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balloon

“the things that we have right now are the best they’re ever going to get.”

the thing is - the thing is, she thinks as she looks at him sat opposite, hunched over his laptop with his left foot bouncing soft and irregular thumps against the carpet, is that she wishes she could find a word to describe the way she feels right now.

because right now, right now, she feels like there’s a balloon in her chest that keeps expanding every time he so much as looks at her. that feels like it’s curling into every corner of her lungs when his hand rests or squeezes subconsciously on her thigh or her hip. that feels like it’ll fucking burst and crack her wide open when he cups her face and kisses her until she feels like she’ll break if he lets her go.

because she’s never felt like this before. it’s never been this intense. it’s new in every sense of the term. new for her, new for them. they’ve been dating for almost seven months now and she knew she was in love with the dumbass by their third date. but this? this is a lot to unpack.

he clears his throat and looks up at her when he decides her stare is close to burning the back of his neck. he stretches a little as he moves, straightens his back and his fingers, clicks them a pop at a time.

“why’d you keep starin’?” he mumbles softly. she all but melts into the mattress.

“‘cause you’re pretty.” she replies, voice soft and honest and he smiles.

“you fucking sap,” he grins and yeah, yeah she is.

she pushes her notepad and her uncapped pen aside, and skips the song playing. the wallows murmurs from her phone quietly and her chest is tight. he swings in his chair until he’s facing her and he watches with warm, tired eyes and opens his arms so she can settle in his lap as soon as she’s close enough.

“hi,” she mumbles, tightens her arms around his neck and settles against the solid warmth of his chest, beating and secure against hers.

“what’s up with you today, huh?” he asks, as his hands skim up her back, rests on her thigh.

“i don’t know,” she admits, “nothing bad. dunno how to explain it.”

he kisses her cheek, nudges her nose with his until she tilts her head a little, rocks forward that bit more, shudders a little when she meets his lips. he kisses her with all the time in the fucking world. and she’s just - she’s overwhelmed with how much she loves him. it makes her desperate.

she wiggles in his lap and tightens her grip on his shoulder, winds and twists one in recently blonde-again hair. his hips try to follow the rhythm she starts, but she’s too eager, wants too much, wants him so much -

“love,” he laughs, a bit breathless, slightly confused, as tattooed hands secure around her waist and squeeze so she stops, “talk to me.”

she tries to hide her face in the space between his neck and shoulder, presses kisses to the hidden skin there, wishes she could kiss him without his shirt in the way, “just want you.” she hums.

“oh yeah?” he grins, voice a little smug and she rolls her eyes, bites his shoulder gently, “‘cause i’m all fit and that?”

“no,” she huffs, “opposite of fit, actually.”

one hand squeezes her hip. the other touches her knee, slides up slow and easy. she shivers a little and shifts in his lap, tries to move closer.

“reckon you’re a liar,” he says gently, “tell me what else.”

she doesn’t. she kisses him instead, pushed as tight, as close, as much as she can be on his chair. he keeps up this time, kisses her in a way that empties her brain of any thought. feels herself slump and all she knows is this, and them, and him.

and him and him and him.

when he leans away, the sky has turned darker, his laptop screen has gone blank and her lips are numb. she keeps her arms tight around him so he can’t go too far - not that he wants to anyway.

“y’hungry?” he asks.

“no.”

“close to finishing your report?”

“nope.”

he huffs a light laugh against her lips and kisses them once, twice, lets her kiss him for a while with the third before he leans away properly.

“i gotta finish editing this video,” he tells her, lets his disappointment of being responsible leak into his voice.

“you can do that later,” she suggests. even pouts her lips a little. wiggles in his lap a bit. feels hot at the way hands squeeze them to stop.

“it is later,” he defends, “it’s what, eleven? and the boys wanted me to have it finished yesterday.”

she sighs and he grins, kisses the noise from her mouth, lets her sigh it into his instead, “alright, i see how it is. work comes first and that, yeah? i won’t take it personally.”

