[When she clutches at his hair and digs her fingernails into the muscles of his back and makes that sounds and kisses his throat, his expression becomes more intent, more carried away. His kisses are more fierce when her mouth comes back to his.

They are, for some reason, still trapped. No single kiss they've tried has released them; fucking on the ground isn't releasing them, and if that won't, what will? Will they have to huddle together for warmth all night until someone else comes to let them out? It would be more exasperating if he wasn't so absorbed in what they're doing... the way she feels and the warm scent of her and the sounds she makes. For a moment, he pauses to bury his face in her hair, which is softer still than it used to be.]

Oh, love. Maybe we'll take a tent out beyond the Wall some night.

[The words are slightly labored, and come between kisses.]

Then it would be -- proper, with something to sleep under, and --