the thumping my chest
you leave these marks up on my neck
and it's still there - i know but i still check.
thump, thump, the thumping in my chest
as i lose the feeling in my fingertips.
— shiver shiver, walk the moon
one.
You kiss Normani when it's two o'clock in the morning, and you're lamenting on how the interviewer today just wouldn't let the topic of first kisses go. Normani shrugs when you start the conversation, but once you reach the point where you start to blame yourself for being a lip-virgin she scoots closer to you and threatens to slap such a stupid thought out of your head.
"Girl, you're gorgeous," she reassures you, with her fingers splayed across your back and dangerously close to toying with your hair, "The only reason you haven't had your first kiss yet is because you're too gorgeous. You just intimidate them boys too much." You giggle, somewhat forced, and it brushes past your lips faintly in the dark.
"Thanks, Manibear." You say this in a mock high-pitched tone, nuzzling her nose into the curve of Normani's neck, absorbing the smell of her and feeling the swell of gratitude in your chest that God has bestowed such a friend upon you.
Normani exhales something that sounds like a laugh, and the silence that then follows seems to be anticipating something, and you've watched enough romantic comedies with Normani to know what ought to come next.
"I wish I could just kind of get it over with?" You say this in the form of a question, and feel the uncomfortable shift of Normani's weight beneath you. "Like, just with someone who I don't like-like, but like love, you know? I don't know." You honestly don't know at this point; you're kind of just spouting things off at random, and where once you knew what you were trying to get at, now you're not so sure.
It's Normani who moves her shoulder out from under you, and you lift your gaze up, heart thudding, as she presses her lips against yours. It's not a romantic kiss, it's quick and gentle, so feather-light that you wonder if she even kissed you at all. You don't even have time to close your eyes for it before she's pulled away, and then, oh, boy, is it awkward.
"There you go." she says, smiling, throwing her hands up in the air like it doesn't even matter. You try not to stumble over the words building in your throat, try not to imagine all the scenarios this little kiss could lead to.
"Okay, then." you say, and as Normani lets you rest your head back in her shoulder, you still hope you don't encounter another interview with a first kiss question because you're not quite sure how to tell this story to them.
two.
You kiss Lauren and it tastes like you shouldn't.
It's after your set in St. Louis or Omaha or somewhere midwestern, when the sweat is making your already too-tight clothes stick to your skin and the crowd's noise still thrumming in your ears, making anything quieter than a scream fuzzy. Lauren's fingers find yours somewhere in the dark, but it's nothing unusual, not even the extra beat in your heart is unexpected. You've grown accustomed to feeling fizzy in your stomach when Lauren touches you, but you think nothing of it, because you think nothing will come of it anyway.
The two of you end up in your dressing room, and for some reason you can't remember because it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things the other three are nowhere to be found. Her leather jacket is thrown to the side, and you admire the soft bend of her shoulders into her arms, admire the paleness of her skin.
"Forget a shower," she says as she pulls her ponytail band out and lets her hair fall down to her waist, "I'm gonna need a mop." You offer up a laugh at the joke, and Lauren turns to give you a little smile.
"That makes two of us." you reply, and it's then you realize you're standing maybe too close to Lauren because when she turns to look at you, you feel the brush of skin against skin and the rush in your veins at the feeling. And then, it's sudden. You can't quite tell if she leans down or if you lean up, or if it's simultaneous; you can't tell if there's a hitch in her breath when it happens or if your synapses are just snapping. The only thing you can tell is that Lauren's lips are cold while yours are warm, and you wouldn't be surprised if you opened your eyes to see steam coming off your mouths. You feel the gentle tug of her fingers in your hair, her hands cupping your cheeks like you're something special. Now this, you think to yourself, this is a kiss.
But when she lets you go, there's something akin to terror in her expression, and her palms are like ice against your face. It feels like a sad cliche when she stutters before leaving you there, not offering an explanation or a goodbye or anything to reassure you this wasn't a mistake. You're left with the taste of her, cold and smoky and regretful, on the back of your tongue, and you hope to yourself this isn't the last time you get to feel her against you.
three.
You kiss Austin, but it's nothing like Lauren. He tastes like a boy smells, and it makes your nose wrinkle but the camera loves the symmetry of the two of you, with his rough hand on the small of your back and tongue pushing too harshly into your mouth, forcing his taste onto your tongue.
