Dance to This [kth]

s e v e n t e e n

ミ★
seventeen
❝friendly mornings❞
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My head falls to the side and a grumble leaves my lips; the sound is distant. Sleepiness has overcome my body, and I inhale deeply to fight a yawn. I'm struck by a scent that reminds me that I am not sleeping in my dorm room right now. The overwhelming scent of him is invading me, tickling my nose and urging my eyes to open slowly. The brightness of the room shocks my pupils and I find myself squinting. . . it's then that I feel Professor beside me.

I turn my head slightly and fix my laying position. He is laying there peacefully, his blonde hair cascading over his eyes sparingly and his soft breaths blowing against it. His disheveled hair moves ever so slightly with every breath he takes, defined brows not tense in the slightest; Professor's shirtless body is a few inches from me. My eyes travel along every edge and turn of his body. He appears like an angel in this state; so vulnerable and  cute surrounded by white blankets and pure comfort.

My rustling must corrupt his sleep, because Professor's nose crinkles and his peaceful aura is swindled from him; he is now frowning due to his return to consciousness. He peers one eye open, and his discomforted gaze ends when he sees me. His eyebrows soften and his lips pinch upward. I find myself smiling back at him. . . somehow, it is a calm and serene feeling that is overcoming the room right now. I find comfort in his comforter, and a home in his home.

"Hi," he greets me groggily.

I swallow the fatigue of my sleep with a delighted expression. My mouth tastes of dull toothpaste. After what we did last night, Professor found me an unused toothbrush in his pantry. I shouldn't find this insignificant event so attractive, but he is so much more of an. . . adult than I am. He seems to have his life situated very nicely. He even has another toothpaste bottle ready for when his other one runs out. I suppose moments like that are reminders of our age difference. Is it bad that it doesn't bother me? Should it?

"Good morning," I reply softly.

"Roll over," he instructs me. His morning voice is conflicting with his command; it sounds much more alluring and sweet.

I don't question him. In our time of knowing each other, I've found that I quite enjoy everything that he tells me to do when I'm unsure of the outcome. Most of his instructions end with a very pleasurable experience. . . and I am accepting that I enjoy things like that without hesitance. It is part of my journey to self-knowledge. I'm finally giving into what feels right, because it can't be wrong then.

My body feels warm when I roll to my side. My back is to his now, and I'm biting my lip to contain a reaction to whatever he is going to do. I flinch only a tiny bit when I feel his arm hook around my stomach. Professor's palm lays flat against my belly button before he pulls me into him. My body slides effortlessly against the sheets as our bodies meet. A giggle of tickles erupt from me when my back hits into his chest. I'm trapped against him, and his arm forbids my movement. Every breath I take is constricted against him. His half naked body fits against me, forcing my knees to bend for him to take up more space.