"quick-" this was. not, how he was going to do this. (were there plans? shit, maybe.) it's so cliché as to hurt, so perfectly veiled by pragmatism that neither'll have to deal with it afterwards - just two idiots kissing in an alley to shake shitbags off their tail; pale hands grasping for a perfect face (if it's like this, he'll still fuckin' make it sweet / how could it not be-?). "-sorry," not quite through a calculation as to how justified another attempt would be when he. just goes for it.
@ofrhapsodes
There is no time to think, to consider, to argue, not when there’s already hands framing his face and soft lips against his own. Oh, how he’s longed to do this, thought about it in every waking moment. He’s felt it take up all his processing power, filling out his very being.
Just when his mind has finally caught up with the present and he’s considered lifting his hands, holding the other, it’s over. Just like that.
But he won’t let it be over, not when he’s finally gotten what he’s dreamed of so long. He doesn’t think of the implications, the consequences. He just does. So he lifts his hands around the other’s waist, pulling him close when he tries to draw back, no time to think. And then his colder lips are back where they should be, against the much warmer, much livelier, much more human body that he’s craved to touch for so long.
They can think about what this makes them later. Nothing has to change, no one has to say a word. They don’t have to lose a single word over this. Though, he’s not sure which possibility is more likely to break his artificial heart.
