Page 115 of Legacy Ascended

He looks at me for a second, then puts the plates down.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"Habit."

"I know."

We end up on the two-seat sofa by the fire, because the armchair is full of blankets and neither of us suggests moving them.

There's nothing on the low table. No student work or journals.

I've almost never seen Jon relaxed like this. In a lecture hall he's always standing.

Here he's got one arm along the back of the sofa and his legs stretched out, sleeves still pushed up, and a mark on his shirt from the pot.

He keeps looking at me. He used to look away when I caught him.

Tonight he doesn't.

"You're staring," I tell him.

"I am."

"Aren’t you still supposed to be avoiding me?"

"I've tried avoiding you," Jon says. "But it hurts right here." He rubs his chest.

I put my hand over his. His arm goes still under my hand.

Then he turns his hand over and laces his fingers through mine.

"I’m still not supposed to touch you," he says quietly.

"I think it should be allowed."

He looks down at our hands for a second.

"Please," I say.

He leans in. I meet him halfway, and both hands come up to cradle my face.

When I make a sound against his mouth, his fingers slide into my hair, he tilts my head and he kisses me harder.

"God," he says, against my mouth.

"Don't do it."

"What?"

"The thing where you stop and say something responsible."

"I wasn't going to say anything responsible," Jon says. "I've forgotten how sentences work."

I laugh into the kiss, and he laughs too.

I end up half across him, one knee folded beside his thigh, my hand flat on his chest, his heart pounding under my palm. His hand rests against my ribs through my shirt, his thumb moving once against my side.