[ There's no blush, but the expression that crosses his face probably makes up for that -- at least, right before he leans in and presses his mouth over yours to taste you again.
You taste like what he imagines the holidays could be like, things he and his family never managed to indulge in because America is a shadow of what it used to be, once upon a time. He presses close because you're solid and warm, a steadying presence in a place that seems so strange. ]
no subject
You taste like what he imagines the holidays could be like, things he and his family never managed to indulge in because America is a shadow of what it used to be, once upon a time. He presses close because you're solid and warm, a steadying presence in a place that seems so strange. ]
Don't make me pick. I happen to like both.