Link
>the wind's been chasing grains of sand across our blanket all afternoon, sneaking them into our clothes and hair, but we don't care.
>the dunes curve up around us, sheltering just enough to feel hidden, safe, yours and mine.
>he's resting against me, head tucked against my upper arm, one leg brushing mine, he could move if he wanted to, he could roll over, stretch, shake out the sand, say something about the breeze picking up.
>but he doesn't.
>he stays pressed against me, steady and warm, his breath ghosts across my collarbone, slow and even, but I can feel some tension in him too, just under the surface.
>his fingers shift slightly, brushing the edge of my shirt, trailing too deliberately to be an accident.
>then as slow as a whisper, they slide underneath, his palm presses to the small of my back, warm and sure, it sends a shiver up my spine.
>he's quiet, but I know he wants this, wants me, maybe just as much as I want him.
>I glance down at him, and he doesn't look away, his dark eyes locked onto mine, pupils wide, mouth barely parted like he's caught mid thought, or rather, mid desire.
>the wind tugs at his hair, and I want to push it back, to touch him anywhere he'll let me.
>he shifts again, this time closer, my arm's pinned and it's slowly going numb, but I don't care, I'd like to stay like this forever if it means keeping him wrapped around me like this, clinging, needy, his skin against mine.
>there's something possessive in the way he touches me now, as if he wants to claim this moment, or just claim me.
>I exhale slowly, not wanting to scare it off, not wanting to rush, but my fingers ache to move, to find his hand, to trace the curvature of his spine.
>maybe he'll kiss me, maybe I'll kiss him, but for now, we just hold still in the tall grass, the world spinning quietly around us.
>letting everything in our bodies say what words can't.
