Something pure and out of my hands.
Written for the prompt "lose yourself in a moment".
The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for December 17, 2009.
In the split second before your lips meet his, you realize that he has closed his eyes somewhere between you not talking anymore and you leaning in, that he's just stopped, held still like the world's decided to hold still and he's got no other choice but to bend to its wishes, breathless until you finally push a little more and share some of your air with him. You taste sun and salt and a bit of sand for just one moment, and it isn't enough, so you kiss him again, touch your tongue to his, carve out the curve of the inside of his cheek.
Pulling back is not so much an exercise of discipline, but more like something born out of that pesky need to breathe again and the selfish need to be the first one to break away and therefore not the one hanging on the moment, the one privileged with the sight of a blushing face and dizzying satisfaction. And he does blush, rather cutely in fact, flushed right over those pouty lips and right between those eyes. They're blue, a shade you could wax poetry on, but you've never been a fan of verse, so you settle down, simply, on the thought that they're rather nice to look at.
He hits you, splutters something with the words "asshole" and "no" in it, and you're laughing, laughing like you haven't laughed since you were human, since you were with someone else who used to look at you the way he does, used to taste different but kiss the same.
Regret, sharp and quick like a knife between your ribs. You ignore it, divert yourself with an arm around his shoulders, a devil maycare smile, and a loud declaration about your craving for some sea salt ice cream.