The first time Karl Heisenberg kisses you, it’s like he’s afraid he’s going to break you. He’s soft, and careful, and gentle, lips tracing over yours, brushing his scratchy, stubbly cheeks against your face.
The more often you let him kiss you, the more confident he gets, kissing you firm, and deep, nibbling at your lips.
When he trusts you, when he knows you won’t break or disappear, he’s rough, and passionate and spontaneous. He pulls you into hungry, eager kisses, kisses all over your face and neck and shoulders, leaving little bruises and hickeys that he pets and fawns over, holding you tight.
