She rolled her neck, rolling out the kinks that bothered her head. The floppy half-bun came undone, making Cath groan and lean back against the headboard. Glancing again at her laptop, the half-typed, half-done sentence, she sighed.

She hated writing her own stories.

Really.

It was just so taxing to think of all those characters, their behaviours and mannerisms, their quirks. God.

"Sweetheart?" It was Levi, leaning against the door, all loose limbs and long legs. And warm, warm smile.

She could already feel the stupid smile overtaking her face, the frown melting off to be replaced by the soft, gooey look she couldn't help whenever he was nearby.

Her Levi-induced face.

"Hey," he crossed over to her, Starbucks in hand, "I got you your favourite."

Ignoring the drink, she grabbed the lapel of his coat, burying her face into it, inhaling: coffee, spice.. Levi. His hand cupped her face, those lean fingers sending a streak of heat to her neck and cheeks, "You good?" He asked, lifting her face up to him, pushing back her mousy brown bangs. (Levi called it brunette, she'd say mousy. Meh.)

Mint, she realised. He was wearing his aftershave. Mm..

Being this close to Levi took a toll on her morality. Always.

He made all her fuses blow-up, forget anything – everything – about propriety and.. And.. Oh God.

She swayed forth on her knees, crawling up towards him, glasses tossed aside, forgotten, her hair a wild mess, "Levi," she touched her lips to his, softly, gently. Then she moved, closer, her fingers in his hair, mouth near the edge of his jaw. She loved this place, loved him so much, here. His chest lifted up sharply, "Cather.." The Starbucks fell off, dropping down with a muted thud on the floor.

The veins on his throat was so pronounced now, she couldn't help but trace along those exquisite lines with her tongue, her hands. His hands came around her waist, grabbing her tight, eyes closed, forehead scrunched, as if he was in a great deal of pain.

She couldn't get enough of him, didn't think she would. Ever.

Then she worried of him getting tired of her.

So she kissed him harder, touched him slower, took her time relishing in him.

Levi couldn't think straight whenever she did this to him. Gah.

Forget thinking, he couldn't even afford to process his own feelings right now, let alone think straight.

It hasn't been easy getting up to here with her. With Cath. She was constantly afraid of crossing some line, exceeding a nonexistent boundary. It grated on his nerves so bad sometimes. Like, she'd do something impulsively sweet like maybe hold his hands when they were out in public or kiss his cheek when he helped her out in writing, then she'd fret over it and apologise to him for about thousand times until he firmly told that he didn't care.

I don't care Cather, you can do anything you want with me, I'm all yours. Except for dumping me of course, he'd said to her then with a brazen grin, daring (hoping) her to actually – finally - do something. She didn't though, in the end they'd somehow found themselves wound up in the Love library, flashcards strewn all over their table, pencils stuck on their ears and both heads leaning over his newest literature assignment: To Kill A Mockingbird.

He almost never got to do anything with her because of that. (No, not studying, because of her apologising too much.)

Then she'd turn in over him like this.

When Cath got like this, Levi couldn't really do all those things he'd always thought he'd do to her one day. Because then she'd sneak over him and just- And just.. Kiss him senseless. "Cather," he heard himself say, wondered how his mouth could still function at this stage.

He fell back onto the bed, with her on top of him, her hair all around them like a sheer drape, her hands on his neck, in his hair. He found her lips then, kissed her tenderly, one hand creeping down the bottom of her t-shirt, chancing a touch. She gasped, eyes shuttering closed, but she didn't chase him off this time. Her skin was cold to his warm touch, probably because she'd been holed up in her room writing all day. He touched her tentatively, explored her unhurriedly. Bringing both his hands down, Levi tugged at Cath's t-shirt, calling for her attention. Her chatoyant gaze struggled to focus on him through the haze of pleasure, "Okay?" He enquired, not wanting to do anything she didn't want. She nodded, and went back to kissing him, taking his mouth with soft, lingering jabs of her chin, just like him.

He divested her off her tee, then ground his teeth together, resisting his urge to glomp her and never let go. Instead, (so he wouldn't appear like a crazed barbarian) he worried the velvety skin in the dip of her clavicle, hands embossing her - the feel of her skin, the hollow of her hip bones, the full curve of her waist - in his mind.

"Levi," she gasped his name, hand tightening in his hair. He shuddered in pleasure, when she trembled against him, whispering his name like a prayer, an entreaty. He bent his head, hair brushing her neck, making her curl into herself, giggling. He did it again, just so he could hear it again. (Really, he was unsalvageable when it came to her.) He pressed his face into her neck, the place where her pulse beat the hardest and remained quietly there, listening to the erratic rhythm of her heart.

Someone kicked the door open then, making them both leap yards apart; Levi still disoriented and high from the pleasure, Cath clutching her t-shirt tightly, shielding her body, "Jesus! Will you please learn how to knock?"

It was Reagan, holding some Snickerdoodles in her hand and smirking iniquitously, "Oops! Did I ruin something nice?" She asked, eyes twinkling wickedly.

Cath groaned, "Just get out, please," she glanced at Levi, "both of you. Now." Levi looked so wildly surprised she was almost tempted to get back where they both left off just now, Reagan and rest of the world bedamned. But then she heard Reagan snickering and decided that she would continue this somewhere else (most probably in her dreams) rather than tolerate Reagan and her annoyingly knowing comments for the rest of her life.

"C'mon Best Debut of The Year, party's downstairs," she munched on her Snickerdoodles, trying and failing to disguise her laughter as she left, Levi right behind her with a slightly dazed look on his face and an apologetic smile on his lips. Cath closed the door and leant against it, covering her face with her t-shirt, hating that even as her cheeks flamed red from the embarrassment of being caught, she still wanted to be on top of Levi, doing everything they did and more. Knew in her heart that the next time she went on a writing spree like that, she'd end up curled over him, getting drunk on his languid kisses and tender touches and low moans...

Dear God.

She crossed her fingers and hoped he would never tire of her.

Because she most certainly wasn't going to be able to get over him. Ever.