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...You're drifting. [ Quentin smiles against his cheek. He's taking Quentin along, too; the ghosting touch, the alluring heat and calm in his muscles, and the powerful temptation to wrap arms around his waist and hang tight till they both drift off call Quentin like a siren song. Even as he shudders from the fingers in his hair, though, he knows better than to give in. His thumb brushes the bruise along Peter's jaw, forehead bumps into his temple. He keeps himself from curling around Peter the way he wants to. ] Think you can fall asleep?

I gotta have a smoke. Go ahead. I'll follow you down after.