Jedao could core his heart out as nearly as a baker punching rolls out of a sheet of dough, with nothing but a flicker of will to reignite the sword. Instead, his chest roaring with adrenaline and his legs skaky as jello, Jedao rises up onto his tiptoes - groaning softly at the ache in his calves and core as he does it - and presses a soft kiss to Zerxus's mouth with the sword still firmly wedged between them.