She moves, shifting the rest of her weight on top of her (suffering a little awkward in the first place; kriffing skirt, she can't move in it), and takes a quick breath. She bows her head to suck at Aeryn's neck, low at the join between shoulder and neck, hard enough that it'll likely leave a mark.

Forget a lovesick foostep-dogging count, forget a planetful of responsibilities, forget the chance of global war, forget a crazy rebel leader who insists he's her dead brother. They're all so far from her mind right now; all there is, is warmth and Aeryn. And that's fine with her.