lips moves in slowly enough to be stopped, aeron’s height being used against him to bend down closer. and closer … and CLOSER until he’s finally where he’d imagined about being since junior high. the kiss is dry, brims locking just right before he dares to apply any pressure. his right paw carefully hooks around her lower back, the same hand that’s weeks away from methodically triggering a bullet into their classmates brain. her lips are warm and inviting — and he’s all of a sudden wondeirng why he’s never fucking done that before. lids are still closed while he pulls away, breaking the only intimacy they’d ever shared — and probably ever would. he waits to speak until he gathers SOME composure … enough so he’d at least be a quarter way coherent. ‘ … if i didn’t do that tonight, i don’t think i ever would’ve, ’ — before i DIE, not that you fucking care, ‘ so … sorry. well, not really. ’ shoulders heave gently, ‘ there’s a shit ton of food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. i’ll be in the basement if you need me. ’ a single turn of his heels and he walks away, anxious digits pushing away unkept curls from his line of vision. if she wanted to get in his head, he was going to fucking do it right back.
expect the unexpected -- a mantra to live by when you’re a perpetual control freak who refuses to be caught off guard ( hi alyson anderson ). dozens of scenarios and potential outcomes ; there’s not a one that the femme hasn’t lended a thought to. well, maybe except this situation. brims coated in cherry red lay motionless against that of her opposite. perhaps she’s caught in some parallel universe or knocked back one too many christmas cookies that she’s been comatose’d into some sort of dream state that’s left her with nothing more than sleep paralysis. lashes flutter rapidly like wings, dazed optics studying the taste his lips provided -- one that had only ever been given to her by the means of shared joints and dr. pepper bottles. the drawbridge of her jaw falls agape, breath warm and tainted spilling out like a flood. newton’s third law states that for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction ; aly’s just toying with the idea of disproving such a thing. still stiff, her gaze will trail around the room -- noting the surplus of party guests before landing on the plant dangling above them. well, i guess that partially explains things. just as fast as he came, aeron’s biding her farewell in the same manner. she’ll scoff at his nerve as a manicured paw wrapped tightly around a solo cup elevates to exchange aeron’s leftover taste with that of a toxin. what ? couldn’t expect aly to show up to some lame christmas party without a bit of liquid courage to dull the annoyance, could you ? two swigs down and she’s followed the leader straight to the basement. booties hover against the top step as she’s brought back in aeron’s presence. ‘ really ? ’ another step is taken, orbs latched to the boy like tunnel vision. ‘ so you’re back-handedly telling me that you were sorta curious about what kissing me was like -- ’ she’s billowing down the stairs like some sort of princess making her grand entrance, strides calculated and leisurely. ‘ and you used the excuse of something as lame as mistletoe to find out ? ’ soles greet the flooring, their proximity only diminishing with each syllable spoken. ‘ that’s a pretty pussy move, brooks. ’
