"All yours," he murmurs over hot skin; hands trailing down, over the rise and fall of Glitch's chest and lower, fanning out over hips and thighs and gripping them, keeping them there as he presses into kisses that shouldn't ever have to end. Hot, sweet kisses that taste of love and passion and feeling too much, but he doesn't care. Nothing is too much with Glitch.

"All yours."