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Another party is over. He's said his goodnights. (Even ghosts get exhausted sometimes). He floats to his room and turns on the gas light. He shuffles around his room, aimlessly taking off his cravat. He's about to take off the rest of his clothes when he realizes that there's someone in his bed.

Specifically, a female someone.

Specifically, Lenore.

Ok, this is fine. This is completely fine. He'll just sort of bend over like this and if he uses this angle then he can put on his pajamas (his favorites, the silky pinstripe ones) and then he just has to figure out how to get her out of bed. He's quietly taking off his shoes, careful not to drop them, when Lenore moans a little and rolls over. "You don't have to be so quiet," he hears her say, a little muffled. "I'm awake."

"Oh. Good to know." This doesn't make it any better. "What, exactly, are you doing here?" H.G. asks, twisting a little as he slides off his trousers. A brief, horrifying thought occurs to him. "Are you drunk?"

"No," Lenore laughs, and sits up a bit, propping herself on his pillows. Her hair is really quite pretty like that, all laid out. It's like she belongs here. (He tries to quash that thought before it goes anywhere embarrassing, especially since he's only half in his pajama bottoms now.) "I'm just tired. You know how you complain about how hard it is, being an introvert? It can kind of be exhausting as an extrovert, too. Especially since Edgar has all these unattainable ideals of perfection."

She rolls her eyes. "So anyways, I just crashed here. First available room I could find."

"You're welcome," H.G. says, buttoning up his pajama shirt. He floats over to the bed and lies down very cautiously. Concentrates on lying perfectly straight, with a respectful distance.

"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?" Lenore asks. She turns back over so she's now pressed flush against him.

"What?" H.G. replies. He's still lying very, very straight, even though Lenore is now tracing her hand up his...pinstripes.

Lenore giggles. "I thought you were this total dork - "

"Oh, wow, thanks."

"-but at the same time I just totally wanted to make out with you," Lenore confesses. "Cuz you're just so cute."

At least it's only the gas light on. She probably can't see him blush. (That's what H.G. is telling himself, anyway.)

Her fingers hover over his bicep. They're not really touching, not yet. Not until she moves closer. They're face to face now, close then closer until Lenore presses her lips to his, brief and chaste. H.G. slides away quickly, eyes open and confused. "Are people supposed to like that?" he asks.

"Usually," Lenore supplies. She wrinkles her forehead in concern. "Wait, was that your first kiss? Like, ever?"

"Maybe." H.G. looks down at his hands, which are folded carefully on his stomach. She can probably definitely see him blushing now. He's not sure what a first kiss should be, exactly, but something tells him that this one was pretty good. So he smiles shyly to himself.

"Oh my god!" Lenore says, excitedly. "That means I can teach you." She grins. "Only if you want to, of course."

He does want. Like, really really does want - but this is all so new, so unfamiliar and exciting, that he doesn't know what to start with in order to ask.

She seems to understand his hesitation. "Ok," Lenore says, kind and gentle as anything. "Then I'm just going to kind of - go for it."

Her hands drift everywhere: the small of his back, his shoulders, a hip. Pulling tight into all the empty spaces like she's never going to leave. She looks up at him, silently confirming his permission, before kissing him again. Her lips are warm and very soft; it's this pleasant little rub. He can taste what must be lipstick - something sticky and kind of sweet, actually. But she's not just kissing his mouth - Lenore goes in arbitrary patterns that leave him breathless (both literally and figuratively, because of the whole ghost thing). She leaves a little trail along his jaw, his neck. That one makes him gasp, so she laughs and does it again, and again.

He wants to keep up with her, wants it to become as intuitive as she makes it seem. When she slides her tongue into his mouth, it's just so obvious, this natural progression, that he surprises himself with a tiny moan. Lenore pauses to let him adjust, get used to the feel of it, but it doesn't take long for him to do so - kissing her just feels so good that he wants to keep going.

The kiss gets warm, and wet, and kind of messy. A couple of pillows drop off the side of the bed. The blankets are a complete tangle off somewhere: thrown half-hazard over part of Lenore's thigh and up around HG's shoulder. It occurs to him that they're in his bed, so he should make it comfortable for her. So he takes a moment to tuck the blankets closer and more easily around them. Lenore sighs, briefly, at his absence, but he quickly returns. Kisses her deep, then deeper still, all open mouthed and gasping. Pouring himself completely into this. She looks at him, a bit cross-eyed, and then breaks the kiss a little to push his hair off his forehead and kiss his temple.

So this is what kissing is, what kissing Lenore is, and it's really kind of perfect.