That's nice.

It's better than nice, and she turns toward him more, letting first one arm and then the other slowly snake around him in this very appreciative kiss me like you mean it kind of way that's probably completely unnecessary because she can't say he's ever been half-assed about kissing her.

And even with her eyes closed, she can sort of sense the changes in the TV screen light.

The first chance she has to inch back and steal a breath is taken, that reflexive I want you thrumming in her mind only tempered by the reminder that she's really not ready to follow through on a hell of a lot, and... well, damn it, she can handle this, and she's gone for two weeks without grabbing many of these moments.

She pushes her lips up against his again, fingers creeping from the back of his neck to the thick of his hair, and a few moments later -- obviously in no hurry -- she half-turns back toward the TV, leaning back against him, and lets her eyes wander back to the screen again.

She's seeing the action on the screen. She's just no longer really watching it.