“sounds like you already are, love,” he laughs and she smiles at the sound, at his voice, at him, “just gimme another hour or somethin’ and then i’ll come to bed, alright?”

“but i’ll be too sleepy then,” she protests.

“too sleepy for what, huh?” he teases and she tries to push off his lap, mumbling a bunch of curse words at him. he laughs and presses smiles against her skin and hugs her close and she just. she loves him, y’know?

she does manage to get off him, with a dejected flop onto the bed. she misses the way calum pauses to just watch her be melodramatic and sweet and he smiles until he swings his chair back around to the desk, wiggles his mouse until his laptop blinks back too bright at him.

it’s nice outside today. the sky is blue and the grass isn’t wet and there’s no clouds in sight. trees are still barren but flowers are sprouting. his outside table is a little gross from winter ignorance and the grass is long enough now that she has to search for duke when she lets him out.

it’s only early but the sun feels warm on her face and her arms in a way it hasn’t for a while. calum stays asleep because he’s a liar and stayed up working until past two, way past the fight she had against her heavy eyelids.

she boils the kettle and puts on his empathy hoodie that she reclaimed as hers the second she found it again (because it was her that found it, thanks very much). warm green covers her fingers, and her coffee warms her insides as she goes into the back yard. she spends the next hour waking up, then she cleans the outdoor table, the chairs, and tries to fight her way through his shed to get his lawnmower but it’s a fight she reckons she’ll leave for him.

she gets her laptop and her nearly full notepad and sets her space up outside. goes onto his spotify and pulls up a random playlist. it hums with calming notes, and she realises it’s a playlist he’d made for her. to help her work day. the balloon inflates a little - reminds her that it’s still there.

he wakes up just before noon. spots her sat outside on the decking with his too-big-hoodie pushed up to her elbows, fingers flying across a keyboard, an empty coffee mug to her left. he picks it up for her and boils the kettle again for them both.

she looks up when he comes back, and offers her a hot, full mug and a smile that she thinks she’s probably too lucky to be able to see everyday. he sits down next to her, sits sideways on the outdoor sofa so his back is to the arm and he’s able to face her. she leans back and brings her legs up, rests her chin on her knee and looks at him.

both hands are curled around his mug - it’s a heat changing one, that she got him. he isn’t wearing a shirt and maybe it’s dangerous that the weather is picking up. he has dumb writing over his chest, and he has dumb black lines over his arms, on his legs and he has a dumb soft smile on morning-chapped lips. he’s dumb and she’s so in love with him she feels dumb from it herself.

“what time did you get up?” he asks, voice husky and slow like honey.

“like half eight?”

“too early,” he muses, and runs a hand through bleached hair. she’s glad it’s longer now.

“that’s cause you’re nocturnal and have no sleeping pattern.”

“who has a sleeping pattern in twenty twenty?” he scoffs, “you’re the anomaly here.”

“bite me,” she replies blandly, “can you cut the grass today?”

he groans, “i’ve just got up, let a man breathe and have his coffee first.”

she sips from her mug, a little too milky, before she sets it down and pulls her laptop closer so she can squint at the screen in the sunlight and reread what she’s already written. she’ll probably delete half of it - too ambitious of her to write so much on her first cup of coffee.

he nudges her with his foot before he wriggles it under her leg to keep warm.

he sets his mug down and moves closer, leans over his legs until he can rest his head on her shoulder, disrupted by the constant movement of her typing and backspacing.

“cal,” she murmurs, nudges him away but he stays persistent, and props his chin on it instead, kisses her shoulder and tries to reach to kiss her neck, “cal.” she huffs.

“what?” he mumbles, moves a hand up to move her hair out of the way.

“you’re distracting me,” she scolds lightly, and he smiles into the space she can’t see. she can feel it though. can feel it in the way the balloon in her chest vibrates a little with it.

