Murphy's breath hitches in surprise as she loses her balance and falls on him, the first half-second of thought being that she's going to hurt him and then everything else getting torn away and leaving her entirely focused on that kiss, on every point of contact, on the fact that he tastes like cake and cinnamon. She breaks off, studying his face with startled eyes.

"Well," she whispers. "I guess being older than recorded time is good for something."

She could resist. She still has that in her.

But he could have died while she was here, stuck chasing a mockery of the heavenly host that Gabriel is stuck fighting. She fishes his shirt from the side of the chair, bracing her other hand against the back of it to keep herself from putting too much pressure on him. She swipes the cake off the side of her face, slowly, and tosses the shirt aside. And then leans in again, pressing a hand gently against the back of his neck and kissing the corner of his mouth before meeting his lips and tongue properly with her own.

She's straddling him now, thinking vaguely of locking the door while she runs her fingers over the back of his neck. If cake-smearing horrified Hawkes, she can't begin to think what seeing this would do.