Fifteen

1/1

One, two, three. Delicately and intricately. Fingers tapping on marble counter; eyes scanning and searching for blue ones. A mop of brown hair, curls placed sporadically. Troye smiles and it's bright, almost translucent. Almost. His eyes are so clear, and his lashes so full. Lips are curled into a smile so sweet, it's contagious. Connor stands up and greets him with a shy and tense hug. He pulls out his chair and the sound of metal scraping against wood floor disrupts the quiet room. Troye mumbles a small thank you, and Connor sits back down next to him.

Four, five, six. Abruptly and spontaneously. Lips touch and toes curl; excitement is running through his body. A moment so intense, almost boiling in his blood. Almost. His hand caresses Troye's cheek and he can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. They pull apart and then stare at each other knowingly. Troye is the one who asks first. A simple question that seems mundane, but it changes the course of their relationship completely. Connor smiles and laughter escapes his lips as he pulls Troye in for another kiss.

Seven, eight, nine. Quietly and comfortably. Two hands intertwined by fingers, innocently and mindlessly. No rush and no pressure, only calm breathing and harmony. A moment so sweet, almost unreal. Almost. His thumbs rub small circles on the other's palm and Troye smiles at the minuscule action. Connor sighs contently, unmoving from their position. Troye frowns at his packed bags across the room and Connor only holds him tighter. Troye giggles under his breath, and Connor kisses his forehead softly.

Ten, eleven, twelve. Slowly and passionately. Bodies entangled under sheets; hands searching and exploring soft skin. A touch so delicate, fingers grazing lightly. Soft sounds escape his lips, almost in whispers. Almost. Troye closes his eyes tightly, lips parted slightly. Connor stares at him with wonder, groaning in his own satisfaction. They move together with instinctive fluidity, in a sensation that satiates desire. Connor sighs into the crook of Troye's neck as they both lay breathless.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Softly and naturally. Hushed words come in whispers; in meaningful connotations that have gradually become familiar. Three syllables so natural, almost second nature. Almost. Troye is grinning and ecstatic, squeezing his hand as they walk into the apartment that will soon be their home. Connor rambles enthusiastically and Troye stares at him in adoration. He feels his heartbeat racing, a wave of nervousness mixing with his excitement. They glance at each other with an indescribable sense of mutual understanding, because it's difficult to fathom just how quickly time seems to pass when they are in love.