[ He sucks in a breath between his teeth when she rubs him, and resists the urge to snatch her wrist and bring it back to the bulge in his slacks when she pushes him off. Instead he sits up, half-propped against the pillows jammed up against the headboard, where he habitually pounds them in his sleep. The night table is stacked with books and old magazines; there's a small jug of tepid water and a glass set at the corner -- but not enough to slake both their thirsts. ]
[ To Korra, he offers a nod, ] Hm. [ That's a Yes, please. ]
Sunday! \^^/
[ To Korra, he offers a nod, ] Hm. [ That's a Yes, please. ]