Happy Birthday, Austin

[Morgan] Sunrise

All is quiet, though the sanctuary isn't empty - people quietly go about doing their work, lighting their incense. There are tourists about, though they're few at this early in the morning, when the entire place is painted a rosy shade of gold by the rising sun. It's early and though she should be getting ready for a run (though she should be in Chicago, long since having finished her run), the girl with the long red hair held back neatly with a headband wears a white sundress with little red flowers all over it and a red ribbon belt at the slimmest part of her waist hangs back near the doors, watching.

Waiting.
Hesitating.

She's uncertain of a great many things, not having called or written to say she'd be coming, not having done much speaking with the young man she knows is here somewhere since he left - there have been sporadic letters or emails, certainly, but nothing else. Anything else is too close, too much, and he might know what's behind what she's saying. She's guarded now, warded, and even with that in place she's nervous about being here where she only knows one person, where the monks (and tourists, and) could be anyone, but mostly . . . well. She's trying not to think about what she's most worried about, quite frankly, but not doing a very good job of it. This is what makes her hang back at the door and, having taken in the beauty and calm here, still turn to put hand to the door without asking, without going any further to find her reason for being here instead of more than half way across the country.

There's very little she hates more than feeling stupid, or weak, but she's not sure what else to do.

After another long moment of hesitation (she's having so many of those, this morning) she pushes out the door and makes it as far as the stairs down to the street before she crumples with a distinct lack of grace to sit at the top of them with her messenger bag on the pavement next to her and her head on her knees. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks to herself, and then allows herself the luxury of saying it out loud.

"Stupidest thing ever, Ger . . . Lake," comes muttered as her hands clutch in the dress's fabric at her shins.

[Austin] It was early, but Austin often took a run at sunrise. By now it had become a part of his routine. Much of the city was still quiet at this hour, and the morning fog rolled in from the Bay to hang sleepily in air. The young Akashic smiled at an elderly baker as he passed by her storefront and saw her wave at him through the window. That had become something of a routine as well. He knew this neighborhood, and they knew him. San Francisco was more of a home than Miami had ever been. Certainly more of a home than Chicago, but of course... there were things that he missed.

Making the decision to come back here had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. In the end, Austin had made the right choice (not just for Master Xu, but for himself), but that hadn't made leaving Enid any easier. When he'd come to her with his decision, he'd initially harbored a naive and childish notion that the Hermetic would simply drop everything and leave with him. Perhaps, given time, he might even convince her to join his Tradition. There'd been dreams of meditating with her in the temple, and taking sunrise runs through the city together.

That was the trouble with dreams. Eventually, you had to wake up.

Enid's life (her home, her family, her mentor... her future) wasn't in San Francisco. No more than Austin's was in Chicago. Each of them had their own journey to make, and being what he was, Austin understood that, even though it hurt him to admit it. So they'd parted ways (tearfully, regretfully - at least on his part), and since then their contact had been limited to minimal written correspondence. It was hard for both of them. They were in two different worlds, now. But for all that... Austin did look better, these days. Not so much the lost little boy he'd been when Enid knew him. There was something about him that was more at peace with who he was and where he was going.

Not long after Enid sat down on the stone steps, she'd hear the steady beat of approaching footsteps. A passing jogger. Only... this one wasn't passing. And he wasn't just a jogger. When Austin reached the steps that led up to the monastery, his movement halted so suddenly that he nearly tripped, and had to put a hand out against the stone to correct his balance.

There were some small but noticeable differences in Austin's appearance. His hair was shorter. His skin had taken on a darker tan. He looked relaxed and well-rested (more like he'd been on their trip to China, before...). Dressed as he was for running, he had on a pair of black track pants and a white sleeveless shirt.

"...Enid?" He blinked in something close to shock, steel eyes widening. "Is that really you?"


[Morgan] ".....no one calls me that anymore," she says, and it's the closest to a yes he gets until her head raises and he can see her face, her eyes. Of course it's her; who else would it be, really, in those red near-flats with the delightfully coordinated dress? So carefully perfect, so planned [so discerning]. "Yeah, it's really me. Is it really you?" She stays sitting on the top step, which allows her to look close to his face, rather than down at him; the uncertainty, such a constant thing between their returning from China and his departure but so rare for anyone in Chicago to see these days, is written in every line.