“obviously aren’t very focused then,” he says, and his hands creep up from his sides to hers, tugs where her hair ends down her back, spreads ringed fingers against the side furthest from him, sees if he can inch her closer without realising. she does. but she doesn’t fight it because her chest is tight again and he’s still sleep warm and he’s everything.

she puts her laptop back down on the table and he smiles, smug in satisfaction as she moves around a little until they’re sat, facing opposite, and she moves her legs until her feet rest over his thighs and he moves both hands to rest on her shins. thumb rubs patterns into her skin without him telling them to do so.

“hi,” he says, his voice still smug, “you should have stronger resistance.”

“i should also have my own island somewhere, but we don’t always get the things we want.”

“you have me, though.” he says, soft. and he calls her the sap.

“who says i want you?” she retorts. even though she does, she tells him. every single fucking day. reckons anyone she’s ever spoken to could tell him that she wants him. never wants anything but.

“everyone,” he says, mirrors her thoughts like he can read them. she wouldn’t find it too surprising if he could. wants to be so entwined with him that it could be a possibility.

“everyone is a liar,” she argues and he smiles. she wants to taste it on her lips, wants to see if it really feels the way it looks. so she kisses him. and it does.

their first kiss of the day always feels a little like their first kiss to her. it’s always so warm and soft and familiar and slow and she doesn’t want it to ever stop feeling like this. and she’s not stupid, she knows that one day, it will. and she’ll come to that when it does. but right now, as he leans heavily into her, and his breathing whistles a little from a slightly stuffy nose, it feels like the first.

he’s panting a little when they pull away, bending their bodies over themselves to be close, and he rests his forehead on her chin.

“tell me.”

it doesn’t sound like it’s a request and he doesn’t have to specify what he means.

“i want you.” she replies, voice quiet and sincere.

he moves his head to beam at her, lips a smoother, rosy pink and his eyes a bright, endless brown. she smoothes a thumb over his eyebrows, follows the arch when he quirks them.

“d’they need plucking again?” he asks and she hums,

“could do them later,” she says and he nods, and kisses her again.

it’s a sinking kiss this time. one of her favourite types of kissing, and one of her favourite ways to spend her time with him. because he leans into her again, and he keeps leaning, keeps shuffling with a hard chest and secure hands until she’s on her back and he lies in the cradle of her hips. a wrist keeps him propped up, and the word alive that’s etched black and forever on his skin catches her eye when he kisses away from her mouth. the tattoo looks a bit like it’s thudding in time with her pulse, and looks a little too colourful to be just ink.

calum is all long limbs, and thick arms, and hard chest and soft tummy and sparse hair. he’s all hard facing, and soft eyes, and an infectious laugh, and real conversations. he’s all casual fashion, and dyed hair, and mindfulness. he’s everything and he’s overwhelming. and the balloon in her chest has taken over every inch and she’s sure it’s gonna burst. but it doesn’t. and it hasn’t since she met him.

“y’okay?” he asks her, lips somewhere around her stomach and his hands somehow everywhere. her fingers squeezes his bare shoulder, tightens in his hair.

“mhm,” she manages from somewhere below her throat. her eyes are closed; she sees pink from the weak march sun, and a little from him, she supposes.

“sure?” he checks, and lifts his head. she opens her eyes and it’s a little devastating.

“don’t stop,” she tells him and his lips quirk and suck kisses, pushes the jumper up with sure touches and follows as the material moves. he kisses over her chest, and the balloon shakes and squeaks and she reckons he must hear it.

“why’re you so sensitive?” he mumbles, kisses and touches and fingers and eyes turn curious as she shakes a little under the attention of it all.

“guess y’just do that to me,” she shrugs and she regrets it immediately with the way his lips grin and his chest puffs, “alright, calm your ego down.”

“can’t,” he grins, proudly, and he sucks a bruise that’ll turn purple and marking into the swell of her left boob as her fingers curl and she sounds breathless, like she’s just run a fucking marathon, “‘cause i only can do this to you.”

