and it's all you can do to keep from rolling on top of him and shagging his brains out. At the very least, you want to slide your hand over to him and jerk him off under the covers. In a moment of hysterical desire, you imagine doing that and claiming you were asleep if it went badly and he rejected your advances. But something in you tells you that he wouldn't reject those advances... both because he's obviously attracted to you, and because his natural demeanor would demand him to submit to any complimentary aggression on your part. Ohh... that last thought was dangerous. Focus. You purposely regulate your breathing as you try to clear you mind and calm your body. After a few minutes of slow, controlled breathing, you begin to calm down. You feel the heat slowly dissolving from your body and you start to relax into the bed. (It really is a comfortable bed.) After another few minutes, you realize you are still a bit warm, and you seem to have plateaued at this heat. Hm. You won't be able to fall asleep if you're too warm. You feel Benedict shifting periodically next to you. It feels like the "can't quite get comfortable" shifting. So you know he's still awake, and you don't worry over breaking the silence. "Do you mind if I turn on the air conditioning?" you quietly ask. He laughs once, dryly. "I was thinking the same thing. It's too warm in here."

At least you know you aren't suffering alone. You throw back the covers and swing your feet out of bed. You pad over to the A/C unit, a long, thin plate of metal sheeting against the wall, just under the window. You pull back the curtains slightly to let in a little light so you can see what you're doing. The writing around the knobs is mostly worn off, and you aren't sure which settings are which. After turning them a couple times, you seem to get the desired effect, as cold air noisily blasts out of the machine. As you stand up and turn around, just before the curtain drops back into place and shrouds the view in blackness again, you catch a glimpse of Benedict watching you. The expression in his eyes is open... and wanting. As the slice of moonlight on his face disappears with the curtain's movement, your breath catches slightly. God, he is beautiful. You hesitantly make your way back to bed, taking your time so you can restore your sense of calm along the way. As you slide into bed, you accidentally bump your foot against his shin. "Oh, sorry," you hastily mumble as you retract your foot. "No worries," he drawls. And you swear his calf moves towards you a little, almost encouraging the contact. You keep away, even though you're now painfully aware of how close his leg is to yours. The air conditioning is surprisingly powerful, and soon the room is noticeably cooler. The activity of the day is catching up to you, overwhelming your smoldering desire for the almostnaked man in bed next to you. Despite your disbelief that sleep would come tonight, you find yourself drifting off. Your brain is warring with itself, jerking awake and having fleeting glimpses of fantasies about Benedict, and then lulling back into stillness, weighed down with sleep. Finally, you drift off. # You're not sure how much time has passed, but you suspect it's only been an hour or two. You're first aware that you're cold, huddling under the covers. Then you're aware of the warmth pressing against your side, and you curl towards it instinctively. You feel safe and comforted... and aroused. You emit a soft, content sigh as you nestle further into the warmth... of... Your mind snaps awake. Fuck. You are curled against Benedict. Your horror at crossing that physical boundary is soon somewhat quelled with the realization that he has an arm slung over your torso, almost holding you to him in his sleep. His head is leaned in towards yours, and you realize your head is on his shoulder. One of your legs is thrown over his. And your hand is on his bare chest. You breathe as quietly as possible, trying to sense if he is awake or asleep. From his steady, deep breathing, you guess he is sleeping. You bite your lip. Should you stay like this? Or gently move away?

As you consider your situation, you realize how intimate your position is. A slow heat blooms in your chest as your heart-rate increases. You nibble your lower lip. You test the situation, and your reaction to it, by moving against him a little. It could be seen as just shifting, but you're actually slowly rubbing your body against his, creating an undulating movement that unfolds from your chest down into your hips. Oh, god, that was a bad idea! You immediately feel a stab of intense heat and tingling in your lower abdomen. But... you keep doing it. God, it just feels so good to feel his skin against yours, his taut, warm body against your soft one. You feel so safe and comforted and protected... as well as desired. You slide your leg, the one that's thrown over his, up higher, slowly rubbing the inside of your thigh against the top of his. He shifts a little, moaning quietly, deep in his throat, and nuzzles his face into the top of your head. His hips also shift slightly, up and towards you, before settling back down against the mattress. You freeze. And wait. Is he awake? You monitor his breathing once more, straining for any indication. It remains rhythmic and deep. You chide yourself for pressing yourself against him like that. You really can't do this, and you need to discourage any attempts to threaten that boundary, on both sides. You slowly, reluctantly, begin to sit up and pull yourself away from him, moving back towards your side of the bed. Once most of your body is away from his, he inhales sharply and frowns, beginning to stir. You have a spike of panic, not sure if you should try to pull away quickly and risk calling attention to your movements, or let him realize that you two had at least some physical contact while he was asleep. Your panic leads to a moment of indecision, during which he wakes enough to become aware. "Hmm?" he murmurs, opening his eyes some and frowning at you both. "Sorry," you hiss, slowly pulling away further. "I just woke up, and--" you suddenly try to sound more asleep than you are, "...and we were, uh, well..." "Oh," he realizes, opening his eyes all the way. "Oh, sorry about that, that was probably my fault. I'm a serial cuddler," he adds wryly, sounding a little embarrassed. You smile, and take your time sliding your hand off his chest. "Don't worry, I am, too. And I think that was probably my fault -- I got a bit cold." He passes a hand over his face and rubs his brow, trying to clear the rest of the sleep from his mind. "Oh, do you want me to turn down the air conditioning?"

