playlist ? dbh connor

approximately 16 beats per minute

You keep going, "When I confessed my feelings and thought you'd leave, when everything felt like it was falling apart, when I felt like an idiot for being awkward, you never made me feel different. You were always there, Connor. And I'm so grateful for that."

Your voice cracks, and you don't realize you are crying until Connor steps closer, his hand gently brushing a tear from your cheek.

"Detective," he starts, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

Before he could say more, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss. It's careful, softer than the last kiss you had, and almost hesitant as if he's afraid of hurting you. His hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing over your uninjured cheek.

"You mean a great deal to me as well," he says quietly when he pulls back.

Now you both sit on the couch. The soft overhead lighting baths the space in a warm glow, but your focus is entirely on him. Connor sits close, his posture as impeccable as always, but there is an unspoken intimacy in the way his gaze lingers on you.

"When I told you . . ." You hesitate, almost laughing at yourself for bringing it up. But his steady presence give you courage, and you continue. "When I confessed that I had a crush on you, what was your first reaction? Like I know what you replied, but I mean, your actual reaction?"

His LED flickers yellow briefly, but his face remains composed. "I may have anticipated the sentiment to some degree," he admits, the faintest suggestion of a smile tugging at his lips. "I sensed that you had a certain fondness for me. Though I'll admit, I didn't anticipate the strength of your feelings."

Connor also remembers asking the group chat for advice and they all insisted that you like him more than a friend. But he doesn't tell you that.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you try to play it cool. You look down at your hands for a moment. Unable to resist, you ask, "What do you mean by 'anticipated'?"

Connor tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in that way that makes it clear he's studying you. "I observed certain physiological responses," he says matter-of-factly. "When I was near you, your heart rate consistently elevated by approximately 16 beats per minute beyond your resting rate."

"Really?"

His gaze flickers over you with an almost amused glint. "Your pupils would dilate . . . as they are right now."

His calm analysis sends a thrill through you, and you can't help but laugh nervously, feeling your pulse quicken under his gaze.

"I can detect your heartbeat from here." He hesitates, expression searching yours for permission. "But would it be all right if I felt it myself? Please?"

You swallow hard, your heart racing now, and manage a nod.

Connor leans closer, his movements deliberate and slow. His hand settles against your chest just above your heart. The thin fabric of your t-shirt offers no barrier to the warmth of his palm or the weight of his touch. His fingers spread slightly, pressing gently, as if grounding himself in the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Your breath hitches as his LED flickers yellow again before settling into steady blue.

"Your heart is beating faster," he murmurs, voice low and thick with something you couldn't quite place.

"You can probably tell exactly how much," you whisper.

"Seventy-four beats per minute," he says. "Perhaps seventy-five now. Is this why you preferred texting me before instead of just talking to me in person?"

You nod slowly. He doesn't pull away, his hand remaining a grounding, electric presence against your chest. The air around you seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

"I apologize but," he breathes. "I have to kiss you again."

He leans forward, closing the space between you again. The kiss that follows isn't like the others.

For the first time, this one is charged, slow but deliberate. His mouth explores yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hand slides from your chest to cup your cheek, angling your face just so as he deepens the kiss. And when your lips part in invitation, he accepts, tongue sweeping across yours.

To Connor, it feels almost too much — the taste of you, the electric thrill, the faint awareness that he could analyze your very DNA.

And yet he isn't clinical. He isn't detached. He kisses you like he knows exactly what he's doing.

A soft gasp escapes you as his other hand find its way to your waist, his fingers pressing into the curve of your side before traveling upward. When his palm cups your breast, you arch instinctively. His touch sends a jolt through you that is both unexpected and achingly welcome.

His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, brushing over your skin with feather-light kisses that turn to soft, deliberate nips. He avoids your injured jaw at least, knowing it's still a little sore. The juxtaposition of his gentleness and the hunger behind his touch made your head spin.

"Connor," you whisper, voice trembling as his name slips out like a prayer.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

"Say it again," he says, his voice low, filled with a mix of command and pleading.

"Connor," you whisper again.

He leans in once more, and the the world disappears into the heat of his kiss.