"I should have called, or sent an email, or something. That's what normal people do, right? But I wanted to say happy birthday."

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a present wrapped in red paper, obviously a book of some sort - the most important sort of present as far as she's concerned - watching him the whole time as if he might disappear if she looked away. She also obviously wanted to give him that. And, at her throat, if he looks just right? He can see the sun glint off the necklace he gave her, that she still wears though she isn't a hundred percent certain she should. They're nearly on opposite sides of the country, after all - better to let him go, do his thing, than to hold on. Or something along those lines.

"So. Um. Happy birthday."


[Austin] No one called her that anymore, she corrected, and Austin's eyebrows furrowed softly (sadly). It didn't matter. She'd always be Enid, even if she changed her name a thousand times. When she countered his question, a hesitant smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Of course it's me. Slight differences, perhaps, but undeniably Austin. Just... older. They both were.

She tried to apologize, saying she should have called, and Austin instantly shook his head, uttering a quick reassurance (he still couldn't believe that she was there - this had to be a dream). "No, no, it's..."

Completely fine.

She wanted to say happy birthday. She remembered his birthday. (How had she remembered? He'd only mentioned it once, he was sure.) Austin stared at the book-shaped present in Enid's hands while his mind attempted to process what was going on. His chest hurt. The muscles had tightened around his sternum, and despite the fact that his morning run hadn't been nearly sufficient to exhaust him, his heart was beating far too quickly. There was an ache there (longing, regret), but there was also unbearable happiness. Emotions were complex things.

He took a breath. (Forget the rules. Forget yesterday, and tomorrow. Just be happy now.)

"Oh, Enid..." (no one called her that anymore - he didn't care.) "...You didn't need to." But he reached out and took the gift from her hand. "But thank you, really. I mean... thank you for coming all the way out. Thank you for being here. That's a better present than I ever could have asked for."

There was a moment of hesitation, as if he wasn't sure if he ought to open it right away, but then he turned the present over and carefully opened the wrapping at the seams. That was almost reverent, the way he handled it, refusing to tear the paper.

[Morgan] The paper, when opened, reveals a book he likely already has (or at least has access to), but not like this - it's a beautifully bound edition of Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" with both the original Chinese text and the English translation, along with commentary and cross referencing in the footnotes and beautifully done Chinese style paintings between sections. "Of course I needed to," she answers, and feels like she's drowning, looking at him. She wants to reach out, to touch him, to pull him close for a hug (or to tickle his belly, or to just be close), but doesn't do that. There's a sort of control there, as there's always been; Enid is a very contained girl, but for when they're alone, when they're laughing over video games in her room, when they're playing tag through a fountain in a park in China and that laugh streams behind her as her hair does.

She's so. very. still. It's like watching some creature that might bolt at the wrong sound, the wrong movement.

"It's not that special, really. I just saw it and thought of you, is all. And it's pretty."

[Austin] This particular present elicited a complex reaction in the young Akashic, and for a long moment he simply looked at it in silence, letting his fingers run over the cover and the binding as he felt the indentations of letters and the cool, soft touch of leather. In fact, he did own this book already, but his own copy was an old paperback, and could well do with replacing. It had been some time, too, since he'd read it. When his old mentor had first presented it to him, it had come with a strong caveat - this was not a book to be taken to heart, but rather, to inform the mind.

Austin, for all his ability... was not a soldier. Perhaps some day that would change, though.

He looked up at Enid (Morgan) again, and smiled. "This is beautiful. Thank you." And then he leaned forward and placed a kiss oh-so-delicately in the center of her forehead. "If you're not too tired from your flight, I'd love to show you around. There's a great little bakery down the street where we could grab breakfast."

[Morgan] "Sounds like a good plan." She'd leaned into that kiss, just slightly, and turns her face up to him just so - it's girlish, and young, and makes it so very clear how much she misses him, though she doesn't realize it, and would likely kick herself if she did. There's a moment, then, just like that, before she stands, arranges her bag back at her hip, and dusts off her bottom.

