The truth is, every time he does this she has to look away for a few moments. It's not his fault, it's just that the sight of his body dissolving, breaking into particles of blue and bright-it just seems wrong. But within a few seconds, he's entirely air.
He almost seems to crawl on the emptiness between them, limp and lazy like some sort of overgrown sea slug. Cobalt tendrils curl in and out from his core, almost as if in some imitation of a heartbeat. Rose sighs. "With all due respect John, I think I can hear my hair going gray."
The blue pauses as much as it can pause, quivering a bit like gelatin. Then his edges ripple—if she had to give the act a sound, she knew it couldn't be anything other than "hehehe."
Then he engulfs her.
It's always a bit of a shock, the sensation of him so close he might as well be her skin. He skims the down on her arms, the twitching dip of her throat. Her hair billows around her ears, and she can feel him pressing gently against the side of her jawbone. Her lips part, involuntarily, and she very nearly blushes at the feel of him at her mouth.
For a moment there is nothing but blue. His pressure is her pulse, and she is the eye of what could very easily become a storm.
But then it's gone, and in its place are two comfortable arms circling her from behind. She can practically hear the grin by her ear: "So. How was it?"
What Rose Lalonde thinks: "Amazing."
What Rose Lalonde says: "Why do you always smell like Doritos when you do that?"
He laughs.