You wanna kiss? Here is an unsuspecting surgeon ripe for the smooching. [from medicus-mortem, you ready for that test Morgan?]
♡ ♡ ♡ law — @medicus-mortem
Never mind 'unsuspecting', why should she kiss him? What Law done, truthfully, to win himself one a paramount manifestation of love and devotion among the species; an act that which, to Morgan, did not come as banal behaviour? Familial kisses should be respected, amorous ones should be adored. Neither should be taken for granted. Morgan highly doubted, given their recent conversational history, that Law would welcome her kiss with the esteem which it deserved, as a form of courtesy in return for a sentiment he did not share — and had she not attained the right to basic decency on his part yet, if love could not be forced and cruelty was by all accounts unjustified?— or attribute to it the importance of exciting discovery, regard this particular touch as the genesis of renewed possibility for their mutual affinity.
Whereas she, she would deeply care for his kiss. If Morgan wore her heart on her sleeve, the kiss she would pocket as though it were a favour, notwithstanding the reversal of traditional roles in hastilude. She would safeguard its memory, relive it time and again in the absence of another activity to occupy her mind or willingly, as a reminder of an isolated, fleeting and blissful moment the next time Law's mouth became poisonous, maybe as a memento of his capability to be a better man. It is a poor present to treasure from someone who insists on having you around so they can hurt you.
It seemed to Morgan she did have a great deal to lose in what others may deem an ordinary, mechanically simple exchange.
Yet, once sown, the seed of hopeful expectation could only bloom where her heart was all romantic fertility. Morgan coveted his kiss — it started out with the natural curiosity for knowing what it tasted like; how it felt like. Would it give credence to her burgeoning feelings, elicit a kindling warmth in her belly? Or would it prove once and for all the impossibility of the faintest of glimmers? Who was to say, perhaps a kiss was just what she needed to murder her love and move on to an indolent state of aching and growth. And who was to say, perhaps a kiss was just what he needed to keep orbiting around her, the fire in his personal hearth by it awakened.
This was knowledge she both yearned and dreaded to have. Stakes were high and Morgan had never appreciated games of chance. But did she really? Now it seemed clear she had gambled on herself many a time, in ways he did not know. Like the sea, she was calm but bold. Morgan's virtue rested not on grand acts of foolhardy heroism that made headlines but on private examples of valour, solemn decisions and the kind of fortitude that comes to a woman living in a world of men.
Why should something as sublime as a kiss scare the wits of her? Was she not daring in her own way? Was she not a woman worthy of the name? If vanquished in her sentiment, Morgan would nevertheless persist. Her heart would not harden, no matter how many times men tore it apart, again and again in a wicked pastime they drained their pleasure from. A foolish stance for a lady to have, maybe, but in this vow of naïveté Morgan remained ever so courageous.
And were she to die, what adieu can be more divine than that which comes in the aftermath of a kiss?
Her heels would help compensate the difference in height, at least to ease the connection. The faintest expression of permission from his part was all she needed to go forth and bring her fingertips to his jawline, seemingly offering him one last chance to dismiss her touch. Or perhaps allowing herself an extra intake of air and courage. She wanted it to be a thing of feather-like softness and candour, the embodiment of novelistic trope; a kiss he could not divorce from her person if Law, too, wished to turn it into a keepsake of her acquaintanceship for future reference.
In the present time, Morgan brushed her lips against his, not smooth but pleasant all the same, drumming hearbeat carried in her suspiring. Everything was up in the air but the anticipation which burned within. Their lips touched for a moment, for a lifetime, Morgan's respective pair drawing his bottom lip closer for a sip of something honeyed. His expression she was oblivious to as her eyes were close, so is the unspoken rule of the art as well as the unconscious desire to temporarily heighten all other senses so that moment and feeling trap themselves in each other for a long-lasting impression.
Morgan could sense the rapid emergence of her melting point. She avoided at great cost to stray from the respectful shallows of Law's kiss when her wish was that of finding support somewhere along his chest, where her hands may rest or avidly coil the fingers between the fabric of his shirt, and let the sweet, wet peck unfold into a plunge as their mouths allowed for space to accommodate the other's tongue.
Just like she had roused it, so should Morgan end it and seal the experience with a satisfying conclusion before it turned sour. It was time Law had a say in the matter. He could end the kissing forevermore with an admonishment Morgan would not apologise for or return the act with his own interpretation of what a kiss was, if hers proved worthy enough of repetition.
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