[ It's— soft, and sweet, the kiss she presses against his lips. It's chaste, and again, not what Peter's used to, when shit got hot and heavy in the dark corners of bars and clubs, with drinks flowing and hormones flying.
Peter had kind of figured that the first time they properly kissed, if they ever did at all, they'd be on a hilltop or something. Under the stars. Or maybe in the privacy of one of their rooms, sitting hip to hip in the silence of the ship. Or finding a moment of peace on one of their little not-dates, turning to one another and feeling something click. Leaning forward until their lips pressed.
... But this is better.
When she pulls away, he puts on that awful, stupid, uncool smile, but it's hard to care about that right now. The softness of her lips, the warmth of them, still lingers against his, and he wants to feel it. Again.
And again.
And again.
And he feels like the luckiest bastard in the universe.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear – reverent and fond and man, he loves her hair. ]
no subject
Peter had kind of figured that the first time they properly kissed, if they ever did at all, they'd be on a hilltop or something. Under the stars. Or maybe in the privacy of one of their rooms, sitting hip to hip in the silence of the ship. Or finding a moment of peace on one of their little not-dates, turning to one another and feeling something click. Leaning forward until their lips pressed.
... But this is better.
When she pulls away, he puts on that awful, stupid, uncool smile, but it's hard to care about that right now. The softness of her lips, the warmth of them, still lingers against his, and he wants to feel it. Again.
And again.
And again.
And he feels like the luckiest bastard in the universe.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear – reverent and fond and man, he loves her hair. ]
How are you feeling? Honestly.