I finish up not long afterwards, gathering him into my arms so he doesn't fall down from the wall. I'm content to stand there like that with him for several moments, propping him against the wall with my face buried against his neck, to which I press lazy kisses whenever I find the inclination.

Once the blood stops rushing in my head I reach for some toilet paper to begin cleaning him up. I often have to take care of this myself, and I get the feeling we don't have long left before someone comes knocking on the door demanding that we leave, "congratulations, I think the whole street heard you."