"You were just working out. Did you want to shower first, or just go as is?" It's not suggesting one over the other, but either way they're headed for breakfast soon enough . . . and somewhere along the line, with no conscious realization that she's doing it, Morgan slips her hand into Austin's as she had so many times in China. Her dress flirts around her knees, just above them, as they walk and she wears the sort of smile and happy look that she hasn't in too long. It's not just Austin's presence that does it, though it certainly helps - it's being away, walking in the open without having to worry about her dad or some old friend popping up. It's just being.

On the way, there's talk - Morgan's always talked more than Austin does - about what's going on in Chicago, about how Ashley's doing, about new people met (James comes up, but only in passing as a new Chorister in town, along with Alex and a few others) and so on, until they're at the bakery, and Morgan inhales and closes her eyes.

"I love that smell," she says. "There should be more bakeries in the world."

[Austin] He did need to take a shower, but it was a quick one, and when he reappeared it was with slightly damp hair, and dressed in a clean white t-shirt and a pair of faded brown khaki shorts. The pair of them walked to the bakery, and at some point Enid's hand found her way into his... and Austin felt almost incandescently happy.

There were a few small tables at this bakery, to accommodate people like Austin and Enid, who weren't in such a rush that they had to order their baked goods to-go. The two of them had to wait in a moderate-sized line before they made it to the counter, but since everyone there seemed to be in a pleasant mood, it wasn't such a hassle. Austin certainly wasn't in an impatient mood, in any case. When Enid commented on the smell of bakeries, Austin smiled and nodded his agreement. She already knew how much of a sucker the boy was for sweets and pastries. Especially if they were hand-made.

When they finally placed their order, Austin got a rather enormous cinnamon roll (certainly his elders would not approve) and a cup of black tea. After paying for their breakfast (and he insisted on paying, even though it was his birthday), he found them a table by the window, where they could watch the intermittent flow of pedestrians outside on the street.

"I'm really glad you came. Ever since moving back, I keep passing by all of my favorite places and thinking...'I'd really love to show this to Enid.'" He tore off a large piece of cinnamon roll and popped it into his mouth. After swallowing, he licked a bit of icing from his thumb. "It's just not as fun without you. But it's been nice here. I started training again, and there's a couple of other guys my age who just moved here from LA? We were thinking of forming a cabal, maybe."

[Morgan] "Yeah? Good for you. I haven't found anyone I click with that well, really. I mean, working together for temporary stuff, yeah - that's easy. But not so much for a long term gig. I got a job, though, with a Chorister named Malcolm; he's a private investigator, and it's great experience to see how cases go from that side of things."

She doesn't seem terribly upset about all of this, and breaks a piece off of her apple danish once she's shared this; there's a smile as she watches him through her eyelashes more than head on, soaking up details that she's missed, mannerisms that have changed subtly where he's more comfortable, more at home. These things are always interesting to know, to file away, and goodness only knows when she'll see him again - when he'll make his way to Chicago, or she'll be able to make it back here. There's always the potential for a visit, at least, which is better than she has with some.

"Chicago's not so bad, either. Like I said, a bunch of new faces amongst the old, but that's a good thing - dynamic communities have their benefits. It doesn't get all . . . stagnant and incestuous, you know? New people, new ideas, new perspectives. It makes you work harder to understand." Idly, almost tentatively, a finger comes to brush a bit of icing he's missed from the corner of his lips where her eyes rest, fascinated, for a moment before rising back to his as her hand returns to her lap.

"I miss you. There are things I'd like to show you, too, and there's no one to show them to."

[Austin] There's this thing that nobody tells you about what happens when you don't see a significant other for a lengthy period of time. When you finally do meet up with them again, it's like the first good date (the one where everything clicks and you just can't keep your eyes off of them) all over again, except you have all the information ahead of time, and don't have to worry about whether or not the person is attracted to you (because you already know.) Basically, all you want to do is fuck like bunnies.

Except that Austin and Enid had never actually had sex to begin with, and their relationship was in a kind of undefined limbo now. Neither of them entirely knew how to behave. What was acceptable and what wasn't. In Austin's case though, what he wanted to do wasn't in question. And when she reached over and brushed that bit of icing from his lips, it seemed to bring his rational train of thought to a dead-halt. She'd always been able to do that to him.

