She pulls him on top of her, between her legs, pressing her fully-clothed hips against his until he can do nothing else but grind back, his mouth against hers. Her fingers are woven in his hair and her thighs are tight around his waist. She lets him pull her sweatshirt off, arching her back as his hands trace the outline of her breasts through her thin bra.
Somewhere around the time Steve starts moving against her in earnest, the hard ridge of his erection sliding against her through layer of fabric from there sweats keeping them apart, she cries out and rocks beneath him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him against her. He comes in his sweats, and he's too relieved to feel embarrassed. But he's pretty sure she came too, so maybe it isn't that embarrassing, anyway.
When he tries to shift off of her, her arms tighten around him.
"Stay," she says.
He nuzzles the side of her neck, "'M too heavy." He's also starting to worry about the mess he's made, which he's certain she must be aware of, but she doesn't let go of him.
"Don't go." She tells herself she's not begging. Really, she isn't. "Don't."
He sighs into the joint between her neck and shoulder, feeling in way over his head. He hugs her against his chest and rolls them onto one side. When they finally sink into sleep, one of his legs is still caught between hers.
