He, on the other hand, could not remember kissing a girl much before this - and he liked it, liked it a lot, the way her lips moved naturally against his, the way her palms felt warm and comforting against his cheeks. He was more than happy to let her take it where she wanted, his hand sliding down her side to rest at her hip - but not doing anything else, not wanting to startle her or do something she didn't like. They had to take this slow, he knew that, no matter how this went right now. But that didn't mean he wasn't responsive - he couldn't not be, not when he could taste her, under the mashed potatoes and pot roast, and smell the scent of her hair... a scent that was familiar, his eyes snapping open for a minute as his kiss faltered without really meaning to.

But whatever he was trying to remember was like a word on the tip of your tongue - not quite there, just out of reach... but there nonetheless. And all he could think to do was press another kiss to her lips before she thought she'd done something wrong - because it anything, she'd done something very, very right.