Paul thinks about it. He does rather often even if he tries not to because he really is content with however long it takes and thinking about it too much just ends up in being frustrated with himself - and sometimes (often) it's like a slow and pleasant torment to be so close to him. And sometimes he has to take a breath, take a second, because he's not the one setting their pace. This morning though, this is worse than most. All he wants to do is drag Daryl down against him and keep kissing him, getting out of bed be damned. A flighty thought, one he knows he won't push.

He's almost disoriented when Daryl holds him and moves because he's so lost in his thoughts. But only almost and he settles there on his lap, returning that one more kiss. "Yeah," he echos, lifting up slightly on his knees and kissing him again (one more can't hurt), hands cradling his face. (Torment.) "Yeah," again, as he finally moves to swing his leg around so he can sit on the bed a minute and just scrub his face with his hand. "That sounds good. By the time you get back maybe I can get this mess on my head sorted out."

(Hopefully. But man, is he still distracted as hell.)