"As I love you," comes back to him, nearly as breathless. But he's too overjoyed to worry about breath. He'd rather suffocate than live another moment without kissing him again.

"Jon." Kiss. "Call me." Kiss. "Jon." Kiss. "Shorter." Kiss. "More time for." Kiss, which, in it's own way, is the end of the sentence. And this one continues long enough to add another one.

It doesn't matter what you call me. You know who I am.