"I know," Ned murmurs, not questioning or contradicting, because he understands. He too, for different reasons and in a different way, experiences that feeling of risk, the overwhelming desire not to hurt another person. For Daneel, it is a general abhorrence of doing any kind of damage, tangible or intangible. For Ned, it comes from the pervasive, mostly unconscious view he has of himself as someone dangerous, someone who harms the people closest to him without meaning to.

But none of that is close to the surface of his mind, now. How could it be, with Daneel covering him up like that. It's extraordinary to Ned, how good he feels, how he seems to know just the amount of contact and weight and movement to leave him breathing fast and shallow. There's something quite nice about the way Daneel is so unhurried. Their few encounters up until this point have been very enjoyable, but somewhat brief, more urgency than art. So it is pleasant, feeling Daneel's mouth moving across his collarbones, marveling at his soft his lips are, how perfect his skin is, how subtly but noticeably different he feels.

"Daneel," Ned says, arching off the bed to press against him a little more insistently, "God, you always feel so good, how do you feel so good." It's not a question that require's an answer; Daneel would have little chance to give one, besides, because Ned is tugging him up and kissing him, passionately. His head is spinning and the arousal he feels is equal and intwined with the intense attachment he feels for Daneel. Ned kisses him and lets himself get lost in that feeling of love, without any worry for consequences or shame or embarrassment or fear that what he feels is too intense.