"No!" you hastily respond, then catch yourself and wince. "No, I can't sleep when it's warm. Being cold in here is helping me sleep." "Mmm, me too," he mumbles into his pillow as he settles back in. He opens one eye and smiles (a touch flirty) up at you. "And if you end up cuddling with me again, I won't mind." Oh god. Don't throw yourself at him. Don't even think about it. You smile back at him. "Sorry again for waking you. Good night." And impulsively, you lean in and kiss his upturned cheek. You pull back before he has much time to react, so he responds belatedly by smiling and reaching his hand out for your face. His fingertips gently breeze across your cheek and hold their position for a moment, the two of you just looking at each other, before he retracts his arm and closes his eyes. You take a moment to consider if it's worth it to lock yourself in the bathroom and masturbate. Sighing to yourself, you settle back into the pillows. Just go back to sleep, you grumble to yourself. Your latest encounter with Benedict left you quite warm, so you pull back the covers a little to let the cold air of the room cool you off. After several minutes of pointedly thinking about anything except Benedict (and how badly you want to shag him) and letting the frigid air work its magic, you begin to let sleep claim you once more. # Warmth. Such reassuring warmth and comfort. And again, the heat isn't just physical... you feel your body moving a little, seeking more contact and friction, wanting something inarticulate and primal. By the time your mind fully wakes, you realize his body is moving a little against yours, too. Your breath catches in your throat and holds there. You're tangled up in each other, under the covers. This time, it seems he moved towards you -you're on your back, and he is on his side, facing you, and pressed up against you. His face is pressed into the side of your neck, his arm thrown over your body, his leg over yours. Your hand is wrapped around his upper arm, which rests against your chest. And his-Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. His groin is pressed into your hip. And he's hard. And he's slightly rocking against you, and you against him.

A slight moan escapes his parted lips, muffled against your neck and the pillow. You try to stop moving and gauge his level of consciousness, but you aren't fully awake yet, and your body keeps moving of its own will. Fuck. Ohhhh, all you want to do is grind against him while he sleeps, feel his hard (thick) cock rubbing against you, his skin against your body, his breath against your neck-The hand of your arm that's wedged between your bodies is lying against his upturned hip. You uncurl your fingers and gently stroke them along the thin cotton of his undershorts over his hips. As his bucking hips continue, you begin pressing your palm into that hip, grabbing on and gently encouraging the motion by pulling each buck just past its natural stopping point. The same encouragement if he were fucking you and you wanted him to thrust deeper each time. Holy fuck, this is so hot and sexy and wrong and you don't want to stop. After a few moments of this, his hips begin to work in earnest. Jesus, his cock is so hard (and long and thick) against your hip. You just want to rotate your hips towards his, throw your leg over his, and let him buck against the rapidly-growing wetness in your thin panties. God, to feel his cock against your-He moans more loudly against your neck in his sleep. But there's something about it, almost a confused negation, that indicates he's waking up. Shit. You still yourself and feign sleep. (Because, let's be honest, you can't really innocently explain why you're both grinding against each other if you're awake.) After a few moments, though, he continues to grind his hips against your thigh. His body is moving more, now, too, undulating his hips and his chest, pressing more into you. The arm slung over you shifts a little, adjusting its hold of you. His palm comes to rest flat against your far ribs... and his fingers begin rubbing small circles against you. Wait... what the-- Is he awake?? He nuzzles his face into your neck more, alternately sighing and softly moaning. You are flooded with heat, both from panic and arousal. What on earth should you do? You can't encourage this -- you know you two shouldn't be doing anything with each other -- but you also badly want him. Maybe if you just let it go on for awhile... ...you'd probably end up shagging him, you realize. The thought sobers you a little. You decide to slowly "wake up." You begin to shift against him, not encouraging nor discouraging his movements, but moving a little as you would if you were just waking up. You also moan softly in the confusion of someone half-asleep, and turn your face towards him slightly. He immediately stops grinding against you, and instead grows still. After a couple breaths, his breathing sounds like he's sleeping. You devious fucker, you slyly think, a touch impressed. Then you remember you did the same thing to him earlier -- feeling your bodies pressed together while he slept. A sudden thought rocks you: was he sleeping then? Or was he letting you feel yourself against him, and he was enjoying it, as well?

