While the sky blackens above them and the sounds of the ocean grow louder as the waves roil, ready to cause some chaos once the storm actually hits, Midnight remains in Grey's lap, almost in a fever-dream state. While the spirits voices have been muffled with that temporary shield provided by Grey, there's no denying the way the growing storm pulls at Midnight's magic, making his skin crawl faintly with the increasing energy in the atmosphere.

Eventually it's enough to shake Midnight out of his daze, the mage sitting up and attempting to crawl out of Grey's lap. He's abruptly made aware of how he's still naked, feeling the way the pirate's clothes rasp against his too-sensitive skin, the increasing warmth in Grey's hands that have been holding him close. Even with the horrors of the day, the faint stirrings of lust are practically instinctual, a long-developed response to oncoming changes in weather, his magic and body craving some form of release to get rid of that excess energy that makes his skin tingle.

"... It's hot," he mumbles, trying to push away from Grey because the pirate's done enough and Midnight shouldn't need sex for this. He shouldn't.