“ah. it seems i’m caught. i thought your class wasn’t for another half hour....” 

she knows she shouldn’t-- knows she should have a little more sense than to encourage his wandering hands in the middle of the club but she doesn’t want to think. she likes the way the tequila in her veins encourages her decision. her blood is boiling and it’s his fault. his hands move, certain of her in a way that puts her on edge in the best way. her hips are pressed against his, her ass against what she’s sure is either a very large cell phone or a problem she wants to explore (touch). she shouldn't-- she shouldn’t--she shouldn’t. she tilts her head slightly, invites his mouth to his neck. “Tocarme--” She purrs softly-- her voice would be lost in the din of the music to anyone but him. “Touch me.”

she turns the light low-- and opts for candles instead. fills the room with the smell of warmth, vanilla and spice. she knows there’s no answers and she doesn’t attempt to find them, there’s no point in that.. “i know.” she doesn’t smile, for once her face is full of a seriousness she would normally detest. she gets into bed with him and wraps her arms around his frame, nuzzles his neck gently with her nose. “you don’t have to be okay.” she knows she’d signed up for this. for nights full of panic and eventual-- impossible to think about endings. “you are allowed to be terrified. i’ll be terrified with you-- no? that’s the point. i want to be terrified with you.” she kisses his forehead gently and hums an old lullaby against his scalp. “cariño...” she murmurs the affectionate term into his hair. “i’m here.”