She rests her head on his shoulder, sighing and making quiet sounds and occasionally squirming a bit in his lap, but slow and steady feels like the right end to this day. She's in no rush to be anywhere except this helicopter, hovering over her very own mini-tundra while the sun slowly starts to lower behind the mountains, picking absently at the buttons of his shirt and the threads in his scarf while he plays her like a piano.

It's only when he's gone under her panties that she moans and presses her face to his neck, the bridge of her nose fitting right into the crook. She breathes hard, can feel it making the space between them hot, but it's nothing to notice as she plants her knees more firmly in the seat next to him, lets go of his clothes to hitch her dress up further, until it's stuck at the top of her thighs in front, and the back of her skirt is hiding his legs instead of hers.

"Tom," is all she says, soft and distant, sliding her hand up his arm to his shoulder, his jaw.