She likes to trace her fingers down his face, all over him really, but she loves the instant reaction of the face, the slow smile, the wide eyes. His fingers splay across her stomach and he helps her inhale, she hates to breathe without him. Shallow and empty. Her skin prickles as his hand edges downwards, teasing and light to make her gasp. She complies – drawing a small sound from his throat as he puckers her skin beneath his thumb.
She rolls against him, filling the air between them. There doesn't deserve to be anything as close to him as her. The quick heat of his body fuels her fingers and they slip down his neck, across his chest – tracing patterns into muscles and moans into mouths.
He pulls back enough to see her, tucks her hair behind her ear and his fingers between her legs. He smiles quietly as her eyes close and her head tilts back in a long groan.
*
They knot their fingers together in the corridors – avoiding the jealous stares of people who are not accustom to wealth and beauty. She likes to keep her face close to his shoulder, whispering things that no one else should be able to hear. When they reach her class he spins her round to face him, fiddling with her wrist idly – he can't stop touching her. One hand finds his open shirt, the other his shoulder – she loves the feel of him beneath cotton.
He kisses her with an open mouth and she accepts – her books pressed between them.
She doesn't bother saying she could carry them herself anymore. He would do it for her anyway – just out of habit. Sweet and straight out of High School.
She seals the goodbye with a last chaste kiss and the door closing behind her marks his time to leave.
*
Sometimes in bed the only thing he says is "Veronica" – nothing else escaping his lips. She never knew the multitude of ways her name could be said, the communication that could take place with four syllables, eight letters and a hundred different implications. His voice carries all his emotions so she's glad he's never quiet for long. She likes his voice soft in her ear. Loud across a room. Murmured in her skin.
He likes her to scream for him and the way his tongue is on her she doesn't really have a choice. She still bottles up a lot of her emotions and he knows. He knows a lot of things about her now that he never could have imagined before.
She lets her lips fall apart on his neck – the lowest groan being ripped out of his chest. It almost sounds like purring. Her hands flatten on his chest and he rolls her into the mattress – tired of her upper-hand.
*
At lunch he still orders in, but she joins him now. Salads and pizzas and edible food that she pushes past her lips and washes down with bottled water and cans of soda. He stares at her mouth while she eats and her hand brushes down his thigh under the table.
He walks his fingers up her arm and over her shoulder, letting his hand rest there as he grins to everyone else. Her smile is more of a smirk and he pulls her up almost harshly when her hand gets too high – announcing that they left something in the car.
The only thing in his car is CDs and condoms.
She thinks that makes for a very interesting lunch break – and grabs up her bag of grapes as he pulls her along. Popping one in her mouth with an apologetic raise of the eyebrows for good measure.
By the time they get to the car her grapes are half finished and ten seconds later they lay forgotten on the tarmac as he tries to find the right button for the tinted windows while she's pressed into his lap – lips dragging on his own, hands wound up in his hair – some of her clothing already missing. His zipper comes down quickly and this is why he has tinted windows.
*
On Sunday mornings they stay in bed until at least lunch time – longer if they can withstand the pace without food. He always says that he would order food in just to see her blush when the delivery man catches them – she always slaps his arm and dares him to do just that. He hasn't yet, but she can be very distracting – naked and warm against him in the filtering sunlight. It glints off her hair in a fracturing of light and he covers her body with his mouth. An achingly slow discovery.
She's not a morning person by default so she lets him touch whatever he wants – stretching out beneath the sheets against balmy skin, smiling into the sunlight. She keeps her eyes closed but he knows she is thinking of him – she's sleepy and smoked-out. Softly twisting beneath his hands and lips – he loves the weekend.
Once she is done, he finds her drawn out against him. Hands tucked around him – their breathing in matches paces.
They don't have sex on Sunday mornings – it is too much of a sleepy treasure to speed up.
*
If she ever cries then he touches his forehead to hers, hands wrapped around her – moving in slow, soothing circles. She almost looks like she is smiling but the hiccupped breathing gives her away – he can feel it on his skin.
He mutters words into the air between their mouths but she will stop when she is ready. She has a lot of past to cry about and he does not judge the bubbling pain that passes through her lungs from time to time – just pulls her to a quiet place and tells her that this is the future. This is the here and now – and they will be okay.
He promises that they will be okay. She doesn't believe him a lot of the time but her rationality stops the tears and she pushes her lips towards his in a thank you. She thinks he loves her, but they've never said the words.
When they are in public he shields her with a close arm – lets her bury blood-shot eyes into his chest as he leads the way. They have an answer for almost any scenario nowadays. She digs her fingers into the jacket around his chest and he squeezes her tighter – because he is there. And she is there. And he thinks that they just have to be okay – no matter what goes on before then they just have to hope for the best and see what it affords them.
*
There is a lot of laughter in their beds. Giggles and chuckles and gasping lungs filled with humor and desire. He loves to tickles her waist when she kisses him long and slow and serious. Her body flails against his and there is a snap moment – when their eyes meet – that they know. They know everything about each other, their bodies and their minds and they are okay with all those things.
Her thighs burn a rhythm into his hips and she moans in time, gasping in between. His long fingers pad fiercely into her back – branding her into him. She sweats against his mouth and he thinks he'd rather die than live without her in his body.
Her heartbeat is wild and strong – quick. He thinks it is faster than his, like she needs more blood flow to sustain her gorgeous life. Her words and eyes and in between her thighs where his hand finds it is happy.
When she gasps into his mouth he gulps her down. Draws her in as she pulls him closer and shudders till the end, softly settling onto him. Sticky skin on sticky, heated skin.
They won't be like this forever – and there are only a few more years of dorm rooms and 'study sessions' but he hopes that they never rejoin the real world. She wants to fall asleep in his bed every night – grasping his skin closer to hers and letting him know what his breathing means to her. Just how much it means.
She breathes against his chest and the words fall out easily.
"I love you."
The silence evaporates with blood flow and heartbeats – the aftershocks. His eyes are full of sex and stardust when he replies and they know that this is a 'for now' – but then everything is temporary.
And some things withstand the change.