Chuck can't help but groan at the way her body shifts under his, the warmth of her skin and the press of her leg against the length of him. The sound winds up muffled against her mouth when he kisses her again, though he ducks his head after that, lips brushing against her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Especially as she draws him closer, the last thing he wants to do is put any distance between them, but it's becoming increasingly a necessity. He doesn't want to wait much longer, and he gets the impression that she doesn't, either.

It doesn't take much, at least, to reach the nightstand he keeps beside his bed, even though he has to let go of her to do it, his chest twisting sideways as he leans over to open the drawer and fumble for the condoms that he knows are in there. In a way, it's almost funny. He never had to worry about this sort of thing back home, spent so little time going to bed with anyone that there was no real need to plan ahead for it. In Darrow, though, that's been different, his life here a far cry from what it used to be. Ordinarily, that bothers him. Right now, this close to Beth and wanting her so badly, unable to think about much else, it's hard to imagine wishing he could be anywhere other than where he is.