send me △ for my muse to get trapped in a small closet with yours
“ I KNOW ——- I KNOW. don’t say it. ” plea is mumbled, head turning so angled slope of jaw rests atop her head. back inches away from wooden panelling, bare skin of torsos grazing against each other, he can’t recall a moment where every single sense had been on such high alert. and it’s as though he exists in two worlds.
one. ear pressed to door, heartbeat pounding in his chest. palms are sweaty, shirt balled up tightly in one fist while the other clutches both belt and pants to his waist. in and out, in and out. focus on breathing seems necessary as eyes squeeze shut, a silent prayer that the footsteps fade sooner rather than later. each tap of heel on tile prompts a different scenario of the door being pulled open. in every one, result is less than ideal, more often than not accompanied by something more than just his ego getting bruised.
two. he is hyper aware of just how close they are. her breath is hot against his skin, hair tickling collarbone, swell of breast pressed to chest. the shaky intake of breath, the quickening rhythm of his heart —– maybe it isn’t entirely due to the prospect of getting caught. it would be so easy to let hands settle on the curve of her waist, lips on neck, touches anything but soft. just as they had been seconds before the frenzied flurry of limbs stumbling over each other into the closet.
dainty fingertips tracing hipbone shocks him to his senses, and he knows she has to be thinking something similar. “ brooke. ” smile pricks lips, voice carrying a low warning. “ i am not meeting your parents like this. ”