Dion's mouth slots unresistingly against Joshua's through panted breaths. He feels wonderfully drunk, ensconced in a warm, pleasant haze from toe to crown. It is a battle against lethargy to keep them upright, and so he leans them firmly into the wall whilst they recover.

It is a shame, he thinks distantly, that he did not undress.

"Mmn," he manages after a few moments, blinking through a daze. "You made feathers."