[Yes, they are doing well. And if the weight of his body against hers is any indication, he thinks so, too.

His shirt is in the way -- so is hers, come to think of it. No sooner does she get rid of his than she does her best to slip out of hers. It sticks to her skin, damp with her sweat, and she throws it away. There might be whistling, she doesn't know.

The only thing she does know is her skin on his, a hand on his head to keep him close, and trying to tilt her hips to his to relieve the tension coiling there.]