[She kicks off her sneakers and follows suit, crawling into the space made between his legs. It's weird, the little bit of space kept between them, almost like she's avoiding touching rather than simply being unable to. She leans forward and over him with one forearm on the back of the couch, glove in the other hand. At first it's light tracing, playful against his throat before trailing back down his chest, continuing along the invisible lines she would've slid her own fingers along.] You work out.