He'd been about to ask her about her job, but instead he looked at her for a long moment. She said she missed him. It made his chest hurt.

Then he stood up and leaned across the table, and if she didn't resist, he'd kiss her. Not a tentative kiss, either. Something urgent and wanting and then, after the first couple of seconds... luxuriant. As if he wanted to pull all of the taste of her apple pastry away onto his tongue.

(I miss you too.)

[Morgan] Oh, she doesn't resist. She's briefly surprised, yes, but there's nothing that comes anywhere to unwilling - in fact, after that moment of surprise, she's leaning up and in, and reaching to put a hand on a shoulder, his side, whatever she can reach and doesn't feel too awkward. She kisses back, and it's warm and soft and (questing [seeking]) curious, wanting - he reaches to pull apple into his mouth and she picks up cinnamon there, and it compliments nicely.

Somewhere, not far away, there are other patrons of this particular fine establishment - not many stay, perhaps, but there are a few who smile at the two teenagers indulgently, and look away to give them their privacy. Some of them - most of them, maybe all of them - know that young urgency. Some are bitter and look away in disgust, but for most? Well. It's approval, of a sort.

Morgan is first to pull out of the kiss, but only to say, a bit breathlessly, "We should wrap these up and take them outside somewhere. Are there any parks like that one in Shanghai? I mean, not exactly. But with willows or cherry trees or something low and . . . you know."

Easy to hide in, or behind. If not, there's always the monastery - but for now, Morgan is here, and young, and tinglingly alive. She wants to steal kisses surrounded by growing things, wants to be shown things she's never seen in this place she's never been. And yes, that can be taken in more ways than one, if one desires.

[Austin] The woman standing behind the counter, doling out baked goods to the customers, knew Austin. He came here with semi-regularity, and ran past the storefront on his morning jogs. She didn't know what he was, but she did know where his affiliations lay in a more mundane sense. As such, she was slightly surprised when she turned around and confronted herself with the image of the sweet, innocent-seeming young man kissing a girl with that kind of abandon. It warmed her heart a bit to see that he was allowing himself to be human, in the same way that he always made her smile when he came in and ordered a cinnamon roll. Discipline had its place, but so did joy.

She wasn't the only one watching them, but Austin didn't seem to care. When Enid finally pulled away, he just smiled at her in that same starry-eyed way that he always had when they stole moments like these... only this time, there was more meaning to it, because it had been so long since they'd had a moment together in any respect.

"Yeah. I know a place. We can walk there." And for all that he'd been eager to sit down and talk moments ago, now he was just as eager to leave again. A measure of privacy would be... nice. Austin was about to walk over to the counter to ask for a bag, when the proprietor stepped out for a moment and handed him precisely that. She winked, and went back to work, and Austin laughed a bit, embarrassed. He took another bite of his cinnamon roll before wrapping it and Enid's Danish in napkins and placing them carefully in the bag. Then he licked his fingers again, ridding them of icing, and grabbed his tea.

When Enid was ready, he led them out the door, taking a sip of his tea as he started walking. "There's a lot of parks around here. My favorite is this little one with a pond. A lot of people eat lunch there, but it's early so it should be pretty empty."

[Morgan] She grabs her coffee (thus far untouched, allowed to cool) and puts the lid on it, then comes along - it strikes her as the sort of place that would have a lot of parks, a lot of quiet little areas to hide and look at pretty things. Maybe the whole city isn't like this - she'd seen some less desirable areas on her way from the airport - but here? Well. It's nice.

She trusts Austin (far more than anyone but maybe Ashley) to know where he's going and moves along at his side easily, closer now - not impeding his movement or his own, but marking them as very much together even without the hand holding. Again there's chatter (school preparation, things she's learned, how far ahead she's read even before the semester starts and so on) as they go, and occasional brushes of skin against skin. When they reach the park, she lets him lead to his favorite spot - she's never been here, after all, and for all she wants a shady, quiet spot she also wants to see what he loves, what makes him happy here.

