"'Going at it's?" She asks, baffled, startled when he pulls her against his body, warm in a way that is familiar now but still strange. There's no reason for him to be this flushed. He hasn't fed recently or exerted himself. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he meant he felt like he'd been fucking someone. That is, a bit, what he feels like, the sensation of his warm body against hers most familiar in that context alone.

"You'll have to let me go if you want me to put the tent up." She reminds him, from somewhere between his beefy pectorals. "I do think that perhaps you should lie down. Whatever it was seems to have a psychoactive effect that you are feeling far more keenly than I."