Mistakes had been made, but it could still be salvaged.
Not going home when the bell tolls fell from twelve to one was the first of them. Or, perhaps, not staying in for the night in the first place. The second had been accepting a drink, as had the third and fourth. After that it was hard to keep track, but mistakes kept coming easily with promises of costs that wouldn't have to be thought of until a new day.
Kissing her had not been the first, but was certainly the biggest. Kissing her again was a close second. From there they seemed to multiply with abandon.
Still, nothing they couldn't come back from. He wasn't proud of it, but she was hardly the first friend he'd shared a drunken kiss or two with. A kiss could still be a kiss, and not a beginning. His hands had found contentment in her thick curls, having pulled them from their fastenings, and had mostly kept to chaste territory. Sure, they had made their way to her rooms but that meant nothing but fewer eyes to pry —less chance that this kiss (barely a kiss, really), or the one after, would follow them beyond a few stolen moments. He could come back from this.
At some point she had crawled into his lap, but they were upright and clothed (if disheveled). Perfectly innocent. Nothing that couldn't be laughed off once he pulled himself away and crept back to his rooms alone. Which he would do. Any moment.
She pulled away and he sighed, surely nothing but the sound of necessary exhalation. This was nothing. Any lines that had been blurred could be easily redrawn once his wits were about him. When the room was steady and he could figure out how he had ended up on his back.
She ducked her head, pressing her lips against his pulse and he wondered if the feel of her tongue against his neck was a mistake or another blurred line. Either way, as easy to fix as the ones before. Then her teeth grazed his skin and it occurred to him that there might just not be any way to come back from this.