When Sommer's fingers brushed him through the material, he let out a groan, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as his body became a thing of sensation. He shuddered, his hand pulling back for a moment, lingering just at her entrance, brushing between her legs. "Good girl," he said, some of his complete control vanishing. He pulled the bruising grip away from her neck to fumble awkwardly at the belt to his pants. Unlike most Vault residents, the Overseer had a particular fondness for pre-war clothing and he had a very nice collection of suits, shirts, pants and even useless artifacts like belts. He managed to get the clasp undone and tug the belt loose in one clean motion after only a moment of fumbling, though and the buttons free a moment after that.<br/><br/>He tugged his pants down with a few sharp jerks, a particularly undignified movement that was more about his need than anything, any thought of reeducation or right and wrong. Then he looked down into her eyes, still brimming with unshed tears and lost himself for a moment, staring at her. She was truly beautiful, in this moment. He had seen her before and he'd always thought her pretty, but now she looked...perfect. His heart raced in his chest and he leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, more certain of himself, of her, of how right all of this was. He let his lips and mouth taste her skin, savor the delicate interplay, the gentle darting of tongues, a language entirely without words.<br/><br/>Kissing her, tasting her, savoring the pressure of their lips against each others, Michael felt something settle into place, a subtle paradigm shift in the universe as the world seemed to speak up and say, 'this is right. This is the way things should be'. This was right. He pulled back and smiled at her, sliding one hand up to caress her hair, tangling his fingers in it with a touch of roughness. "You're beautiful, Sommer," he murmured softly.