They're not really in it for performance marks at the moment. Or ever, really, though this bout might sit near some of the more ungraceful fucks they've ever managed. That said, it gets the job done.

More than, admittedly, because those shuddering spasms hit something low in her just right. All that coiled tension and shameless heat, and for every bit of grasping Charlie does, Chloe manages to mirror: teeth clamped down so hard every harsh breath has to slip out from between them until suppression is a word that doesn't exist in her vocabulary.

Sweat and spit and the feeling of his damp collarbone against her brow. How he's still hard between her legs as his muscles go slack-- bit by bit.

"Shit, mate." She huffs out against him. Breathy, sincere laughter.