"It's gorgeous," is her assessment, and it's reflected in her face, in her enjoyment of being here. Part of that's because of him, granted, but other than the initial smelling of the bakery? It hadn't been the same, there.

[Austin] There were bigger parks in San Francisco. There were better parks in San Francisco. But this one was Austin's park. He'd claimed it, in much the same way he'd claimed the bakery. Not literally, of course, but in his own head. It felt like home. Even moreso, now that Enid was here.

The place wasn't terribly large. Just a block of land in the midst of a residential area. Grass grew thick and green, and a path meandered around the perimeter, cutting down the middle and up, over a little stone bridge. The pond was a pretty one, and in good shape. The park caretakers kept it clean. A handful of ducks floated in the water and stood at the pond's edge, fluffing feathers and hunting for food. An old man sat on a bench nearby, reading a newspaper and drinking his morning coffee. A couple of joggers ran by, as well, but beyond that, they were alone.

Austin led them to a picnic table that lay beneath one of the trees. It wasn't out of sight, but it was private enough for now. If they were so inclined, it would be easy to duck out of view behind the nearby juniper bushes. Austin set their food, and the remainder of his tea (which was about half empty by now) on the table, before hopping up and sitting atop it, feet resting on the bench. He smiled when Enid called the place gorgeous. "Yeah, I like it here." He reached into the bag and pulled out Enid's Danish, handing it to her before he went digging for his cinnamon roll. By now the immediacy of their physical closeness had died down a little... but not much. Enough that he could focus on devouring his cinnamon roll. Not so much that he could manage to keep his eyes off of the Hermetic for more than a couple of seconds.

"You look really beautiful, by the way."

[Morgan] Morgan, too, devours the rest of her pastry, and enough of her coffee to have it about a third gone; she's quiet as they eat, but her eyes stray to the Akashic as much as his do to her, and there's what could be qualified as a goofy grin on her face each time they do. She's beyond pleased to be here, with him, and it shows.

You look really beautiful, by the way, he says, and she blushes (glows) with the compliment - she'd aimed for that, of course, with her light makeup (mostly mascara and lip gloss) and flirty, girly, pretty dress. It doesn't make her any less pleased to hear it, especially from him, and now her eyes move up (she's sitting on the bench, leaning lightly against his legs) to meet his. "Thanks," she answers, murmurs. It makes her chest hurt. "It probably makes me shallow or something, but I like to hear that." And he was the last person in her life who said it - the uncles and her mother gone for affiliation and what they'd done to her, to them, and her father gone for both his safety and her own; Ashley's a great mentor and a good big sister sort of figure (as far as Morgan-the-only-child knows such things, anyway) but doesn't exactly say such things, and there's no one else to do so.

"You look great, too."

[Austin] [Morgan]
"Yeah? Good for you. I haven't found anyone I click with that well, really. I mean, working together for temporary stuff, yeah - that's easy. But not so much for a long term gig. I got a job, though, with a Chorister named Malcolm; he's a private investigator, and it's great experience to see how cases go from that side of things."

She doesn't seem terribly upset about all of this, and breaks a piece off of her apple danish once she's shared this; there's a smile as she watches him through her eyelashes more than head on, soaking up details that she's missed, mannerisms that have changed subtly where he's more comfortable, more at home. These things are always interesting to know, to file away, and goodness only knows when she'll see him again - when he'll make his way to Chicago, or she'll be able to make it back here. There's always the potential for a visit, at least, which is better than she has with some.

"Chicago's not so bad, either. Like I said, a bunch of new faces amongst the old, but that's a good thing - dynamic communities have their benefits. It doesn't get all . . . stagnant and incestuous, you know? New people, new ideas, new perspectives. It makes you work harder to understand." Idly, almost tentatively, a finger comes to brush a bit of icing he's missed from the corner of his lips where her eyes rest, fascinated, for a moment before rising back to his as her hand returns to her lap.

"I miss you. There are things I'd like to show you, too, and there's no one to show them to."

[Repost!]

[Austin] [Er....that was the wrong transcript. Reading fail!]

[Austin] [Morgan]
Morgan, too, devours the rest of her pastry, and enough of her coffee to have it about a third gone; she's quiet as they eat, but her eyes stray to the Akashic as much as his do to her, and there's what could be qualified as a goofy grin on her face each time they do. She's beyond pleased to be here, with him, and it shows.

