✿✿✿✿✿
kiss / hug prompt ( accepting )seven: first kiss
THE RAPPING OF bare knuckles on the jamb beside the entrance to the cabin adds one more sound to the quiet rumbling of the ocean. They’re docked, but even in the stillness of the bay, the thundering of wider waters isn’t far away. He’s exhausted - his limbs ache from use. But it’s the good sort of ache, the kind that tells you of your hard day’s work, the kind that urges you to RELAX, to let your guard down, to have a drink and share a laugh.
It was the last day on the job, they’d finished diving this afternoon, and the boat is theirs for one more night. Maybe it’s because he’d found it - a small inscription with TIME, PLACE, and NAME that confirmed some guesswork he’d been riding a new piece in his particularly difficult puzzle on - what he’d been looking for. And more besides. He feels like celebrating. And he feels like celebrating with her.
He knocked, because he didn’t want to catch her unawares. She could be changing for all he knew. But when she gives the all clear he slips through the entrance with a duck of his head, on bare feet, the rustle of diving shorts and plain white undershirt accompanying his steps. He stays quiet until he sees her, sitting on a tired-looking stool at the thin counter running along the side of the room. He smiles. Pauses. Stares at her for a bit before quietly murmuring, ‘Hey.’
‘Good work today,’ he continues after a moment. Then, when her glance moves from his face to the bottle in his hand, his eyes follow suit and he remembers. He lifts it a few inches from its position, resting against his thigh, and explains, ‘Something I picked up earlier, y’know, for the last day. Thought we could toast to a job well done.’
He moves towards her, stopping with his hips against the edge of the counter, with her directly to his left. Setting the bottle down, he leans over and fishes through the cupboard at his feet for two glasses he’d found earlier and stands back up to set them down alongside the liquor. He looks over, smiles again, then goes about pouring them a small measure of the honey-colored liquid and handing it over. He turns, so that now he’s facing her, their bodies not too far away as he stands and she sits. His eyes don’t waver from her face as he clinks his glass against hers and says, ‘To us - we make a good team.’ and not even as he swallows a sip of the whiskey.
They set their glasses down on the counter beside them. She leans forward, and for a moment he thinks that she’s reaching for the bottle which is now kind of behind him. But instead she stands up. The top of her head barely makes it to his shoulders. They’re awfully close, but not quite touching. He can feel the heat of her body and there’s a thrum in his chest in response.
Somehow his hands GRAVITATE to her hips of their own volition - though he’d be lying if he said this sort of proximity hadn’t been occupying his thoughts for the past few days - and she leans forward and up, their bodies meeting as her lips brush gently against his, teasing him with the contact. His breath stops for a moment. He exhales and leans down, imitating the touch and pulling just far enough away a second later to see her whole face. There’s a ghost of a smile as he feels her hands tighten on him and as he reciprocates, bending a little and, after a final steadying breath in, commits himself to following through.
His lips meet hers, quietly, slowly, gently at first, and becoming increasingly more insistent. He follows her lead, a hand migrating from her hips to her neck, fingers threading through her hair as he pulls her towards him.
The rumbling of the OCEAN fills his body, fills his head, and is indistinguishable from his thundering heart as he loses thoughts of time & place & purpose. A night for celebrating, indeed.
