[short] Halfway

They stir in the bed next to me without waking. Dawn is hours off yet, but it feels like I should be up already. The hotel bed is firmer than my mattress at home. It’s not bad, just different. I turn my head to look at them, watching the slow meter of their breathing. They’ve relaxed and settled down again. Dark, bristled hair is pressed against my shoulder, gently pricking at my bare skin.

If someone had told me six months ago I would go on a road trip for a date, I wouldn’t have believed them. I’ve done road trips. I’ve filled cars with all of my belongings and moved cross country a handful of times. But here I am, halfway across the country with someone I’ve been enamored with for years—who just happens to live on the other coast.

It isn’t as if we’ve never been on a date before, but it was years ago. I never expected this to happen. Not many people get a second shot at a first date, especially one as complicated by logistics as this. Still, I’m not about to complain that they said yes when I suggested we meet halfway. It isn’t as if this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

A smile creeps up their cheek, but their breathing hasn’t changed. I don’t have to interact yet. I can just lay here holding them, processing everything that’s happened. Revelling in the magic of my fantasy come true.

Last night was perfect. We ate at the diner, then talked and made out for hours in the hotel. The whole world shrank down to two exhausted travelers enthusiastically reconnecting. We didn’t fuck, at least not in any way I would feel confident in saying that we had. I would love to say that we made a decision to be responsible with our expectations and to wait, but it seemed more like we were having too much fun making out to push it further. Then the days and miles caught up with us. Our kissing and touching slowed down and we fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

Their fingers twitch on my chest, tickling me, and I try to remain still enough to not wake them. This would be easier if I had left my top on last night. I’ll have to remember that the next time I go to sleep with someone on our first date.

My left arm is asleep. I think I can rotate it under their head just enough to get the blood flowing again. That’s not much better. My hand curves in, settling my fingertips against the small of their back.

They moan softly and roll toward me, putting more weight on my chest. A thigh presses against my leg. Contentment fills me, like a warm weight on my pelvis and a loosening in my chest. I rarely get to feel this vulnerable—or this safe. I’m scared of fucking up, but I know they would never hurt me.

The lights from the gas station across the parking lot buzz to life, splashing unpleasant blue light on the tan walls. I guess we didn’t close the blinds last night. I close my eyes.

The slow, steady breathing changes against my side and their hand cups my breast gently. “Love? Are you awake?” Their voice is a soft whisper, as if they are testing the words.

“Yeah, but you can keep sleeping….”

“No. I want you. Now.” There’s a soft desperation there that I wouldn’t have expected last night. Urgency mixed with vulnerability.

I pivot, rolling them onto their back. As the blood rushes back into my arm, I can feel the pins and needles giving way to pain. It doesn’t matter. I let that sensation go. I can deal with it later.

My mouth finds theirs, kissing them ferociously. My tongue tastes their sleepy mouth. The fingertips of my right hand caress their shoulder, following it down to their arm and moving across to their t-shirt covered side.

They moan into my mouth and press their hips up, pushing against my hand.

I press my palm against them, sliding it up under the hem of their shirt, feeling warm skin.

Hands grab onto my back. Fingernails dig in.

I break the kiss, grinning. My knee presses between their thighs. This is nothing like last night’s lazy pace. I turn my hand to slide my fingers under the waistband of their boxers. My pulsing clit presses against their thigh through my panties. “You want this?” I almost can’t hold back the little evil laugh that would go along with the teasingly toned, very serious question.

Lips tight, they nod their head enthusiastically.

I can’t let the opportunity go. “You’re sure?” Now it’s just playful torture. We both know they are as desperate for this as I am.

Their nails slowly tear their way down my back. “Yes! I’m sure!”

I grin, turning off that pain, too. For the moment this is all about their sensations. My fingers slide over soft, short hairs and find their labia. My middle finger slides in, feeling their wetness, and curves up to brush across their clit.

Their eyes close. Hips rock to give me easier access.

Slowly, I draw my fingertip around and over their clit. The pace is deliberate, exacting. Infuriating, in all likelihood.

“Fuck, Liv! More.”

I keep the pace slow. “More?”

“Faster. Please.”

I lean in close, kissing their neck and move my finger faster on them. With each flick, it moves closer to their opening, ready to slide in. I can feel the tension threatening to overwhelm them. I whisper, “Don’t worry. We’ll get there. I promise.” My teeth playfully nip at the skin of their neck.

Their hands uncurl on my back, pressing flat against my skin. They pull me tighter to them, as if there were any room between us. They let out a surprised squeak. There’s a sharp intake of breath, followed by a hitch in their breathing.

My thumb curls in to gently press their clit against my middle finger as I stroke.

They let out a wordless moan, their cunt convulsing under my fingers.

I separate myself enough to watch their eyes flutter open again.

Tears well in the corners of their eyes. “More?”