2Author's Note: Something I wrote in about twenty minutes, under the duress of inspiration. Un-betad, probably more awful than I already think it is, but something I needed to just get out. Hope you enjoy.
Rush
by Roxie H.
"Would it be entirely inappropriate to just rip off all your clothes and fuck you against the wall?"
The words, breathless, are mumbled over the silk of your skin and your entire body trembles with need. He doesn't swear very often, this might be only the third or fourth time you've ever heard him say that word, and that fact alone thrills you with excitement. He's being daring – he's pushing his limits. And the way his lips caress those letters makes you long for the burning truth behind them. Hands ghosting, fabric rustling, mouth teasing; it's all you can do to remember your own name – and he's barely even touched you.
Well – that's not entirely true. The marks at your neck more that whisper his earlier advances on you, furious bruises telling you just how much he's missed you. And boy, has he missed you. His need for you rages viciously through your own veins, eliciting noises you didn't even know you could make for him. This was definitely not what you expected. Some hidden gazes, maybe a tentative hand-hold; not wrestling for kisses as you try not to lose yourself in the moment.
He's never described himself as very passionate; neither have you. But the way he's kissing you at the base of your neck, the way his fingers tremble lazily over your stomach, under your shirt, like he's trying to pour everything of himself into you... Oh, he's passionate all right.
You break away from the skin you've been focusing on to return a shaky, "That would hardly be very dignified for a first time, would it?"
His smiling gaze catches you and send thrills in every direction. "Maybe not for you."
He's kissing you again before you can reply and all too soon you're caught up in the rush of his mouth on yours, fuelling fire right down your core. He told you he'd promised himself he would only kiss you once this evening – but that promise broke when he saw you. He said it himself: you have a month of catching up to do.
You honestly didn't know what to expect when you saw him round the corner of your street earlier that evening, flustered with the wind kicking up his hair. It had grown since you last saw it.
At first you wondered if he was in a bad mood, his replies gruff and a little sarcastic. But he relaxed into himself soon enough and by the time you made it to the cinema you found yourself wondering if this was another 'date'; your suspicions were confirmed when he wouldn't let you pay for your ticket.
The film was haunting, breath-taking, but not as much as the silhouette you kept stealing glimpses of from the corner of your eye. You always did love his profile, the way his aura could just command your total attention. You sat through the credits at the end, each of you unable to move, spell-bound by what you had just witnessed together. You might have mumbled a nonsense phrase and he might have mumbled one back, but … it was the look that did it.
You'd forgotten about those looks – those looks that could stop time. Those looks that terrified you at first, because you always hate to hold eye-contact. Those looks you had to learn to trust and believe in, those looks that lasted decades in the space of a second. His eyes could swallow you whole. You'd never understood that expression before, always thought it was some horrible cliché from those horrible romance novels you like to indulge in – but it's not just the look you share, that says more than words ever could. It's the way he smiles gently as he does it, it's the softness in his gaze and the warmth emanating from him. That looks says, 'I could look at you like this all day, forever', and you believe it.
You had forgotten about those looks. Until this evening, when you shared one, and you realised in that moment that everything was going to be all right.
He came back to your house for tea. You'd remembered he preferred honey to sugar, you'd bought some the day before (his habits had finished up the jar you previously owned). You let slip that you bought it to replace the other one, and he calls you sweet. You had to tidy up the kitchen a little in your nervous haste as the kettle boiled, and he just stood there leaning against the counter, becoming part of the background and watching you like he never wanted to do anything else.
You tried to ignore him – things might be okay, but you didn't know what 'this' was. You leant across to the tap, splashing cooling water over your unsteady hands. In the smallest of movements, he dropped a kiss to the top of your head, and the smile you couldn't help threatened to break again.
Flash forward to your bedroom floor, cross-legged, exchanging anecdotes and trying not to notice the other person playing with your fingers while you talk. He shifted, knees touching yours. Leaning forward. Palm at your cheek, strengthening. "I missed you. I really missed you." A kiss that sealed the deal.
You didn't know how much he had missed you. He had told you, in the beginning at least, but the way things have progressed this evening you wonder how you could have ever doubted him, doubted the sheer magnetism that's been pulling you both together since the day you met.
The evening feels special. You don't really know why; despite proclamations, you know you aren't going to end up sleeping together (although maybe if he continues doing that you just might...). You know you have to stop it before it gets too far, and you know he'll thank you for it once you have.
He loves the way your breath shakes as he lands a teasing kiss to your lips. You love the way he shakes as you roll him away from you, force him to lie, still, beside you as you try to compose yourself. At first he's cheeky, he ignores your attempts to make it all stop, qualifying it with a, "You know, I think I'm going to choose not to listen to you," and kissing you in that perfect place again and again. Normally you would find that too much, too forceful, like he isn't respecting you wishes – but he is. You trust him and he trusts you. He knows you want this just as much as he does, and he's not afraid of that knowledge. So why should you be?
He's the most passive, gentle, caring person you know. His forcefulness hits you hard because you know it's about you, about what you do to him, not about what he can get from just anywhere. He wants you, and not just because he thinks you're beautiful, or hot, or a lovely person, or a little bit insane. You don't love each other, not yet. Maybe not ever. But you are falling for each other, lazily, slowly, passionately and with everything you have to give each other. It may not last forever. But tonight, in the heat of the moment, you really wish it could.
La Fin.