When he'd nodded his agreement to this it had somehow escaped him that letting Macnair do that to him meant Ford would inevitably be in Macnair's presence in the immediate aftermath of an orgasm. Having to interact with someone — having to talk to someone after that was unfathomable. How did anyone manage it? Ford was feeling particularly inadequate because it wasn't just anyone he was talking to, but Macnair, whom he quite desperately wanted to like him. (That what they'd just done might be taken as evidence that Macnair did like him already would probably never occur to Ford; it certainly hadn't yet).

Yes, it had been that good, but Ford wasn't sure if Macnair wanted him to say that or whether the question had been rhetorical. Macnair was kissing him before he could decide, which combined with the fact that Ford was still catching his breath pushed him towards not answering. There was one quick moment of panic (dulled panic; he was too tired at the moment for the full experience) as he wondered whether or not he was sweating, whether or not Macnair was noticing it when he kissed him, whether or not Macnair would mind — but then he realized that was a little ridiculous. Given what had just happened, it was hard to believe that Macnair would be squeamish about sweat.

Ford let out a pleased sigh when Macnair kissed his neck again, smiling at the recurring reference to how unafraid he was. I'll only ever think of you as Macnair the Brave from here on out, he thought, but that was too silly to voice. Instead, Ford raised his hands to cup Macnair's face, dragging it up enough that he could kiss him on the lips again. It was a much slower kiss than any of their previous ones, but still deep. After a moment Ford stopped and let his head fall back onto the bed, staring up at Macnair appreciatively. "You're incredible."

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