Pleasure and contentment are blatant in Wintergreen's voice, and it makes me smile against Slade's mouth, shift against his palms on my back to lick his tongue, his palate. I have always loved being here, held and measured by his hands so large on my skin and knowing that he was mine.

Still mine, Wintergreen or not, but it is not fair to him or to our bargain for me to keep Slade so... occupied.

Slade is, after all, his *too*, though the knowledge is a quiet, sharp ache.

Let the man go, Adeline. He will come back to you.