Struggling to catch his breath, and a little bit to stay on his feet at all, it takes S a moment to be able to say anything more. At least, though, he feels a little freer to touch J again, his hand resting against J's jaw again, thumb brushing absently over his cheek. S keeps thinking about it, how beautiful he is — always, regardless of circumstance, but especially in moments like this, quiet and content and peaceful. Their current state of undress, J being on his knees and still hard, doesn't hurt in that regard, but it isn't just that, either. It's only that, for just a little while, nothing else has to matter, the world narrowed down to just the two of them, the way it so often felt in the time after their friendship first became something more, long before he knew what would become of the two of them.

That thought isn't one that belongs here yet. There's only so long he can keep it at bay, he knows, but the fact of that is all the more reason why S is determined to do so while he can. Everything feels too good for now. As dramatic as he knows it would sound, something that's generally been more J's domain than his, S thinks that he'd never expected to ever feel as good as he has this past little while again. He isn't in any hurry to move on from that yet.

He isn't in any hurry to move at all, despite his awareness that he'd wanted, and still wants, to return the favor. Switching positions seems like a lot of work for the moment, though, and he's still working on breathing steadily again. "Love you," he says when he feels like he can speak at all. "You good?"