You bite your lip and decide not to pursue that line of thought. It could only lead to trouble. You "wake up" fully, stretching a little against him, still reluctant to pull your bodies apart. You prop yourself up slightly on your hand and look down at him. He appears to be sleeping peacefully. A moment passes as you look at him. His face is smooth and peaceful. He looks so innocent and still so sexy, even when he "sleeps." The image is contrasted against your knowledge of his actions moments ago, somehow making him even sexier: the innocent, shy, endearing man who is so overwhelmed by his desire for you that he does something borderline "not okay." He probably feels guilty about it, and he never does anything he would feel guilty over, but he's losing control next to you in bed. The heat spreading throughout your body suddenly takes control of your muscles and commands your movements. You find yourself leaning down over him, pressing your chest against his and dragging your fingers up his chest, up his neck, and weaving into his hair. Your lips press against his cheek, lingering a bit too long. When you pull back, you drag your lips fractionally over his skin before pulling back a couple inches from his mouth. "Benedict," you murmur, lacing your words with sleep and contentment. "Benedict... wake up. You're on my side of the bed," you gently tease him. What was that? Your mind screams at you. What are you doing? You ignore it. "Benedict," you repeat, drawing out his name like you're tasting dark chocolate. You play with his hair, stroking it and dragging your fingertips along his scalp. His lips part and he leans into the touch slightly. A soft moan escapes him, and his hips press harder against your thigh. You press closer to him, leaning over him as if you were going to kiss his exposed neck. You lean down... and breathe against his neck, "Benedict, wake up..." The air in his lungs comes out in a quick rush, and a soft shudder travels down his lean body. He tries to cover this by moaning and shifting as if he is just now waking up. After a moment, he opens his eyes and blearily looks at you in confusion, blinking a few times. "Hmm?" You smile down at him, aware of how intimate your position is right now. For a moment, you see through his facade of sleep and see the raw, aching desire in his eyes. Just before you break and kiss him, he turns his face away and closes his eyes as he stretches. Then he opens his eyes again and sits up slightly, pretending to notice how entangled your bodies are. "Oh god, sorry," he mumbles, sliding his body away (slowly, you notice, each part only breaking physical contact when it absolutely has to). When no parts of you are touching any longer, though he's not fully back on his side of the bed, he settles down and looks sleepily over at you. "I warned you, I'm a cuddler." You smile slightly, but there is more heat in your eyes than innocent affection. "It's no problem. I don't mind. I just figured you wouldn't want me to accidentally molest you like that in your sleep," you tease, hoping for the reaction you get.

"Oh, I don't mind at all," he quickly reassures you. "You don't mind if I molest you?" A shark-like grin flashes onto your face. He laughs, looking adorably shy and awkward again. "I didn't mean... I meant that I don't mind us... you know..." He gestures vaguely between your bodies. You can't be certain in the darkness, but it looks like he's blushing. "Well," you flirt as you drop back against your pillow, "we'll probably end up like that again, anyway, so it's good that you don't mind." There are several seconds of silence. "I rather like it, actually," he quietly adds. His tone is neutral and hard to distinguish. You don't want to make him uncomfortable by looking at him just now, but the heat in your body still seems to have some modicum of control, and you glance over at him. His eyes are closed. He is apparently trying to fall back asleep. You take the opportunity to stare at him, panting, trying to regain control. Do not shag him, do not shag him, do not shag him... You settle back into the mattress, trying hard to relax and go back to sleep, but your mind is whirling with the idea of him grinding against you while he thought you were asleep. You find yourself more hoping than fearing that it happens again. Your sensible side tries to protest this, but it is largely drowned out by the hot, tingling ache between your legs. Your hands slowly slide to your hips, then up on your hipbones, and you play with the band of your boxers. God, just imagining him taking things further while you "sleep," maybe kissing you and touching you all over... You slide one hand down over your mound, still outside your boxers, just to feel a little relief at the touch. Your hips slightly buck into your hand as you begin to slowly rub yourself. Your lips part and you quietly pant through your mouth as your fingers begin to work tighter, harder circles against your aching slit. You soon realize your hips are rocking rhythmically. There is no way he doesn't notice that; you're making the whole bed shift with each movement. Mortified, you abruptly cease moving and look over at him. His eyes are still closed, his breathing steady. ...But you've learned that doesn't necessarily mean he's asleep. Well, even if he were awake, he might not have noticed, you try to reassure yourself. Still, the shock and embarrassment are enough to cool you down to the point where you can stop touching yourself, so you do. You close your eyes tightly and try to lull yourself back asleep. It's probably the middle of the night, and you haven't gotten as much sleep as you'd like. The schedule tomorrow is busy and full, and after the last few days of energetic sight-seeing and traveling, you really do need this rest.

