Backseat Truths

In the dark she had to hold on to the little things, the details. The soft sound and feel of his leather jacket as she pulled it off his shoulders. The stubble on his chin scratching her neck. He smelled of cigarettes and cinnamon.

It was extraordinarily uncomfortable in the back of his car. She wasn't sure if it was more because they were cramped or because she had never done this before.

She had never done any of it before.

She hadn't gotten the nerve to mention it to him, but in the heat of the moment she was sure that her inexperience spoke for itself.

A small sound escaped her as he shifted them so that she was fully reclined across his back seat. The noise seemed to spurn him on, and he nuzzled her neck in response. She felt like she couldn't breath while wrapped in his arms, but had yet to decide if it was an unpleasant sensation or not.

He was warm and inviting, and didn't seem to care if she had any experience or not. Still, she couldn't keep her mind from the thought that he must know what it felt like to be in the arms of someone who knew what they were doing. She knew he did; all she heard was that he never dated less than two girls at once. And it wasn't as if he could only ensnare naïve virgins such as herself. Even those who knew better were prone to fall for him - especially those who knew better.

She didn't feel stupid for being pressed against him in the back of his car. She didn't feel stupid for feeling for him or for wanting her first time to be with him. She didn't feel stupid for any of it.

But there was a certain finality to the moment. In the smell and feel of him; those little discoveries that sealed the end of their...whatever it was they were. He would take what she offered, and by the morning she would be back in her bed as if it had never happened at all. And then she would probably never be close to him again.

But once was better than never, and the thought made her cling to him even through her nervousness.

He paused and looked at her through the darkness. She wondered if he could see more than she could. The pads of his fingers brushed under her eyes and his warm breath fell on her cheek.

"Why are you crying?"

Was she? She hadn't noticed. She stared back at the darkness that was him, where she thought his eyes must be.

She had no desire to tell him her thoughts, to weigh down the floating moment that they shared, so all she said was, "Summer's almost over."

She thought that he smiled a little in the darkness. "It's not the end of the world,"

"No,"

He didn't say anything. Then his lips were pressed under her eyes and he was kissing the tears away. His arms were still wound around her, crushing her lungs in his way that wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

She loved him. In the shadows of his backseat she could face that sad little truth.

That was probably the worst thing that she ever did.

But what could she do about it besides give in, just once. It was bound to be a dream in the end, but there was something so very real about them. Something that went beyond what they were doing his car. Something to do with his worn boots and her ballet pink panties. It made her hands shake as she thought of it, although that was probably just because she was nervous.

It was painful, in the back of his car. But what else could it really be?

a/n: this is a contest entry, inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Style". It's not as romantic as I intended it to be, because apparently I can't do that. Hope you enjoyed it.