Judging by the previous night's moans, groans and guttural drones it could be anywhere in between. Yeah, that's what they talk. That connectedness that's made up more of warm breathwhisperssweetvoices than words. Yeah, that's when time stands still. When nothings become potent exchanges that send sensual waves over every moment washing away previous inhibitions.
Spoken words become redundant for the tacit text, coming next again and again and again and again.
She found a spot and dug harder. He winced out of a surprised delight. There it was. Just below her navel. Blue ink depicting Christ on the cross.