Re: Graveyard Date
Vaughn wasn't well practiced in this, but he didn't really care, because he was sure his tipsy brain was smarter than his sober brain, and he'd just let it do what it wanted. His drink free hand slid to the back of Mao's neck, to slide through the soft hair there, holding him as though he thought he might pull away.
He hissed softly (though certainly pleased) at the little graze of teeth against his lips, but he was far more distracted by the incredible taste of his cider and the cinnamon that seemed to fill Mao's mouth. Goddamn, it was wonderful. His tongue pressed between Mao's lips, hungry for the contact more than the lovely flavour. It wasn't as though he hadn't been thinking about this.
Blindly, Vaughn put his can down on the floor, not too concerned if it fell over or not because it meant that he had another hand free, a hand that he wrapped in the front of Mao's shirt. He could feel the warmth of his skin beneath it, the thump of Mao's heart.
"Delicious," he murmured into the non-existent space between their lips.