“narcissist.” she huffs and he laughs against her skin.

she hears a car door slam close then, and she remembers she’s outside. they’re outside. then duke barks and there’s suddenly a dog trying to wedge his way between them. calum sits back, coos at duke, picks him up and presses a kiss into his fur.

she looks at him, sat up between her legs, against the lunchtime sun in march, with his (their) fur baby in his arms, and his tattoos warm against endless brown skin. and. and and and.

“i love you.” she says. says it loudly and clearly and honest and true. he smiles at her. the balloon shakes with it.

“i love you too.”

she doesn’t think he understands but it’s okay.

“i’ll go get dressed i guess, take him out then i’ll come cut the grass, promise.” he says, gives her another kiss and readjusts himself a little in his joggers. she watches the movement and then watches as he goes back inside, grabbing both their mugs on his way, and sighs.

they went out for dinner and drinks with their friends, and they find themselves pleasantly tipsy when they get back home. they’d already discussed on their walk home, fingers swinging between them in quiet, dark streets that they’re gonna heat up the food they brought back from the restaurant, grab another bottle of wine, and spend the rest of the evening in loose sheets and the comforting background noise that is netflix. it’s the weekend and it’s barely ten and as they walk home, she watches as people in heels and loud voices walk in the opposite direction.

he puts the leftovers onto one plate and heats it up in the microwave. she grabs two wine glasses from the nice cupboard, stands a little on her toes to reach the second one, and debates which bottle of wine to open from their little collection.

“we feelin’ cheap or rich tonight?” she asks him, as she stares at bottle labels and fancy names that don’t really mean anything to her.

“cheap as always,” he replies as he grabs them a fork to share, “but if you wanna feel better about our saturday night, we can always go fancy.”

“what d’you mean ‘feel better’?” she air quotes, as she grabs an expensive bottle of red, “this is a superior saturday night and i won’t take criticism about it.”

she puts the bottle down next to him and then asks because she can’t help herself: “did you wanna stay out, or?”

“no,” he says, soft and cheerful, and he kisses the side of her head, “getting drunk with you in bed on red wine we don’t really like the taste of, is a superior saturday.”

“i’m gonna pretend that didn’t sound sarcastic and take your word for it. can you open this? i fucking hate corks.”

she watches with slightly tipsy eyes as he screws into the cork, as strong fingers and firmer arms hold it, pull it until it pops. a simple act that she knows is not that easy, thank you, that she has to now add to the list of things he does that looks attractive.

she takes the plate while he holds both glasses in one hand, bottle in other, as they put it down on the bedside table and she watches as he undoes his trousers, stupid flares that she says she hates because she does. (she doesn’t). then he’s just in dumb sushi socks and boxers and a long dark blue tee and he just does something to her. she can’t explain it. she doesn’t reckon science could either, but she’d like to see them try.

he moves the pillows so they can sit up and finds his charger to plug his phone in and she moves to get into something comfier too. but once she’s out of her jeans and she’s back in a grey hoodie of his, he grabs her elbow and tugs until she drops her fluffy pj bottoms and falls to the bed.

“you don’t need them,” he says. doesn’t say it, doesn’t even really mean it in a sexy way but she heats up a little anyway. she doesn’t argue, just shuffles up the bed and he holds back the duvet so she can move under it and move until she can feel the soft heat of him. moves until she can twist her ankle around his.

she finds the remote and he pours two glasses and when he gives her hers, and cheers them together, she really isn’t jealous that their friends went out. she doesn’t want to be anywhere that’s not here and she doesn’t want her saturdays to be any different from this.

“this is my favourite place to be, y’know,” she tells him. tries to say it a little more nonchalantly.

