i hear the footsteps inside of me

he kisses her again, fully and with conviction. he kisses her like she was air, his hand slick at her throat and then against her jaw, and it feels worn and rough and wind battered but his lips are pliant and soft against hers, and she feels like she's bloody floating against him, some undefined thing and he may as well be kissing smoke.

he anchors her with his hand at the small of her back, flush against him and she can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, and her dress. his hand in her hair sends little sparks and flashes across the back of her neck and -

anything to ensure the happiness of the birthday boy, she mutters back, his voice like rain in the space between them and hers is a hush of a breeze against his lips. god she can hear the smirk to his voice, and she can't find care to mind except to offer him a hazy, indistinguished smile back.