After a long, long time, sleep claims you once more. # The two of you are naked, in bed together, and tangled together. Your leg is thrown over the outside of his thigh, and Benedict is grinding his thick, hard, leaking cock against your soaked slit. Your bodies are pressed tightly together, slicked in sweat. Your foreheads are touching, and you're watching his face (blurry at such a close distance), his eyes are tightly shut as he pants loudly through his open mouth. Periodic moans escape him as he shudders against you, pumping his hips, desperate for entrance into your warm, wet, tight hole. You grab his hips tightly and guide him in-You wake with a start. Sharp, buzzing adrenaline spikes through all of your blood vessels, momentarily shorting out the sensations that caused it. Your dream wasn't far from reality. Benedict is pressed back up against you. You are both on your sides, facing each other, and your thigh is thrown over his slim hip. His rock-hard erection, straining at his boxer-briefs, is pressed between your thighs. His top arm is wrapped around you, his splayed hand pressed firmly on your back, holding you against him. Your foreheads aren't quite touching, but they may have been a moment ago. His eyes are half-open, eyelids dragged down with arousal, and his dilated pupils are hungrily staring straight down the seam made by your bodies. He is slowly, with breaking self-control, grinding against you. His breath is very ragged and shaky against your cheek. Oh. My. God. You aren't going to get out of this innocently. You aren't even going to try and delude yourself into thinking you two aren't going to be shagging like rabbits in a few short minutes. You close your eyes tightly and take a moment to process. Which is fairly difficult, considering that the sexiest man you've ever met is currently grinding his hard cock against you while you "sleep." You try to wave that away and remind yourself of why you two can't fuck each other's brains out. His parents, for one. Right on the other side of that wall, able to hear anything louder than quiet conversation. (And your orgasmic cry is much louder than quiet conversation!) His girlfriend, for another. Your brain immediately starts to argue, reminding you of how ditzy and flaky she is, and how she isn't right for him, and how he's been nothing but miserable trying to keep her happy since they've been together, and-Stop it. He has a girlfriend. Leave it at that. You have to leave it at that, or you'll completely deconstruct the argument in five seconds flat.

Your attention slides back to that cock, eagerly pressing against you. He is ineffectually trying to stifle his audible panting. And then you realize... you're rocking your hips against his. You're both grinding together, dry humping (though you are far from dry) with fervor. There is no way he doesn't notice this. He has to realize you're awake. You let it continue for several more long seconds. Neither of you say or do anything to break the rhythm, which is slowly speeding up. Oh god, you realize, if he comes... I probably will, too. The idea of him coming in his underwear while grinding against you sends a stab of heat through your crotch. You don't even want to know how wet you are. You've probably already soaked through your panties. Despite your better judgment, you allow yourself to imagine that fantasy for a few moments: the two of you dry humping until he clutches at you and comes, spurting in his boxers and soaking through them, still frantically grinding his thick cock against you. And then you following suit, bucking and rubbing your clit against that rock-hard, soaked cock until you throw your head back and scream and writhe and come in your panties. The fantasy unfurls within you, claiming your muscles once more. Your hand slides down him and clutches his hip, pulling him harder against you with every thrust (which you meet with a buck against him, intensifying your friction). The arm wedged between you slides up, and you run the back of your hand along his chest, straightening your fingers to tease the short, light hair across his pecs. He presses his forehead against yours. The hand on your back slowly slides down until it's on your low back, on the seam of your boxers. He pulls you tighter against him as he continues to grind into you. Well, he definitely knows you're awake now, and he's clearly not stopping. Your mind, fuzzy with intense arousal, tries to figure out how to proceed. After fumbling between multiple arguments and justifications for proceeding, you are finally (mildly) sobered by the guilt you'd feel if this continues, and by the guilt you'll feel for your current actions once you aren't so turned on anymore (which, from your current state, you can't possibly see happening -- this arousal could easily go on forever). Jesus, now he's openly moaning. "Oh god," he breathes against you, his mouth hanging wantonly open. You pull back slightly and look at him. God, his face is even more beautiful when twisted with overwhelming desire. He looks up at you, his eyelids heavy, his lips wet, his eyes pleading. Pleading for what, you can't tell -- either to let him or to stop him. He looks completely at the mercy of his arousal right now.

