"I get around," he smirks and he sounds way more smug than he has any right to, but how that's any different from how he normally sounds, the narration has no idea.

He shifts again, trying to get his arms freed up. He slips one hand in Murphy's hair and kisses back. It's hardly the passionate, sweet kissing of a lover, because Dad forbid he turn into that kind of guy. It's rough and desperate, greedy and full of that sketchy in-between space between need and want.

His free hand, he lifts enough to snap, dimming the lights and locking the door in one go and Murphy can consider herself lucky there's no disco ball or Barry White music to go with it. He considered it, but... Meh, that's a bit too over the top for 'Oh hey, I'm alive' sex... Or whatever this turns out to be.

That done, he lowers the hand back down to the small of Murphy's back, surreptitiously working his way up underneath her shirt. He's considering the benefits of moving somewhere not the chair, because this is going to get so awkward so fast, especially with his injuries, but right now... He doesn't really care. The wounds are healing and this feels awesome as is.