The specific, everything-feels-new quality of a first time — every sensation arriving without a prior reference to compare it to. The specific, heat of him in her mouth. The salt. The weight of the hand in her hair. The specific, close-quarters warmth of the enclosed car and his body and the accumulated hour.
'Does he— is he—'
She looked up.
Through her streaming eyes, at him.
He was looking back.
The purple eyes, in the dark. His jaw open slightly. His expression carrying the specific, present quality of someone who was fully located in this moment, was not somewhere else.
Her hands on his thighs.
'Shlk. Shlk. Shlk.'
'Mmmngh~♡♡— mmmgh~♡—'
His hand in her hair changed.
Not rougher. The specific, urgent change in a hand that has felt a thing arriving — the hand that communicates 'here' without words, that adjusts the angle with the subtle geometry of oncoming.
She felt the change in him.
