He tosses her shirt aside. Ah, the thing. The thing he doesn't remember the name of, but the ones girls wear doing their athletics. He's not bothered by sweat, and he lets her kiss him once more before he wants to lean her back in his arms and kiss down her collarbone, right to her cleavage. This shit is messy, dolcezza, you can't be having big hair-tossing orgasms without getting at least a little sweaty.

"Weird?" he repeats, between kisses. He knows what it means, he's just pretending.