It's a delight to be involved in something that chases away the fog in her head and the bitter memories of feeling hollowed out, something that asks her to be present but nevertheless controlled. Guiding him without being mean about it, proof again to her own hands that she can be with someone this way. When her hands tangle in Hawkeye's hair, it's only to touch him, holding without pulling, teaching him how she likes it through subtle movement and not being too quiet. Sure, he could probably figure it out, but the least she can do for him is let him know when he's doing something right, and they're still on their own. If anyone is drawing near enough to hear her sighing, that's a problem they'll have to solve on their own. Fever's too absorbed in learning that his mouth isn't just good for wit.

And when it does rise in her again, she lets go, leaning back to keep her balance, one hand braced on his chest instead. Closer, and this time she doesn't try to hold it off when she wants to come, lets it wash over her in a wave where everything is pleasure, says his name in her ecstasy.

She feels alight in the best way, and the blue of the sky is very close to the blue in his eyes when she makes herself move back, back enough that she can lean down, kiss him regardless of the state he's in.