Opium dipped his head down and nuzzled into the warm crook of Tracer's neck, inhaling deeply and smiling against the skin. "All the way under," he murmured, "I still want to be wrapped up in you, though. You hold on and I'll drag us under..." Even though he'd rather lend his skin back to the dirt when he was beneath it, he could stay flesh and muscle and old bones to be able to feel skin next to his. And the dirt wasn't so restrictive that he couldn't slide against the other Drug if the desire suddenly struck; it was more like being wrapped in a tight blanket than suffocated by the ground the way a mortal would feel it. But then, Opium spent more time than ever embraced by the earth as the days got colder and shorter.
Finally his hands went to Tracer's jeans, fumbling with the button before the fabric went slack and slid to the dirt floor. And his own trousers followed suit, no regard for how dirty they might get when he stepped out of them. He'd be covered in it when they were finished anyhow - what was the point in trying to pretend they weren't down there to get dirty.