You look really beautiful, by the way, he says, and she blushes (glows) with the compliment - she'd aimed for that, of course, with her light makeup (mostly mascara and lip gloss) and flirty, girly, pretty dress. It doesn't make her any less pleased to hear it, especially from him, and now her eyes move up (she's sitting on the bench, leaning lightly against his legs) to meet his. "Thanks," she answers, murmurs. It makes her chest hurt. "It probably makes me shallow or something, but I like to hear that." And he was the last person in her life who said it - the uncles and her mother gone for affiliation and what they'd done to her, to them, and her father gone for both his safety and her own; Ashley's a great mentor and a good big sister sort of figure (as far as Morgan-the-only-child knows such things, anyway) but doesn't exactly say such things, and there's no one else to do so.

"You look great, too."

[There we go...]

[Austin] She'd seen him practically inhale baked goods before. Some of them had been baked by her own hand (although those he usually tried to savor.) Today, he wasn't quite so ravenous, so the cinnamon roll did manage to last almost an entire minute before he was licking the smear of icing from his fingers. That wasn't exactly polite protocol, either (the finger-licking), but Austin was a 19 year old boy with a healthy appetite, and he was comfortable with Enid.

She mentioned seeming shallow, and he looked at her again and shook his head. "You're not shallow, you're just human." And then, a tentative smile. "Everyone likes to feel good, now and then. It's nice to know that someone appreciates you."

Truthfully, he could have gone on to explain what the elders of his Tradition would have thought of this exchange, but he didn't want to bring that into this. Austin's relationship with Enid had always been a welcome distraction from the rigors of his training. The two of them seldom spoke of their beliefs, at least not as it related to magical philosophy and paradigm. Now and then, sure. Small things. But Enid would always be Hermetic and Austin would always be Akashic, and when you broke it down, those belief systems did not mesh all that well. Austin was okay with that. He'd always been okay with that. What they had was between them as human beings. The rest... didn't matter.

And she said that he looked great, too. It brought a light flush to his cheeks, evident despite his tan - if you were looking close enough. He grabbed a napkin from the bag and finished cleaning off his hands, not looking at her now when he smiled again and said, "Thanks."

He tossed the used napkin back into the bag (recycling it now for the purposes of trash.) Then he paused a moment, watching Enid, before he leaned over and brushed a bit of hair behind her ear, kissing the outside edge of it gently. His breath brushed against her eardrum as he let it out (slowly - carefully.)

[Morgan] Her napkin finds its way into the bag as well, and then there he is, standing in front of her - leaning in to kiss her ear. She leans into it, just slightly, her eyes closing; it's been awhile since she let anyone touch her for more than a handshake. This feels fantastic and tingles through her, electric. "You're . . ."

But she doesn't finish, doesn't say anything else. In fact, she turns her head until she can catch Austin's lips and kisses with a fervor she hasn't in . . . well, long enough, anyway. Slowly, without pulling her lips from his, she stands and pulls him with her deeper into the shadows cast by the nearest tree and its branches; she hasn't thought about this, hasn't planned, and isn't doing so now. She's simply enjoying the company of a young man with whom she has a complicated relationship (enjoying it rather enticingly, indeed - Morgan's a good kisser) even without talking about the magical and philosophical differences between their Traditions.

That she wants is clear on a physical, subconscious level - she presses as close to Austin as she can, wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. And she kisses like she might not see him again after today, as if she's determined to take what she can, to enjoy and remember.

[Austin] It's funny how you can plan something in your head; how you can hold out and wait for months because you want everything to be right; and then, after all that...

It just happens. At a completely unplanned and unexpected moment.

But that was life, wasn't it?

This was a system-shock for the both of them. To have the other so near, after such a long time being alone and untouched by others. And all of the emotion and attraction that had been there before... it was all still there. That was how they happened to find themselves in the grass, in a public park, shrouded from view only by an outcropping of bushes and the shadows cast by a large tree. Austin had barely enough forethought to cast his senses out to the rest of the park, so that if anyone happened to wander close to their little section of the world, he'd know.

