#clementinely

You start inviting him over late in the day, while the sun sinks into the horizon and splashes shades of red and orange across your windowed wall. You find that he meshes with the sky almost perfectly then, bright and warm, and the impression of this sky wrapping itself around you as night falls cheers you on to outlast the dark.

Today is no different.

The pile of cushions becomes the horizontal throne for the Fruit Prince, who opens his arms for you to settle in his embrace, and immediately your face buries in his shirt, ear pressed to his heartbeat.

There's communication even in this silence, reassurance and comfort with his light touches to your back, adoring kisses to your forehead. In time, you're strong enough to pick yourself up and know him too, hands cradling his face, combing through his hair, roaming down the small of his back.

The gentleness of your touches, the way the both of you seem so wary of scaring the other away with the smallest mistake, just shows how new you are to this, to being human.

But if the contentment in his face, how he feels so mellow against your chest, has any say in the matter, you're not doing too bad.

"You're gonna fall asleep again," you murmur through a giggle, fingertips fluttering across his cheek as he lays on his side right in front of you, noses practically touching, eyelids only slightly parted. "If you do I'm not gonna wake you up just to kick you out, Clem..."

He makes a small sound of protest, maybe of denial, and you laugh more, hands mapping more of his face. Your palm brushes his lips and he kisses it almost out of instinct, and your heart melts a little.

He's cute - that much is obvious to anyone who has laid eyes on even a simple picture of him - but knowing him teaches you that his cuteness runs way below the skin, pulses in the heart you can feel quietly tapping against your own.

But that's not just it. Corny as it may sound, he is just like the sunset behind him, even as it darkens to make way for the night. You're drawn to him like a child to their reflection, someone you can relate to, in both good and bad.

The words leave you before your brain even processes them, "You should do that to my lips instead," and his eyes immediately open wide, bringing him to full alertness.

"Are you sure? I understand if this is something you'd like to avoid. I just want you to be happy and comfortable," his voice comes, careful and warm.

You grin in endearment, flustered at your bluntness, hands settling on the side of his neck. "I am... For some reason, I feel like it won't hurt this time. You're pretty much taking up all my thoughts right now."

He blushes a little too, before giving his consent and drawing near. You take your time before bridging the gap, memorizing how your heart has sped up and how his eyes drift to your lips, how tightly his hands are clinging to your back, how gorgeous he looks in the dying light.

Kissing him is a blurr of warmth and tenderness, happiness swelling, sadness dislodging and moving away. You lose count of how many times you keep going after one of you pulls away after the first minute. It starts soft and sweet, more antecipation than motion, but you find yourself relaxing soon enough, allowing yourself to make mistakes, bump noses, blow raspberry against his cheek and giggling, before reaching back to drink kisses from his mouth.

You see every bit of passion and hunger you put into the kiss returned twofold, and it doesn't take long for you to feel weak all over, heart thundering, breath catching in your throats. He runs out of it before you - you ARE the Heir, after all - and as he rests his forehead to yours, panting softly over your jaw, you're happy you took the plunge.

"Was it ok?" he asks, the nerd, as if the very positive answer weren't obviously splayed across your face. "Did it hurt?"

"It only hurt to pull away," you chuckle, hands moving over his face and hair, lips kissing along his jaw.

"Let's do it again, then," he suggests, with an almost mischievous enthusiasm, and you grin against his jaw.