His touch was light in some places, feathers dancing over soft, pale skin in a rhythm only he knew. Running in circles around her waist, drawing patterns on her thighs, pulling softly at colored fabric that stood in his way, much to his dismay.

On her neck he left marks, bruises from teeth and fingers, cutting off breaths and eliciting long, drawn out sighs from slightly parted lips. Blue and purple painted a trail downward, a testament to his journey, one he completed again and again, one he never grew tired of.

Her vision was fuzzy, unfocused images blurred together by static snow. Every word she spoke felt weighed down by intangible waves, echoing around in her mouth, clashing against each other and melding into tantalizing moans that spilled haphazardly off her tongue.

Her senses burned with every caress, nerves simmering in pleasure. Her hips moved of their own accord, looking for the smallest bit of friction, and he could tell. With every broken whisper that made its way into the air, her body moved in an attempt to be closer to him.

All while his hands traced her curves, felt the dip of her collarbone, admired the pulsing of her heart, tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

Her eyes, chocolate speckled in honey, clouded with unmistakable need, the kind that she reserved for him and him alone.

His lips danced with hers, taking on chapstick she had so tediously applied not ten minutes earlier. Her breathless moans and desperate whimpers became his, tangling with noises of his own, ones she praised herself in being able to bring out.

Her hands found their way to his hair, where they took their grip, soft yet structured, and his followed suit, finding their own place to rest against her hips.

They stayed like that, caught up in each other, hearts beating erratically against flesh that pressed together fervently, blanketed in hazy desire that only came about in her dreams.