He's not a bad guy, which is why you feel guilty, but it's not really your fault if there's nothing there. Management pushes the two of you together, and so does every paparazzo in America, so you let him take you out for ice cream, let him make bad jokes that are worse than yours (a feat you never thought possible), let him put his hands where you learn quickly you don't want them.
The two of you slot together like puzzle pieces should, but his lips are hot and chapped; they burn, scrape yours, and you don't feel safe in his embrace, only trapped.
Lauren doesn't talk to you when he's around. Then again, she doesn't talk to you when he's not either, though at least now that you've both got boyfriends she doesn't feel as much fear at the idea of sitting next to you for an interview. The fans still have their theories, but Lauren seems like she's getting over it.
You kiss Austin and it tastes like everything you've ever expected but never wanted.
four.
Lauren kisses you next and it about throws you off your feet. You stumble when she crashes into you, her fingers dancing along your jawline with hazardous precision. Her teeth knock against yours, sending vibrations through your brain, but when she sucks your bottom lip it feels forgivable. Her hands are everywhere, pulling you in and keeping you close, and yours are free to the air because you don't feel worthy to touch her, don't feel like you deserve to.
She growls with her tongue inside of you, and the brush of her fingertips against your zippers sends a thrill up your spine. Quickly enough, she's got your clothes on the floor and her mouth to your clavicle, decorating you with lovebites that echo a painful pleasure. The two of you end up melting into each other, bodies pressing against the hard mattress of an empty bunk and your nails digging crescent moons into her shoulderblades. She quakes, and you take her mouth into yours before a moan can escape, and you end up swallowing it into your throat. It settles in the pit of your stomach, causing your veins to tremble.
When it's all over, you don't know what to do with yourself. Lauren doesn't seem to know either. So you both get up and put your clothes back on, and the silence seems treacherous but somehow not wholly uncomfortable.
You invite her into your bunk with you, and to your surprise she accepts the invitation. You fall asleep without touching each other, but for some reason you feel closer to her than you ever have before.
five.
Austin kisses you but you kiss Lauren and this is the way it goes. Luis kisses Lauren but she kisses you and you learn that's just how it's going to be.
She's got hickeys on her neck that aren't from your mouth, but you make sure to claim her lips if you can't claim her body. The way her tongue finds yours tells you she's doing the same. Her taste is a razorblade and it cuts you open from the inside out, but the blood tastes sweet instead of metallic.
"You're getting better at this." is what she chuckles into your mouth on what you think is a Tuesday night, or maybe a Wednesday morning. You assume she means the whole kissing thing.
"Practice makes perfect." you joke, and she chuckles again, stopping only to trace her fingertip across your cheekbone, as if connecting the dots. You wait for her to paint by numbers with her mouth.
"You're such a fucking dork." You can practically hear her eye roll, but can hardly make it out in the dark. The only reason you can see her somewhat clearly is because you have memorized what she looks like in the black, hair mussy, body naked, hands welcoming.
"But you like it." you say, dragging out the last two words and pressing your nose against her cheek as she rolls away from you, trying not to laugh and failing.
You're tempted to ask her if like is where it stops, between your vertebrae and her fingers. Is there something more than what's between these sheets and your legs, or have you just always been a big dreamer of small dreams?
The way she touches you with her eyes, and not her body, gives you something that feels like an answer. You threaten to smile, and then you do, and for the first time in awhile you don't want to kiss her because then that means you can't look at her, which is all you really want to do.
six.
The girls make kissy faces at the two of you because somehow they know without ever seeing it. Lauren throws a spork that narrowly misses Dinah's head, and you laugh at the ensuing argument. Lauren's ankle scrapes yours under the table through fabric, and it feels kind of perfect.
Austin still kisses you on management-organized dates, and Miami is for Luis, not you, but it feels okay because the stage is bright and Lauren dances close enough to make her all you can see. And bumpy bus rides, when Lauren asks in a hushed tone after Ally is the last one asleep "What are you waiting for?" makes everything feel like it makes sense, even if it really doesn't.
You kiss Lauren, and it tastes like you shouldn't but feels like you should, so, somehow, it's okay.