That sobers you even more, the idea of him wanting to stop but unable to. Fuck. With a grumbling reluctance, you start to pull away from him, trying to still his hips with your hand. For several agonizing seconds, he doesn't. "Benedict," you murmur gently. "We can't." His hips slow as his eyes search yours, trying to understand through his fog of desire. You hold his gaze steadily, still slowly pulling your hips away from his and keeping his in place with a firm hand. Understanding slowly dawns, and he stops moving. Then he looks horrified, blushes deeply, and pulls away haltingly. "Oh god," he chokes out. You realize he interpreted your cessation as rejection, and you quickly reassure him. "Benedict, god knows I don't want to stop, but..." You have a hard time finding the words to tell him why you feel guilty about proceeding without making him feel guilty, as well. He risks a glance at you and sees your struggle. He closes his eyes and sighs, then moans in frustration, slamming the back of his head into the pillow. "You have no idea..." he begins, his voice low and growling with frustration and desire. You chuckle dryly. "Yes, I do." He slowly opens his eyes, but doesn't look at you. A humorless smile creeps across his lips. "Well... perhaps you do." He turns his head towards you slightly and looks at the bedspread between you, as if he wants to meet your gaze but can't quite muster the courage. He's still softly panting. "All night, I've debated going into the bathroom to masturbate, just so I don't end up doing anything to you that I'd regret," you offer, trying to reassure him that you really do want him, but you just can't have him. He finally drags his eyes up to yours, looking cautiously flattered. "Really?" A slow smile is spreading. You smile lopsidedly at him. "Really. These panties are definitely ruined." He laughs, looking a touch embarrassed but assuredly flattered. And still aroused. God, he's still incredibly turned on. As are you. You meet his gaze again and hold it for a long time. There is definite flirtation, on both ends, but some of the restraint from your previous interactions is back in place. You try to ignore your ache of disappointment at this.

"So... who gets the loo first?" he teases dryly. It takes you a moment to work out his intention, and then you chuckle. "Well," you flirt, "whoever is left out here could always take care of it here." He bites his lower lip, still smiling a bit, and feigns concern. "What if the one in the loo finishes first, and comes back while the other is still... well, taking care of things?" Without thinking, you tease back, "Then they'd have to help them finish." You snap your mouth shut as soon as the words are out of your mouth, and you feel yourself blush. Damnit. One of his eyebrows quirks up, his eyes alight with mischievous teasing. "Oh, really?" You drop your eyes and shake your head. "Sorry, that was inappropriate--" you begin, but he interrupts you. "If we're just going to help each other 'finish' anyway, why don't we both just do it out here?" Your eyes meet his. He is almost totally hiding his trepidation in saying something so bold, but you can still see it around the edges. You notice he's still breathing heavily through his mouth. Perhaps his desire is controlling his words, as yours was with your body only a couple short minutes before. After a moment, you realize you need to respond to what he said, so you mull it over in your head. Tentatively, but still with an undertone of flirtation, you offer, "Well, since we really shouldn't be... erm, involved with each other like that, it would probably be best if we kept our hands to ourselves." And then trying as hard as you can to sound nonchalant, you add, "But I don't see a problem with us both masturbating out here." What is wrong with you? You are just asking for trouble! There. You said it. You named what was going on. You meet his eyes. You both stare at each other for a long, long moment: him trying to make certain you're serious, and you trying to pretend this is all very commonplace. Apparently he finds the confirmation he sought, because he shifts a bit in the bed, propping himself up on his pillow and adjusting the sheets (sliding them down from his chest, you note). His hands snake under the sheet and, presumably, to his boxers. He glances up at you. "Mind if I undress? I'll stay under the covers, but it's less comfortable to... you know... while I have my pants on."

