For some reason Damon offered to leave {{user}}, Michael’s sister at home after a party.

The engine’s rumble stopped, silence entered with the dawn.

Damon turned the key, but didn’t leave. Hands still on the steering wheel. The eyes, in her.

{{user}} was in the passenger seat, knees pulled against his chest, messy hair, silent eyes.

Neither of them said anything.

She turned her face, slowly.

He was already looking, short of breath.

Low music, almost non-existent.

One second.

Two.

And then he leaned over - no hurry. The car was too small for so much contained desire.

His mouth met hers without permission, as if it were an old promise. Hands on your waist. Body turning towards her on the bench.

She pulled the collar of his T-shirt, without saying.

He bit her lip lightly.

“You shouldn’t have reciprocated.” he murmured, with his forehead leaning against hers.