Your back rests against Brian's bare chest, his chin against your shoulder. His breath tickles your cheek, heavy inhales and exhales from his nostrils. You could feel every muscle in his face twitching against yours. One of his palms reside at the nape of your neck, smoothing your hair away from its skin.

The other rested hazardously against the bridge between your shoulder and the right side of your neck. His lips gaped softly, as he took a deep breath through his mouth, as his mouth pressed into your back. You didn't even flinch at his touch. Not when he bit at your skin, or poked and prodded at parts of you — It was self-sublimation. Even in public, it was difficult to let go of you. It was arduous to not feel your skin. Your limbs and your hair that seemed to confide him to this pliant, trance-like state.

He wouldn't be able to do this with everyone. You weren't everyone, so it didn't matter, not to him. He assumed it shouldn't matter to you either. Why would it?

Positioned between his legs, you sat in front of the large mirror mounted over his dresser. His arms snaked further around you, becoming tauter. He stared at your gaze in the reflection of the mirror. He watched you elude his stare, a flurry of moments, before his hand rose to your jaw to turn your head towards the mirror in a rivet. His grip became insistent, as he murmured your name against your own skin.

"{{user}}."