This was slow. Lazy. Morning sun on tangled sheets, no rush, no urgency, just the quiet luxury of having time and choosing to spend it like this. Clara explored him with the patience of someone who had nowhere else to be, and Jack let her, his fingers threading through her hair, his breath going ragged as her mouth moved lower.
"Wait—" he managed, catching her shoulders.
She looked up, a question in her eyes.
"Come here." He pulled her up, rolling them so she was beneath him, her surprised laugh muffled against his mouth when he kissed her. Morning breath and all. Neither of them cared.
"Smooth," she murmured against his lips.
"I have my moments."
"You had several moments last night, if I recall."
"Was that a review? I feel like that was a review."
"Three and a half stars," she said, straight-faced. "Would recommend with reservations."
"Three and a half?" Jack pulled back in mock offense. "That's generous for someone who screamed my name loud enough to scare the seagulls."
Clara's cheeks flushed. "I did not scream."
"The seagulls disagree."
"The seagulls can mind their own business."
Jack kissed her again, swallowing her laughter, and this time the kiss deepened into something warmer, slower, the playfulness bleeding into genuine want. His hand found the hem of his shirt—the one she'd stolen at some point during the night—and slid beneath it, his palm skating up the warm curve of herwaist.
Clara arched into his touch, her breath catching in that way he was already learning to crave.
"Condom?" he murmured.
"Nightstand. Still there from last night."
"Efficient."
"Forward-thinking."
He reached for the box without breaking the kiss—fumbled it, knocked it off the nightstand, swore into her mouth while she laughed so hard her whole body shook beneath him.
"Your coordination is truly inspiring," Clara gasped.
"It's your fault. You're distracting."
"I'm literally lying here."
"Exactly. Distracting." He retrieved the box from the floor, managed the condom without disaster this time—improvement—and settled back between her thighs, bracing on his forearms.
They looked at each other. Morning light caught the gold in Clara's hair, the green of her eyes, the fading marks on her neck from last night. She looked up at him with an expression that was open and trusting and slightly terrified, like she knew exactly what she was feeling and hadn't decided yet whether to be happy or scared about it.
Jack knew the feeling.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi."
He entered her slowly. No urgency this time. Just a gradual, careful press that made them both exhale, foreheads touching, sharing breath. Clara's eyes fluttered closed, her hands sliding up his back, fingers spreading across his shoulder blades.
"Okay?" he asked.
