Her body tensed up underneath him and she tightened around him, prompting him to drawn in a sharp breath at the sudden sensations. It wasn't enough to push him over the edge—yet—but it was enough for him to slow down, both so he could let her relax and so he could watch her changing expressions.

"Merlin, Febby," he groaned, burying his face into her neck. She'd been far quieter than he'd expected (which he supposed was good, seeing that they were outdoors), but he couldn't say the same for himself in the final moments; he let out a series of muffled grunts, moans, and unintelligible whispers against her skin before his body finally seized up and he spilled himself inside of her. It was one of those moments that he was glad she wasn't some petite, five-feet-tall thing, as all the strength in his arms gave out and he collapsed onto her.

He lied still for a solid minute, eyes half-closed while he breathed in her scent. It was all too good, but now it was all too over. Moving would mean admitting such, and then they'd get dressed and she'd leave. He'd be waiting who-knows-how-long until he saw her again—it could be weeks, depending on how long the fog expedition took.

---