He was still experiencing everything for the first time. He couldn't remember the last time someone had pressed so close to him. He couldn't remember the last time his heard his heart pound so rapidly. He couldn't remember the last time he had gripped the fabric of another's clothing for support.

Cyrus wanted to gasp. And he wanted to pull back and tell the professor that dinner was nice, but he had to go. But this wasn't the position to, whether he wanted to or not. His tongue hadn't been this active in ages. Probably since the summer when he was eating gelato and it had begun to drip down his hand and he needed to lick up the entire mess before it got to be too much to handle. He groaned--allowing it to permeate into Rhys's mouth, as there was nowhere for it to go. He could feel his lungs objecting. It was hard to get the deep, long breaths that he needed through his nose.

And everything was becoming very dream like.