“yeah? mine too,” he smiles, takes a sip of the wine, “hm, i’m getting an oak-ey undertone. you taste that?”

she takes a sip and it tastes pretty grim, and he laughs at the slight scrunch of her nose, “yeah it tastes kinda shit, doesn’t it?”

she laughs with him and then clinks their glasses again, “to piss tasting expensive wine.”

he grabs the plate before it gets too cold, and they pick at leftover potatoes while he scrolls through netflix. they can’t settle on anything and the plates empty before they’ve chosen.

“there’s too much fucking choice, and they’re all shit,” he exclaims, “i give up. you chose something otherwise we’re gonna have to watch love island again.”

she snorts, and moves the plate off the bed. she tops up her wine and then snuggles closer, waits until he moves his arm up a little higher, so she can sink into his side.

“just put big mouth on, or something.” she suggests and he goes to do it until, “no, wait! let’s watch travel vids.”

“haven’t you seen like, every one?” he asks and she rolls her eyes.

“yep, i’ve seen every single travel video ever made. biggest achievement, that.”

“where we goin’ this time, then?” he asks after he laughs, and changes the app to pull up youtube.

“iceland.” she decides.

and then it’s just - then it’s just them watching iceland vlogs and planning their imaginary trip there, what they’d do different and what they’d do the same. then it’s just them in his bed, half a bottle down, on a saturday night. and it’s her favourite thing in the world. he is her favourite fucking thing.

they leave it on auto play and in the end they end up on music. she’s shuffled up the bed while he’s shuffled down, and he leans on an elbow, holds up his head as he looks at her when he talks. he pauses to wet his lips, and take a sip from his wine. most of the bottle is gone now. she laughs when she catches his lips in the light, stained red with drink. she bets hers are as bad. she wonders if his would make hers worse.

and now it’s this. now it’s soft music and it’s dim lights and it’s a bottle of red wine down and it’s her in his bed and it’s him. it’s him it’s him it’s him.

“i love you.” she tells him. cuts him off mid sentence. he wasn’t talking about anything important - something about the game he and michael are playing. but his sentence pauses and dies on his tongue as he looks at her with drunk, hooded eyes. the balloon seems to have made its way to her stomach now, too. decided it needed more space. decided it needs to take over the rest of her body to cope with how he makes her feel.

“how much?” he asks. his voice has dropped a notch in volume but it seems to echo louder in her ears.

“not that much,” she shrugs. too much.

he grins and sits up. tips the rest of his glass back, nudges her arm up so she does the same. he watches her swallow over the rim, watches as she keeps his stare. then he takes both of their glasses and sets them on the bedside, and crowds up close and in her space.

“your lips are purple,” he says, moves his thumb and forefinger to take her bottom lip between them, pull it out, trace it with the pad of his finger. watches with endless eyes when she bites it gently.

“think you should kiss me,” she tells him.

“yeah? y’think so?”

she doesn’t answer, but moves just the inch she needs to into their space so that she can.

late night kisses are different to morning kisses. late night kisses taste like wine and leftovers and longing and excitement. calum’s different when he’s drank with her too, dependent on the drink of choice. but on red wine, not white, he’s warmth and he’s incoherent murmurs into her skin and he’s eager, sleepy hands and a relaxed jaw.

he moves back, just a little but enough for her to try and chase him and he breathes a light laugh.

“lemme just -,”

he reaches back to tug his shirt over his head, has to sit back a little more to manage it properly. that space creates an unwelcome breeze and she shivers a little with it. she shivers even more when insistent fingers push her hoodie until she lifts her arms and lets him throw it into a corner of his room. she shivers the most though, when he presses back down. his skin feels red hot against hers and it feels like it burns and she doesn’t think she can get physically close enough to it, to him.

she tries. with the way she wraps herself all around him, legs, arms, hands touching every bit of him she can. his hips are rocking into hers, slow for a moment before it’s not. before it’s too hot under the covers already, too hot in her skin and the dirty grind he starts against her.

