"Not yet," she mumbles, chasing after those last few wisps of sleep as if they'd pull her back under. Her eyes feel weighted shut, like someone tied rocks to her eyelashes. Everything about her is warm and comfortable--he's comfortable. To the point where she's sighing and leaning back further against him.

"I like your hands on me," she eventually tells him, still hovering between consciousness and sleep, though leaning closer to the former. "Is he all right?"