Michael’s ticklish there and Lee knows it. He huffs a light breath through his nose, the slight touch making him feel squirmy. His fingers, spread open on Lee’s back, pull closed, dragging the blunt edges of his nails across her skin—not as hard as she likes it when things are serious, just teasing. Just flexing some of the energy through, back into her. He can’t take it in and then let it sit there. Even if it’s something small. He’d shake apart with it.
The light is something he notices, too. It’s nice to be able to see Lee clearly, he doesn’t get to do that very often when they’re having sex, but he doesn’t want it to upset her. She’d say something, though, if she were too uncomfortable with it, and they could draw the curtains and darken the room easily enough. Hotels are convenient like that.
“I’m so fucking pissed off I haven’t had time for this,” he mumbles sullenly into her mouth. He doesn’t mean here, in California—he’s made it a top priority here—but at home, where things have been insane. "You know how much bad stuff I get rid of this way? It's like doing laundry. It's like discharging static. Like when I go walk, except better to the nth power."