You have to remind yourself to breathe. After a moment, you casually (you hope, anyway) reply, "Of course. But only if you'll allow me the same courtesy." To your pleasure, you notice that he starts slightly, momentarily overwhelmed by what that did to his imagination. His eyes flick down to your stomach, and the edge of the sheets. He swallows. "Of course." You both wiggle out of your underwear, careful to keep the covers waist-high. You settle back against the pillows and let your hands drift over your bare stomach (your camisole is "accidentally" hiked up to just below your breasts) and down under the sheets. You feel the heat of his gaze as he attempts to covertly watch you. You slowly spread your legs out a bit, and then slide one hand down between your legs. Jesus, you are soaked. You emit a slight gasp as you feel yourself. Even your inner thighs are damp. "What?" he breathes in response to your gasp. "Oh, nothing..." you murmur, beginning to slide your fingers up and down your mound. "Just... I knew I was wet, but this is ridiculous." You hear a low, strangled groan from Benedict as the covers over his hips begin shifting rhythmically. You still your movements for a second to watch him pumping his hand up and down his cock. You lick your lips as you stare at his flat, taut stomach just above the moving blankets. With each upwards pump of his arm, his stomach undulates slightly, and you can almost see down under the covers, but not quite. You hungrily stare anyway. He doesn't seem to mind you watching him. In fact, he begins pumping faster, looking at you sideways. Fucking hell, is this happening? you ask yourself. This is the sexiest thing you've ever witnessed. Or participated in, for that matter. Something about you two being unable to touch each other is making your pussy feel on fire. You resume running your fingers along your slit, this time parting your lips and sliding into the wetness within. You tease yourself up and down several times before settling on around your clit, teasing large circles around it but not actually making contact. Not yet. Benedict moans quietly next to you. You glance up at his face, and his eyes are locked onto your stomach, watching the same show you've been watching on him. You can see the inarticulate pleading in his eyes, trying hard to get a glimpse of your bare hips. His parted lips begin working slightly open and closed as he raggedly pants, jerking his hand up and down his cock. "Oh, god," you breathe, relishing the sight of his naked arousal. Your circling fingers begin spiraling inward, needing to tease your clit. Your free hand snakes up under your top, teasing one of your nipples. Benedict's eyes follow that hand, and he unconsciously licks his lips as you begin pinching your nipple.

He murmurs something almost inaudible, but it sounds like, "Fuck yes." Your fingers begin teasing your clit. Electricity radiates upward into your stomach. God, that feels so fucking good. Of course, you're imagining it's Benedict's hand down there instead of your own... his large, beautiful hands palming your mouth, parting your wet lips, rubbing your clit, sliding through your fluids again and again as he delicately, skillfully teases your clit more and more... You let out a gasp as a shudder of arousal wracks through you, causing you to close your eyes, throws you head back, and arch your back as you continue to finger yourself. You hear an appreciative moan echo from Benedict as he watches you, still pumping his cock with his fist. You feel him shift a little closer to you as you continue to writhe against the sheets. "God," he breathes, and you realize he's right next to you. Not that he was really far away when you began, but now he's mere inches away, and you can feel him panting. His elbow bumps your side as he pulls on his cock. Neither of you call attention to it. It happens several more times in short succession. The wave of pleasure begins to receded a little, and you flatten out your back and open your eyes. You look up at him. He's propped up slightly, leaning over you. You stare into each other's eyes as you both continue to masturbate. "Tell me," he murmurs. You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. Not that it matters, because you know what he means. "It feels amazing," you moan, never breaking his gaze. "I wish I knew what you felt like." You aren't totally sure what you're even saying; all you know is how badly you want him right now. "God yes," he breathes back. "I bet you feel incredible." "I'm so fucking wet." Your eyes are starting to looked pained from the intensity of your arousal. "You made me so fucking wet." "And you made me so fucking hard," he returns, shifting even closer to you. He rotates his torso and hips a little, angling more toward you. As he does so, the covers slide down a bit. You don't want to call attention to it right away, so you don't look down just yet. But you know you'll be able to see him when you do. You close your eyes and undulate your body for a moment, giving in to the intensity of the pleasure. Your hand on your breast had stilled, and you resumed playing with your nipple, teasing, pinching, and lightly twisting it. Benedict gives you another appreciative moan. "Show me," he quietly pleads. You open your eyes to see him leaning over you some, his eyes locked on your breasts. Oh fuck, you shouldn't--

