WARNING SUGGESTIVE WRITING BELOW
He's sitting on the couch trying to string his bow and it's stressing him out because the string won't fall into place no matter how hard he tries. The minute he slumps back against it and looks up the first thing he sees is me staring right back at him- but he isn't alarmed, just annoyed. I can't help but grin in response to his frustration. He wants to say something snarky, but that snark never comes because plush lips are a man's worst enemy.
It was just one kiss. One small, simple little kiss- he's got an expression on his dumb face that looks like I just stabbed him. Widened eyes, furrowed brows, mouth slightly agape. He's not pissed, but he's not quite happy about it either.
Fine then.
Suddenly I'm in his lap. That's really gotten his attention now. He has yet to relax, to make the comments that's been tainting his mind the moment we made eye contact. He's unmoving. It's almost pathetic how stiff he's gotten.
But then hands are gliding up thighs, hesitantly settling on the dips of hips in order to pull a body closer. Cold meeting warm.
He's staring again. It's like he's expecting something. His silence says more than his mouth ever would.
I'm whispering things, each comment earning a flick of the ear or an obvious shaky exhale from the other. He's still staring, but there's a longing in them that has me convinced it's okay to continue. He hasn't resorted to getting physical. I think he might set a new world record.
Oh. His grip is getting tighter. He's shaking. If I really cared, I would've told him to stop digging his nails into my sides. The sting is an uncomfortably nice change of pace.
He's saying something; well, attempting to. Every mutter is less incomprehensible than the last. Now he's scowling, most likely irritated with himself for struggling to speak his mind for once in his life.
A kiss on the cheek wasn't enough to make him look in my direction.
On the nose? Still nothing.
Lips? We're getting somewhere.
Nec--a shaky hand clamps over a mouth. He looks absolutely flushed. His cheeks and the tips of his ears have never been any redder.
He wouldn't admit he reacted to that, he's too stubborn. The calm, stoic purple hero could never let anyone know that he could fold so easily--and to a kiss of all things?
It's a shame his pride has a one sided relationship with just himself. My cares for keeping him sane were thrown right out the window the moment our lips met again. He's used to it, but he acts like every kiss is the first.
Let's try this again.
One kiss? He's always staring, those blue eyes searching for something that'll never be found.
Two kisses? We can do better than that. He knows it too.
Three? It hasn't broken yet. His hands are taking a new position, one on the nape of the neck while the other tugs the small of my back closer.
Breaths are mixing together. Gross. Scratch that, he's being daring for once. Tongue is new. That's a lie. The only thing new about it is how he hasn't stopped yet. That was another lie. He stopped to take a breath, but I chased his lips and now we're right back where we started. I don't feel as cold as I had been earlier.
A hand is slipping lower, curious fingers messing with the hem of my tunic.
He knows what he's doing.
I know what he's doing.
I know what he's implying.
I know what he wants.
And then the door opened abruptly, loud chatter soon falling silent as three sets of widened eyes settled upon us.
Shit.