Mostly, though... he was focused on Enid. Lost in her. As desperate for her touch and nearness as she was for his. He was supposed to be the disciplined one, but in this respect he fell painfully short, today. There was nothing disciplined about the way he fell into her; kissed her; ran his hands through her hair and over her body. He didn't speak any more, after that. He couldn't. She was intent on taking whatever she could, and for once, he didn't hold back or shy away. His breathing turned into a shallow moan as he kissed her neck and pushed in between her legs. There was friction there, both wonderful and painfully frustrating with all of their clothes in the way.

His hand found buttons on her dress, and he tried to still the urgent desire to rip them open. Instead, he undid them one by one, until he could reach in and find her breasts. Fingers dipped under the fabric of her bra, finding what they were after, and Enid would feel the scrape of teeth as he bit gently at her collarbone.

[Morgan] Morgan has, as Austin knows, fooled around. He knows she's good with her hands, and decent with her mouth, and so it can't be too terribly much of a surprise when she reaches for the waist of his shorts, when her hips arch up against his after a bare minute or two of just kissing with his hand on her breast, when her moan twines with his as he slips between her legs. This is as far as Morgan's gotten before, at least in this position or any like it - clothes in the way, hands wandering.

She doesn't intend to stay there for long now.

It's not even a minute from hands finding the waist of his shorts to tugging at them impatiently, to squirming under him (and oh, how that has to feel) to get her dress out of the way, and never mind the dirt and grass stains it'll collect in the process. She's not thinking about that (or much of anything), but is kissing and touching, and shifting so all impeding articles of clothing are at least out of the way, if not removed completely. What he finds is not shaved, but is kept neatly trimmed, as he found in China.

It's funny how you can plan something, can fly across the country with intent to share a birthday meal and some talking, and things can change in a heartbeat (with a kiss.

It just happens, completely unplanned and unexpected.

But that's life, isn't it?

[Austin] This was as far as they'd gotten until now. And because of that, for just a moment, Austin hesitated.

"I don't have anything..."

It took effort to think of that, when he had no desire whatsoever to think of anything right now that might postpone immediate gratification. In the end, though, Enid assured him that she was on the pill, which gave him permission to stop thinking altogether. Her hands were on him, pulling him into her, and Austin lifted himself up a little so that he could get leverage, and then... he pushed.

And he was careful, at first, because neither of them had ever done this before, and he didn't want to hurt her. Some pain was inevitable, of course, and with that came concern (this was Austin, after all.) Maybe he even tried to stop, despite everything. But Enid's encouragement reassured him, and he kept going. And soon... there wasn't any hesitation, anymore. And he wasn't being all that careful, except to muffle the sounds he was making against her lips and her skin.

It felt perfect. And it felt like forever. In reality, he probably didn't last that long. Maybe ten minutes. (Which wasn't bad for the first time, really.) Then Austin buried his face in Enid's neck and moaned, and his body went tense, and then still. And he tried to catch his breath and lift himself off of her so that he wouldn't crush her beneath his weight. At that moment, he felt the presence of a couple of joggers drawing near them down the path, and in a classic moment of teenage panic, the two of them rolled apart and attempted to hurriedly put themselves back into a clothed state.

They were lucky, though. The joggers both had earbuds in, and they weren't looking at the bushes. When the threat of discovery was gone, Austin glanced at Enid and burst out laughing, releasing the pent up anxiety he'd been holding in. Then he leaned over and held her face gently in his hands. He kissed her for a long, quiet moment, then whispered...

"I love you."

And they had the whole day yet, and the rest of Enid's trip, to talk and explore and just be with each other. And during that time, Austin would try his best not to think about the fact that she had to leave. And likely, they would make a few repeat attempts at sex, preferably somewhere private, and with a great deal more time to relax and enjoy themselves. It would be a good trip. A very good trip. And it had to end eventually, but until then, they'd make the most of the time that they had, and when they finally did part, Austin wouldn't hold anything against her, and he wouldn't talk about their relationship, or expectations (because that would be unfair). But he would kiss her goodbye, and tell her again that he loved her.

And he wouldn't cry until after she left.