You slide your hand up to your collarbone, your wrist pulled the bottom edge of your camisole up with it, revealing your breasts to him. You study his face as he quietly gasps, then softly moans and licks his lips. "God..." he breathes. "God, yes." He is pumping his arm faster now. Your hand slides back down over your breast and you resume teasing your nipple. His eyes are positively locked onto it. You take this opportunity to look down. Fuck. Yes. As you watch, his pumping arm nudges the covers all the way off his cock. It's thick, long, and hard, with a gorgeous flared rim around the head. It's dark red and slick with his precome, and actively leaking more as he pumps his hand along it. His hands are quite large, and his cock still looks rather big in his hand. Suddenly, more than anything, you want to taste him, to take that cock in your mouth and suck and suck and suck until he comes down your throat. You realize you're moaning and bucking your hips into your hand as you finger yourself and watch him fuck his fist. You should stop and pull back a little... but you don't. The covers aren't happy to stay clinging to your hips, either, with your hand working like this. You aren't moving nearly as much as he is, but you two are quite close together, so his movements are encouraging the sheets over your hips to abandon ship, as well. Within moments, they slide down to your thighs. Benedict looks down... and emits a loud, unashamed, wanton moan as your wet pussy and fingers are unveiled. He almost sounds in pain. The idea of him loving the view of your wet pussy sends another stab of heat into you. You tip your hips up a little, offering him a slightly better view. He sits up a little more and leans over you a bit, staring intently on your working fingers. You unabashedly counter by staring at his beautiful, thick cock, being pumped by his large, gorgeous hand. His breath is coming in gasps now, and he is pumping his hand quite fast. Every several seconds, he quietly moans again. You're matching him, moaning and gasping and working your fingers faster and faster, feeling absolutely on fire with his almost-uncontrollable desire at this "show." What you would give to fuck him, just fuck his brains out right now. You both would probably last for no longer than a dozen thrusts before you would both come incredibly hard. His hips shift again, rotating almost onto his side against you. His cock is over your hipbone, and the next bead of precome drips onto your hip. Fuck yes. You want to dip your fingers into it and then go back to fingering yourself, mixing his fluids into yours for lubrication, but you don't want him to notice that he's leaking on you. Not that he probably would; he's far too distracted with your wet cunt at the moment.

Several more pumps and he begins closing his eyes periodically, ragged moans pouring out of him. God, you want to touch him so badly. Just to feel his skin... You slide your thighs open a little more, pretending your thigh's contact with his is unintentional. (Jesus, does it even matter anymore?) He sits up more, using his taut stomach to hold himself up, and slides his now-free hand over to your thigh. Still rapidly pumping his cock (and making delicious wet, slapping noises as he does), he gently slides his fingers along your thigh, playing toward your inner thigh. God, you want him to finger you so badly... Your hips begin rocking toward his hand some, desperate for contact. He groans, sounding in pain, but probably just out of frustration. You look up at his face to see him aggressively chewing on his bottom lip, trying badly to restrain himself. Before you can control yourself, you suddenly hike up the leg nearest to him, the one his hand is on, and swing it up and over, around his backside, leaving him suddenly between your thighs. He stops breathing. His hand on his cock slows down considerably, but doesn't stop entirely. He's staring down at your fingers and pussy, suddenly having an incredible, close-up, center view of the action. After taking several long moments to recover, he lets go of his cock long enough to shift onto his hands and knees, then slowly lower himself over you. He plants one hand next to your waist and props himself up on it, then resumes jerking his cock with his other hand. His cock is mere inches from you. Oh god. You are going to come soon, you just know it. This is far too sexy for you to hold back. Your hips are openly bucking up now, desperate to feel him against you. Your fingertips are a blur, you are working your clit so fast. The only sounds in the room are your combined ragged gasping, panting, and moaning, and the wet slapping sounds of his cock and your pussy, all muffled slightly from the drone of the air conditioning. You distantly hope that drone will cover your cry when you come... which is going to be very soon. Benedict is gasping so hard you wonder if he will pass out. He lowers himself even closer to you, his cock maybe an inch from your slit. Three more pumps later, and another bead of precome drips onto you, this time right onto your fingers. You immediately angle them to rub the wetness onto your clit, and the knowledge of his fluids on your pussy almost push you over the edge. "I can't..." he whispers. Neither of you are sure what the rest of that sentence is, but he mumbles it to himself a couple more times as he slowly, achingly, continues to lower his cock to your slit, drawn by forces outside his control. You continue to buck your hips up, overwhelmed by the desire to feel him, to feel that hard cock against you, in you.

