in the blackened-early morning, shiro tastes like nothing but mint and the bitter edge of badly brewed coffee -- leans into him with puzzled, reflexive trust. like trust comes easy, like he doesn't need to think twice to be sure -- and proximity's churning static in the pit of his stomach as he grinds out a harsher breath through his teeth, as imagined memory saturates nerve and vein: the soft line of his shirt, how it'd feel to palm his shoulder and pull him closer. static's twisting hollow in the pit of his stomach, bright and stinging -- and a harsh, dizzy drop.
he doesn't remember this at all.
he can't. he won't. he could forget his first ride (a stingy customer's keyring snapped off the holder, a mechanic's shouts throttling their little garage as he'd cranked the engine to roar), lose the first dull fit of wire strippers gleaming red against his palm. but this -- the gentling shape of shiro's mouth beneath his, coaxing and yielding until he jerks, trembles with something a little worse than impact. no one would forget a kiss like this.
maybe he'd had an excuse to draw shiro down. he doesn't, now, for lingering, for tilting, shuddering, into a breathless kiss, and not pulling away. ]
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in the blackened-early morning, shiro tastes like nothing but mint and the bitter edge of badly brewed coffee -- leans into him with puzzled, reflexive trust. like trust comes easy, like he doesn't need to think twice to be sure -- and proximity's churning static in the pit of his stomach as he grinds out a harsher breath through his teeth, as imagined memory saturates nerve and vein: the soft line of his shirt, how it'd feel to palm his shoulder and pull him closer. static's twisting hollow in the pit of his stomach, bright and stinging -- and a harsh, dizzy drop.
he doesn't remember this at all.
he can't. he won't. he could forget his first ride (a stingy customer's keyring snapped off the holder, a mechanic's shouts throttling their little garage as he'd cranked the engine to roar), lose the first dull fit of wire strippers gleaming red against his palm. but this -- the gentling shape of shiro's mouth beneath his, coaxing and yielding until he jerks, trembles with something a little worse than impact. no one would forget a kiss like this.
maybe he'd had an excuse to draw shiro down. he doesn't, now, for lingering, for tilting, shuddering, into a breathless kiss, and not pulling away. ]