His movement has grown as ragged as the noises from his mouth, spasms and jerks as he tries to keep control of something that refuses to be tethered. He wants to turn inward, against her, to hide the final vulnerability but it's too late, far, far too late. Her palm rolls, a finger catches and his head drops back like someone cut a string; he holds still, a slow spin on a razor-wire of light...

...and then it collapses and he's in freefall, snapping forward just in time to hear the straining groan, and the hot ribbons erupting all over his stomach. He can't do anything but watch, caught in the eye of it as it explodes through him. Until it's gone, and he slumps, panting against her shoulder.

He really, really needed that.