He finally nudges against you, and you both shudder and moan loudly. He stops pumping his fist for a moment so he can guide himself, and he slides the head of his cock up and down along your slit several times. You are moaning with every exhalation now, still bucking against him, still trying to feel him inside you. "Please..." you find yourself whispering over and over. "I can't--" his words are cut off with a strangled groan as he passes the head of his cock over your entrance, and then circles around it several times. "God, yes!" You want to throw your head back and just feel, but your eyes are locked onto his cock, dying to see the action. He presses his head against your entrance and holds it there with an agonized moan. The nerve endings there send bolt after bolt of crackling electricity up into you. It feels so fucking good to have the hard head of his cock nudging your entrance, both of you aching for him to thrust inside. You start to buck into him, and his hand flies off his cock and pins your hip down. Without looking up, he gasps out, "Don't. If you do, I'll... I'll thrust in." Neither of you respond, knowing you're both a hair's breadth away from shagging, and as much as you both want it, you'll both feel incredibly guilty later on if you do. Just come, you encourage yourself. If you come now, you won't actually fuck him. "God," you moan. "I'm... I'm about to..." The rest is lost in panting. His eyes rip up to yours. Seeing you on the brink, his hand snaps back to his cock and he pumps furiously. He returns his gaze to the head of his cock, pressed against your soaked hole, feeling your lips pulse against his head as you frantically rub your clit. "Oh god..." he quietly moans. "Oh god... oh god, oh god, oh god, fuck, fuck yes, yes, yes, oh god, oh god oh god--" His mantra is growing louder and shakier as it continues, as he loses more and more control. "God, yes, Benedict, yes, yes, fuck yes, yes, please..." your desperate babbling joins his as you both teeter on the brink. "Please, just... yes... yes, yes, fuck, yes, god--" His hand is pumping so fast it's a blur, and you feel his precome oozing all over and into your hole. You're both trying so hard not to buck against each other, but the slight unconscious movements on both sides are causing his head to press halfway into your hole and back out again with each tiny wave. That teasing stretch against your ring of muscle is tantalizing and infuriating. You want that thick, hard cock inside you so fucking badly. His fist is bumping against your lips at the height of each upstroke, adding to your pleasure. You're not going to last any longer, you're going to-Benedict emits a loud, shuddering gasp, and then silence as he pumps his cock frantically. Then there is a loud, strangled, agonized groan as his eyes roll back into his head and he comes... and he thrusts deep inside you.

FUCK. Feeling his thick, long, rock-hard cock slam into you, stretching your wet, tight heat around it... you can feel every contour of his gorgeous cock as he slams into you to the hilt, crying out as if he were stabbed. You come. There is no way in hell you could hold yourself back. You feel his hips snap back and forth, pumping his cock into you as hard and fast as he can, slamming as deep as he can before snapping back out and slamming into you again. Both your hands are on each other's hips, pulling the other deeper into each thrust. You feel his thick, hot come spurting inside you with each thrust. And you're coming, you're coming so hard, and you never want it to stop. You distantly hear yourself crying out as you buck against him, losing your mind in the ecstasy of his thick cock slamming and spurting into your tight, wet pussy. Oh god yes, more, more more more.... Fuck, you never want this to stop. It's perfect, it's so fucking perfect, it's what you always wanted, just to feel him, just to feel that gorgeous cock thrusting and spurting its hot come into you... You can't stop bucking against his thrusts, pulling him deeper and deeper into you, coming around his hard cock and adding your fluids to his. With a shuddering gasp, he slows his thrusting, trying to stop, but his body won't quite yet release him. His eyes slide shut and his head droops down. His mouth is still open and his face contorted into something between agony and ecstasy, but he now looks resigned to it instead of caught in its heat. You feel yourself slowly returning to your mind as your own orgasm fades. Slowly, slowly, he stills his hips. He sits like that for a long moment, panting, trying to catch his breath and get his mind working again. All you can do is stare up at him, completely overwhelmed with your affection and desire for him. Finally, he rolls to the side of you and flops down on his back next to you, still panting. You're both on top the covers with the powerful air conditioning blasting, and yet you're both overwhelmed with heat, and slick with sweat. Several long moments later, he swallows and fumbles for a moment before he speaks, his eyes still closed. "I'm sorry," he pants. "I didn't--" "I know," you mumble, well past caring in your post-orgasmic haze. "We shouldn't've--" "I know. It's all right." There's another long moment of silence. He runs his hands over his face. "I hate to ask, but can we... erm... can we pretend it didn't happen?" You consider this for a moment, then chuckle a little. "Is there any chance, at all, that your whole family didn't hear us?"

In a moment of shock, Benedict realizes how loud you both were. Then his face crumples and he groans, his hands returning to his face. "Oh, Jesus," he moans. You can't help but chuckle again. Then feeling badly for him, you gently offer, "Maybe we could say I was having a nightmare?" Benedict peeks out from his hands to glare incredulously at you. You try to hide your smile. You know full well, as does he, that there is no mistaking the noises you both were emitting. "Well," you try to sound bright, "breakfast will be interesting." He sighs loudly and stares up at the ceiling. Then, slowly, a smile creeps over his face, though he tries to suppress it. You grin at him. He glances at you, and as his face begins to mirror your expression, he turns away to hide it. He shifts a bit as he crawls back under the blankets. "I don't even want to know what time it is. Let's go to sleep." You follow suit, as your body has cooled off a bit by now. "I don't know about you, but I'm definitely going to sleep well now," you lightly tease. He half-glances at you over his shoulder, and you see a wry smile on his face. After you both settle in, he agrees, "I'll probably sleep better than I have in months." You sigh contentedly and, determined not to think about the ramifications of this, close your eyes. Both of you are asleep in under two minutes.