We were a tangle, a ball of string, but somehow, everything fit. His arm over mine, folded under the throw pillow we were sharing, my hand flat on the small of his back beneath his shirt, all five of my fingers moving in slow circles over his soft skin. The valley of his spine, the knobs of his vertebrae. The curve, the fucking curve, above his jeans, the swell of his perfect skater’s ass.
Jesus they’re so perfect and they don’t even realize it
