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Their surroundings seem smaller, foggier now. She keeps losing focus.
It’s the gentle fingertips meeting the skin on her back over her shirt. They toy with the fabric at first, testing the waters or teasing. Her skin tingles with anticipation. They press their palm to the small of her back. She meets their gaze and they pull her in just a little. Heat crawls through her veins, she’s suddenly short of breath.
She realizes they never stopped talking, a smirk in their voice, as if they weren’t rambling about Star Wars while - intentionally or not - setting her skin aflame.
“He’s a comic relief, sure, but he fools everyone and secretly pulls the strings. It’s absolutely villain-coded.”
Who were they talking about again?
She lets her hand rest on their arm, the one wrapped around her. It’s a light touch that travels upwards until her fingers find the collar of their shirt. She plays with it - traces, twirls, tugs. She adds her two cents to the conversation, and they seem to stumble on their words for a moment.
“Is that how you see him?”
“I- Well, uh- I know it sounds far-fetched but hear me out-”
Her gaze drops to their lips. She pulls by the collar, just enough for them to feel it pressing against the back of their neck, and their eyes meet hers.
Whatever they meant to say dies on their tongue. Their palm presses at the small of her back once more, pulling her even closer.
They’re a breath apart. One strangely enticing conspiracy theory away from each other’s lips. She feels them leaning in.
Her brother bursts their bubble.
“Please stop nerd-flirting while we’re here.”
He steps out of the kitchen with their grandma beside him. Both faces hover between amused and exasperated.
She wants to groan at the interruption but rolls her eyes at the comment instead.
“We were just talking.”
“Oh, please. Se nota que quieren arrancarse la ropa.”
“¡Abuelita!”
Her cheeks flush crimson and she instinctively takes a step back from her lover. She feels their gaze flicker to her face - lost, clueless to the bold assumption thrown their way. They’re unsure if she still wants their touch.
They let their hand fall but she catches it by the sleeve a second later. She motions with her head to the corridor. They nod, and she leads them to her room.
They pass her mom on the way.
“You know the rules. Doors stay open.”
Frustration bubbles in her chest. It’s been two years. She’s close to stepping into her twenties. Still. They barely get any privacy, any space for just the two of them. She should be able to develop her long-term relationship at a healthy pace in a safe environment, shouldn’t she, mom?
Instead she grunts and snatches their jackets from the hanger on her door.
“We’re getting out of here.”
All the contrasting emotions surging through her veins might be blinding her a little at the moment, she admits.
“I expect you back by eleven.”
Graduate, move out. Graduate, move out.
It’s a mantra that she willingly invites into her mind during every argument with her mom; like now, while she and her significant other make their way out the front door and straight to the garage.
“We’re taking the car? Where are we-”
Their question is cut short when she pulls the garage door back down behind them. She leaves it hanging just slightly above the ground, allowing some light to spill into the dark, tight room. She faces them and their eyes are wide, as if they aren’t used to the smell of old boxes enveloping them as they both struggle to keep quiet.
“I wanted to finish our conversation.”
She finds it easier to breathe here. The dark and silence calm her nerves. Her smile grows cheerful again, very her-fashioned, devoid of the previous frustration.
She asks if they want it, if it’s okay. Their consent is so enthusiastic they might break their neck.
A gentle push to the shoulder and their back is pressed against the rear of her car. Their hands find her waist in a tight grip and pull her in. Her legs almost give out.
They lean in for a kiss but her finger cuts the hot air between them. She presses it to their lips. Their staggered breath hits her skin, and the look in their eyes… As if it cost them every last drop of self-control to hold themself from making her cry their name right now. Her thighs tense at the thought.
Heat and urgency hang in the air, her own body commands her to be closer, yet she takes her time. Her hand drops to their chest, holding them in place. She savours the sight - the needy eyes, reddened cheeks, slightly parted lips, clothes she wants to see on the ground.
She feels their burning gaze on her. Her eyes drop and focus on her free hand. She traces their thigh, the line of their hips, the tense muscles of their abdomen. She feels their ragged breath under her palms.
Her fingers sneak under the fabric of their shirt to grab at their belt and pull them by it, their hips to her hips. They let out a soft whimper and she’s losing control at the sound. Their eyes meet for a single feverish second before she surges for their lips. A long peck, then she pulls back, keeps the miniscule distance between them, even when they try to lean in again. She leaves them both wanting more. More, more, more. She wants this to last forever, this overtaking desire they so rarely get to indulge in.
It’s when they plead, her name escaping their lips so desperately, that she gives in.
The gentleness in which their lips meet is a contrast to how hot and heavy their breaths are. She leads the kiss, they follow; whatever she does, they mirror. So when the tip of her tongue meets their bottom lip, the second time it meets the tip of theirs. She can feel it in their breathing, in the slight trembling in their hands on her waist, how much they anticipate her deepening the kiss. She keeps it delicate - soft, slow brushes, as if carefully tasting them.
“Are you trying to break me?”
Their question is weak and shaky against her lips, and it carries a need and incredulity they can barely contain.
Something in it makes her giggle, the sound breaks through the thick tension, and she soon hears them follow.
Her eyes are closed, her face beaming when they kiss her again, so sweetly this time.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
They look into each other’s eyes with such affection. She presses her forehead against theirs, sighing quietly, relaxing.
They pepper her face with little pecks and she’s giggling under the feather-like touches. Their lips slow, linger on her jaw, trail down her neck. Her laughter fades into sighs. Her fingers run through their long hair, tangle in it, press, pull them impossibly closer.
The fire builds up again, this time both hot and warm - burning and tender.
“Do you have the keys?”
She fumbles through her pockets. They watch her intensely. She catches them biting their lip, impatient.
She already knows: the second the car lock clicks, they will have her lying on the backseat, them on top, wrestling her out of her jeans.
Click.