There is a distinct difference between having sex and defying the laws of the cosmos, if such thing existed.

In the past hour, they've done the latter three times. That's not to say either of them saw planets, far-flung nebulae, or entire galaxies, although the vision of something celestial was entirely possible given the light he had seen behind his eyelids when they were through. There had been a rather broad expanse of time spent just simply acquainting themselves with each other physically; working out what hurt, what felt good, and what had emotional boundaries that needn't be crossed in the bedroom. Patience had soon worn thin and a sharp pang of want had driven them both to go just a bit higher, take what the other had to give, able to give as well as receive.

No scar had gone unexplored, examined intimately, and kissed thoroughly, until it was too much for both of them. He tells her how he got the hooked, pointed scar on his back from a Ngulu blade and she tells him about the tangled web of scars on her knees, how she had slipped on the ice that covered her parents' front porch during Ireland's icy winters. Heavy breaths accompany the story of his tattoo, how reckless he had been to get it, but how it had given him a sense of identity, something he desparately longed for. She doesn't say anything, just traces the tattoo with her tongue, until he's gasping for breath. His identity seemed like such a trivial matter when there were cosmic laws to be broken and body parts to be lavished with attention.

He stays the night, only for her. It is difficult to ignore the raw exposure of letting his guard down for her. To let her see him with all of his scars, to open himself up to her emotionally, had been a big step for him. But, she had been accepting, and just as willing to open up to him. There were still parts of themselves that they had chosen to keep barricaded, unwilling to let the other see, for the sake of not feeling stripped of something so personal. There are things he doesn't tell her, like Katherine Walters, and there are things she chooses to keep from him, such as how her marriage to Marshall hadn't always been a happy one. These are too personal for them to share; too uncomfortable but that's okay. They've shared enough and when they curl around each other, spent but satisfied, they find they don't mind the vulnerability so much.

When he wakes the next morning, it's to the smell of coffee.

The sheets are wrinkled beneath him, damp with sweat and sex, and when he rolls out of bed to re-dress before heading downstairs, he wonders just how Ilsa managed to get up without him realizing it. He tugs on his shirt and jeans, before heading downstairs to fuel up on coffee before he has to be at the warehouse to face Winston. Guerrero won't mention it and he doubts Ames even realized he left, just happy to not have to deal with a mission and Winston and Guerrero arguing.

He finds her sitting at her kitchen island, long legs crossed elegantly, and her tousled curls hiding her face from view as she signs papers and sips her coffee. He doubts she realizes the effect she has on him, especially after the night they've just had, but he chooses not to mention it, given the circumstances. There's another cup of coffee, still steaming with heat, across from her; an open invitation to join her and for once, he's going to take it.

When he walks by, she catches that scent; even the smell of sex can't cover what must ooze out of his every pore. He looks disheveled, fresh from the depths of sleep and feeling much better after last night. When he sits across from her, accepting her silent invitation, she continues signing papers, even as his eyes watch her and his very presence throws her off balance. There is no conversation and there needn't be any; they'd said all they needed to the night before. He leaves after he finishes his coffee, taking his keys and phone, but conveniently forgets his duffel bag. It's either a sign he's sticking around for a while, or that he wanted her around the office today. She gets dressed for work and grabs her things to leave, choosing to leave his bag in the foyer. It presents her with an opportunity to invite him back to get it and she'd like to have him in her home again as soon as possible.

His duffel sits in her foyer for a week.

Her sheets smell of grease and gunpowder that same week.