He covers her hand with one of his own, letting out a long exhale because he's still recovering, dealing with the familiar sensation of being both exhausted and full of energy at the same time--though he hadn't generally felt that way because of sex. It's better when it's because of sex, in his scientific opinion. He raises his eyebrows at the ceiling, giving her hand a quick squeeze and lets out a wheezy laugh. "How much time did I spend imagining it?" he repeats, running his free hand through his damp hair. "Oh, y'know. When I woke up, while I was eating, in the shower, walking down the street, drinking a coffee, breathing..." He turns his head to look at her, grinning. "So not that much."

He moves his arm so he can rest his head on it, still smiling at her, and brings her palm up to his lips. He likes this, too, the afterwards of being as free as they are together but in a slightly more vulnerable state. He likes that she makes him feels this way, happy for once to be still and calm and without a million thoughts racing through his brain--right now, it's just her, how much he loves her, how fucking crazy and amazing it is that he is sharing in a moment like this with her. "Your roomie will probably be happy that you're keeping me out of your place for awhile anyway," he teases. "She so adores me."