@sunbruise: where do you want me to kiss you?
“it’s traditionally the lips, isn’t it?” he’s staring at ken’s, neck craned, eyes wide and mystified as if he’s noticing them for the first time, the jackhammer-pulse of neil’s heart living in his throat, chest, hands, temple; his entire body a crackle of electricity, wild and alive. neil’s hands are poised against ken’s chest, an inch between palms and shirt, twitching with the desire to touch, but not willing to press on until he’s told it’s okay.
do you like boys? ken had asked, and neil had bumped his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, an i’m not sure shrug, an i’ve never had the chance to find out shrug. it does not feel like a question posited only moments ago, but a question from an eternity ago; it feels like a lifetime they have stood here, each assessing, neil attempting to work out how to proceed, very ungracefully rushing through his reply: maybe you should kiss me; maybe it’ll help me figure it out. now, his hands a finger’s width from ken’s chest; ken’s mismatched gaze, undecipherable, holding his. another question that neil cannot gauge the sincerity of washing over him like a cold wave - his answer steadier, a healthy mix of sarcasm and deadly candor.
his fingers trembling again, his mouth feeling dry.
he stretches to the tips of his toes, ken still with an inch or two on him, but that doesn’t discourage neil. “please?” he says, and with that - a single word - he shatters all pretenses, realizes that he wants this ----- really wants this, the answer to the question forming in the shape of his plea.