@fabala (...) you can't say that and expect me not to kiss you.
⋆˙ ⟡ the words strike her like a dropped teacup, porcelain shock, a sharp, ringing crack that echoes long after the sound itself should have died. galinda stills, utterly, as though movement might shatter what little composure she has left. there it is again: that reckless tenderness elphaba wields without meaning to, the way they speak desire as if it were a harmless truth instead of a blade pressed to the softest part of her throat. ❝ you say that, ❞ she begins, and her voice is light only by discipline, by years of training her tone into something bright and manageable, ❝ as though i have not spent every waking moment arranging myself around the possibility. ❞ she turns then, slowly, because if she looks at them too quickly she might lean in without permission, might forget every rule that has kept her upright. her smile trembles, not coy, not playful, but stretched thin by longing. ❝ as though i haven’t already imagined it in the margins of my thoughts, like a scandalous pretty footnote i pretend not to read. ❞
galinda steps closer, close enough that the air between them changes temperature, charged and unbearable. her hand lifts, stops just short of touching elphaba’s sleeve, fingers curled inward as if restraint itself were a physical ache. ❝ do you have any idea what it costs me, ❞ she whispers, the confession slipping out despite herself, ❝ to stand here and let you look at me like that? to know that if you leaned in, just an inch, i would forget every lesson about propriety, every carefully pinned smile, every expectation i have been sewn into? ❞ her breath hitches, traitorous. ❝ i am very good at wanting things i am not meant to have. you, however… ❞ the sentence dissolves. she laughs, softly, miserably, the sound of a girl who knows she is already undone. ❝ you cannot accuse me of restraint when you are the one who keeps setting the match so close to the wick. ❞ at last, she meets their eyes fully, no armor, no performance, just naked yearning, bright and terrified and earnest. ❝ if you kiss me, ❞ galinda says, voice barely holding, ❝ it will not be because i didn’t warn you. it will be because i have been waiting, desperately, improperly, hopelessly, for you to stop pretending you don’t see exactly what you’re doing to me. ❞ she steps closer, a finger trailing elphaba's jaw, memorizing the angle, the cut.
her composure frays in quieter places now, not in grand gestures, but in the way her breath forgets its rhythm when elphaba stands too near, in the heat that gathers low and insistent as though her body has begun answering questions her mouth refuses to ask. galinda’s gaze drifts, betrays her, lingers on the line of their mouth, the promise implied in the slightest tilt of their head. ❝ you don’t even touch me, ❞ she murmurs, almost smiling at her own undoing, ❝ and still you leave me feeling as though i’ve been thoroughly ruined. ❞ the words are silked with hunger, with the dangerous knowledge of how easily she would unravel if given leave, stays loosened, breath stuttering, every carefully learned rule slipping like gloves to the floor. she leans in just enough that the space between them aches, a held note stretched too long, and whispers, ❝ if this is what restraint feels like, then i fear what will become of me the moment you decide to stop being kind. ❞