“can’t wait to fuck you in iceland,” he huffs against her mouth, and then he swallows the suprised laugh she replies with.

“think you should fuck me at home first.”

“i can do both,” he argues, “got good stamina.”

“debatable,” she grins, but it doesn’t sound as powerful as she wants it to, when it comes out soft and catches in her throat when he moves her thigh up a little, moves it more to the left, opens up her hips a bit more.

“just say nice things to me for once, would ya?” he bitches, bites at the junction between her neck and shoulder, and grins at the way her body jerks up into his at it. she goes to snark back, goes to tell him she’s always saying nice fucking things to him. but words get clogged up in her throat when he’s moving away again, moving down her skin that she’ll never feel comfortable in, and pulls back the rest of her clothes. he follows them down, kisses down from her thighs, down to her knees, her shins. the balloon swells in her chest, between her ribs, in her gut.

she sits up and moves quick, clumsy fingers to his boxers like the material offends her. he smiles and takes her hands, kisses her knuckles and then takes them off, kicks them away.

“keepin’ the sushi socks on though, huh?” she asks, and she can hear her smile in her voice.

“obviously,” he says, raises his eyebrows like he’s surprised she asked.

he resettles and she tucks the duvet back up so it covers his shoulders. it’s too hot with him on top of her like, with the way his skin is still burning his name into hers all over, and the duvet makes it too close to sweating. but he doesn’t move it and he kisses her instead and it’s slow again now. it’s slow and it’s deep and it’s tongues and it’s not knowing whose wine-laced breaths are whose.

she just feels it everywhere. the balloon is so full it almost hurts. this almost hurts. she hiccups a little and he pulls away.

“are you - are you crying?” he asks, confused, goes to sit up a little, pushes his eyebrows together. she clings at him so he doesn’t.

“no, shut up,” she says, because she isn’t. her throat does feel a little thick though.

“tell me.”

his voice is so deep when he wants it to be. she blinks and kisses his confused mouth. he doesn’t let her stay until she answers, so she tries her best.

“i love you.”

“i love you too,” he says, instant, like it’s reflex, “why’s that gettin’ you all emotional for?”

“‘m not emotional,” she argues, but she’s smiling and she cups his heated cheek. smiles at the way his head tilts just a little into it, “i don’t wanna try explain it cause you’ll tease me for it.”

he grins and kisses her, “well now you have to tell me.”

she sighs, and moves her hand so it can settle on his neck and pull him in to her again. kiss him again. kissing is severely underrated. he gets distracted, gets lost in it too this time. his hips start up again, only this time there’s nothing but her to move against, and she shivers at the hot press of him. she wiggles an arm down to reach him, moves her wrist a couple times just to feel it, feel him, feel him make a little noise against her mouth, until she angles him down a little. shifts her hips up a little.

“please?” she asks, quiet and soft. he smiles.

“tell me first.”

“tell you what?” she whines impatiently.

“whatever it is that’s got you all - like this?”

he presses kisses to her neck, to her collarbone, kisses down her to her shoulder and back as he waits for a response. she closes her eyes and focuses on his lips, focuses on his voice, and his hard chest and soft tummy and hot skin.

“just -,” she starts, sighs, tilts her head to the left with the guide of his fingers, “i just love you. and i don’t mean ‘i love you’. i mean i love love you.”

“that doesn’t make much sense, love.” he smiles.

“it does, you’re just being difficult.”

“tell me more.”

she wiggles and huffs, and she’s rewarded with a strong hand up high on her thigh. close. so close. he squeezes and pushes it further to the side until she wants to hide from feeling so vulnerable. she feels like if she opens her mouth wide enough, he might be able to see the balloon that’s vibrating as fast as her heart is beating in her chest and he’ll be able to understand.

“i - i’m just in love with you and it just feels like,” she pauses, licks her lips. he’s looking at her with wide, heavy eyes. “i don’t wanna do anything without you. wanna do everything and be everything with you.”

