Muscles loosen and immediately his attention lands on the garment's owner leaving the broken man in an odd spot. Even on his already dark features, the tips of his ears flare red, a rare color rises in his cheeks. He fumbles for a moment a hand finds itself against the back of his head sliding against still damp hair.

"Sorry! I was folding, I figured..."

He pauses moving from one trap so flawlessly one would think it's intentional. "I figured I'd make myself useful." A sheepish laugh follows as he quickly folds the sweater placing it in a pile, stalling until words finally came.

I read that the scent of your partner helps relieve stress and is supposedly very comforting so I thought I'd.... Anyways I should take shower."

It doesn't help that even now in her oversized sweater and sweats he's faced with the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. A fact that led to another issue entirely.

It has its benefits..." If nothing else he still has his wit, though it's not delivered in the way that was typical of him, it's mellower, more bashful. Knowing there was no one on this planet who'd ever see him like this, not physically but in the way she made him was odd, he had become vulnerable in front of her in every sense now. He was bashful not solely out of guilt but because he could be around her and that was freeing. Miles had always been a prideful boy and he'd grown into a prideful man. Able to disengage and disconnect whenever needed, it was a mechanism to protect himself. he kept his heart close to his chest, and it was in this openness that he knows he's truly hers. In mind body and soul.

And despite the pain and hurt, they'd both gone through over the week, despite the cuts and bruises that line his form there's something it wants, something the mind won't admit out of equal parts guilt and shame. He focuses on each of her features from her scarlet eyes, to the tint of her cheeks ending on her lips.

His heart races and blood circulates as she inches closer. He remains still now, like a stone in the desert. The heart wants what it wants even if the mind protests and so his emotions are laid bare as well all for her to inspect and value as she pleased. She appraises the man up and down, not focusing on any particular detail, but in her inspection, she understands his heart's desire.

"I don't deserve...", but he finds himself inching closer to her.

Bodies glance against each other, but she can feel his heart beat against her. It's fast, but not rapid. Like a deliberate drumbeat against her daring her to pursue. She's irresistible and she knows.

"Should I?"

She flaunts her power over him, each touch, each kiss drawing him closer. Still, the mind weighs like chains on his soul and he refuses to give in. He keeps his hands behind his back as if in shackles each hand serving as a brace for the other - an ouroboros made solely to keep himself sane. Nails dig into his palms and forearms, but his eyes plead to continue as she pushes him further and further, such is the pain of guilt, of unworthiness.

Eyes watch helplessly as she continues to move around him. His heart rate increases the beat of the drum more hurried now as he follows her movements. Words evade him unable to even form at the base resulting in light rasps whenever he opens his mouth. His mind begins to fog over, what was once a physical want is slowly becoming a psychological need, but the ouroboros remains strong, painfully so.

She asks a question, each word emphasized by another action. She's enjoying this - watching him fight against himself for her.

"...You." He finally manages to say almost breathlessness no louder than a whisper.

The game ends, but the fire remains.

She seems dissatisfied with the end, but he relaxes the mind understanding this is what it should be that fog fading albeit slowly, His body screams in protest Her still damp hair brushes against him as she rises. Goosebumps line his bare skin a reaction to rare coolness received from the woman, but even that is a gift.

Her stare is not as much cold as it is sad, and so she reaches to unshackle the man from himself, the look in her eyes kills any idea of resistance and slowly his grip loosens, color returns as the heat she emits travels through him as it'd done so many times before. The journey is short and soon his hand moves from fabric to skin. The drumming begins again, his heart felt by her again. Guilt still whispers to him, his flaws and sins are laid before his consciousness, but the hand guiding him supersedes any internal struggle.

His other hand free follows the first now bypassing her sweater traveling beneath it so precisely. He's unsure, but his hands begin to move. he knows her shape, He'd memorized her over the months spent together. Fingers slide deliberately up from her waist tracing her curvature so lightly grazing it at points. He's gentle.

He steps closer his head leaning down bypassing her lips moving directly to her neck.

"Do you want this Stormy Silph?" He whispers in her ear his breath is light but his voice is firm.

"Sit. Let me show you my devotion."

She shivers, but she doesn't recoil, but with each motion, she becomes more accustomed to him until she truly craves his touch. She grabs his muscle tensing against him allowing him to move further - to feel. When he asks she approves, and so he continues until the sweater is gone entirely. Edging her body into the slightly worn sofa just behind them forcing her down. How she resisted this power only moments ago he doesn't know, but clearly, he's unable to follow suit too greedy to stop.

"I'm yours, always."

He begins high - lips press against each other a kiss that was long since overdue each second he relishes. All the while his fingers trace circles around her navel occasionally playing against the heavy fabric that prevents him from delving deeper. He moves down to her nape lips fiercer if only slightly, teeth glaze against her collarbone. His weaker hand moves between valleys sliding against skin teasing it before his head sinks further moving to where that hand once was. The hand having lost its home finds hers and slowly they interlock fingers grazing before tightening as she heaves. He can feel her heartbeat as he continues to push her further. All pieces are synchronous not unlike a clock each dial playing its part all for one purpose.

His hand leaves hers as he delves deeper traveling lower kisses end at the navel and the fabric once again prevents him from moving further. He looks up at her now taking his team relishing this moment, not yet moving further. He wants to hear her.

It's as if she's on a string, a marionette moved solely by his touch, reacting to each kiss - each graze in a way unique to her. He's addicted not to the power, but to her and he'd have it no other way. The guilt still rests somewhere in his mind - caged, but she's pushed it so far out of sight now. this had become as necessary for her as it was for him, and he'd sworn to give her all he could and more, in all things.

He leads further now the words he needed to hear unlock a new area to explore and slowly the remaining fabric is removed. Fingers casually return to their exploration as if they'd never stopped. He moves in reverse now starting from her calves before gliding against her thighs both toned - a testament to years of training in the field; of pushing herself to be stronger, more capable. She'd succeeded as he knows no soul more capable than Stormy Silph, no one more deserving of the world.

Her fingers brush through his hair and his breath hitches, she'd feel it, the sudden temporary shift, but it doesn't stop his movements. Like a spring following a fresh rain, droplets pool around her threatening to drip into an endless pool if not for his interference fingers moving against the warm stone catching the pooled drops, sampling them before her scarlet eyes before delving deeper.

-------------------------------------------------------

The hues outside have faded from a looming gray to a deep black and the two lay together on a couch too small for two bodies, still, Miles finds himself comfortable and he prays she does as well. It's been hours now, and while restful here in this silence he can hear those voices clearly. He was a danger to her, as he was. Not only in terms of physical strength but if Rocket were to find out if the league were to find out what they'd become, she'd lose all she worked for.

He's acting in selfishness now, it's a fact he knows, but he'd continue because he can't imagine losing her for any reason, and so he begins to brainstorm in the silence of the living room a means in which they can continue. It's a conversation she has a full stake in, but to move her, to wake her now? after everything? Was beyond cruel.