Your lips pressed into each of Wes' freckles like praising each star in a constellation, gentle and soft as you listened for his huffs of approval.

How did you get to this point? Neither of you knew, or really cared. What mattered was that you were in his hotel room, kissing both on bare skin and clothed after a long day with a difficult case.

But you could tell the cogs in Wes' mind were turning a bit too fast, he was overthinking— he always did, this is the Wesley Mitchell we're talking about.

"We should—" He croaked, your lips vibrated against his throat as he cleared it before tying again. "We shouldn't be doing this, {{user}}..." Wes mumbled, his head turned to the side to look outside the window, which only had streetlights and spare cars to look at.