“do you?” he asks, breathes it tentatively into the bubble around them. everything feels tense and sharp and soft and warm and red and yellow.

“unfortunately,” she smiles and then, “kinda seems like you’re it for me.”

he stares at her and it’s too much. the balloon pulses in her fingers and toes. then she’s getting kissed. like kissed kissed. and then he’s mumbling a quick, “okay?” onto her tongue and she nods, tilts her hips and moves a leg so it’s tight around his waist and the hot, heavy, blunt pressure of him is all she can think of.

it feels different in a way she doesn’t know how. because everything is still the same. it’s still calum and it’s still her and it’s still his bed and it’s still just sex that they’ve had more times than she can count but - it’s different. maybe it feels more intense. maybe she’s more ripped open this time. maybe it’s because she loves him in an all consuming way and maybe he knows now.

it’s slow but it’s dirty and it’s enough that she has her head tilted back and her back tilted up. he moves his weight to one arm, so his other can touch her face, cup her chin, angle her jaw so she can meet his eyes.

“i love you.” he says, sincere and breathless and dripping, “i love love you. can’t wait to spend every saturday with you. can’t wait to fuck you in every country y’want me to.”

he kisses her before she can say anything, but in truth she doesn’t think she has anything she can say right now. doesn’t know if she could talk right now, anyway, with the way he’s suddenly moving her body, moving her legs, gripping her waist and grinding his hips.

she lets him move her when and how he wants. lets herself tug his hair too tight. lets her too short nails dig into his back. lets his bitten nails dig too sharp into her skin. lets him bruise up her thighs. lets herself bruise up his neck.

she feels the balloon burst around the same time she does. too good and too overwhelming and a little bit too much.

he slows as she shudders her way through it, rocks his hips gentle and deep, finally kicks off the duvet a little but he’s still draped over her almost completely. her skin sticks to his, pushes and pulls with the quickened pace to their chests.

“where’d you want me to -?” he goes to ask, and looks at her, fucked out and in love with him, “won’t take me long, like at all.” he promises.

she taps his hip gently and he gets it, pulls back slow, and she clenches her thighs when he’s gone. she moves him until he’s sat up against the fallen pillows, and makes sure she watches as she lays between his legs.

“you are somethin’ else, love,” he murmurs, and his thumb traces her bottom lip until he guides it to him instead.

it always feels dirty to her, when she has him like this, after he’s just fucked her. maybe that’s why they both like it so much. and he was right, when he said he wouldn’t last long. she moves her tongue, follows ridges, swallows down and down until she’s pressed against him and he can’t stop the little jerk of his hips. she doesn’t stop until he pushes her away gently, and then collapses onto his stomach. snuggles where it’s soft and sweaty.

“c’mere,” he says, pulls her arm until she groans and moves up his body, stays in the v of his hips and cuddles into his shoulder instead. arms come to wrap around her, strong, tight, warm, secure.

“i, uh,” she starts, “i meant it, y’know.”

he snorts, “i know, you melt. i did too.”

“don’t call me a melt after i’ve just confessed my all consuming love for you.” she huffs and he laughs. kisses her head. she melts.

he reaches over to grab his phone, almost fully charged now.

“how the fuck is it two already?” he asks, “how long were we fucking for? told you i had fucking stamina.”

she laughs, loud and sleepy and unfiltered. she watches as he opens the skyscanner app, and furrows her eyes, “whatcha doin’?”

“looking at how much it’ll cost to get to iceland.”

“really?” she asks, pushes up from his chest so she can look at him, but he ignores her, keeps looking at his screen. she watches the corner of his mouth twitch like it’s fighting back a smile, “for when?”

“let’s just look at prices and that first, then we’ll figure it out with work, yeah?”

“yeah,” she says softly. she kisses the side of his mouth that she can reach and then resettles on his chest and watches as he filters out his searches.

the balloon that burst feels like it’s been replaced with two.

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