The last of the tension - he hoped it was the last - left him when she rose against him, instead of pulling away or pushing him back or even simply lying there, immobile. He'd done something right, was doing something right, and he could stop worrying about it. He planted his hand on the blanket just beside her head, to be sure he didn't collapse and crush her. The warmth of her arm was pulling him further down, but surely he ought to wait ... there was still dinner, and all of ... well, that ...
A few moments later he had left food behind; he was kissing her, his fingers still buried in her hair, his knee aching slightly against the uneven ground under their blankets. He'd never fallen into this with anyone quite so quickly. It was unsettling, in a way, but also intoxicating, and he didn't want to stop - it felt fast, but it also felt correct.
Still, after a minute or so he propped himself a little further up again, breathing a bit more heavily, and smiled down at her, running his thumb along the line of her jaw. When he spoke it was with a quiet, happy sort of embarrassment, as though he were a little startled with himself. "I don't mean to starve you," he said, glancing with a muted laugh over to where he'd set the food. "Do you want something to eat?"