Fingers skim. Her breath hitches.
"I have to report in ten minutes," she says. But his hands are moving; her back arches; and the idea of leaving is very unwelcome indeed.
"Fifteen minutes," he says. Pushes her against the cabin wall. She gasps a laugh – trust a Clanker to keep perfect time even during all this! He echoes it, unsteady. She loves that.
"Takes me five minutes to get to the spine," she says. Then kisses him so he can't say it only takes three minutes twenty.
Precision is a virtue, but they've got better things to do just now.
