The first kiss, my first kiss to him was tonight. After we arrived back from the country. It was late, he'd ordered everyone to go home. Bar me, telling me to make him coffee. I'd spent ages making it. Petrified about what would happen when we were alone. Finally abandoned in each others company. I don't think he knows, I really don't think he knows he petrifies me.
Because he's a man, and yet I crave every inch of him. I yearn to feel him, taste him. I crave to watch his face as he comes undone. He's a man and I want him, but I'm not, am I?
And because he's him, because I'm not good enough. Because there is no way that my experience can be a match for his.
And because to think of him is like a balm on my heart. When I think of him it stops the pain and emptiness, just for a moment. For one single second of my day he makes me feel that there is more, and that I'm not alone. But then the guilt comes, and the fear that I'm not good enough, that he won't stay.
And because I have never felt like this about anyone. Yes that's it, what scares me the most. The fact I can't forget him, that he's entirely consumed me. The feeling that he's slowly, softly, ripping me from underneath my feet, making me his.
I walked up the metal stairs to his office with trepidation in every step. My heart had already started beating out of control. I gave him the coffee, and he made some lewd joke that I hated him for. Because that's it, with me and him, we're on a tightrope between love and hate, and I'm scared of which way I fall. I would have said something, but he'd taken my speech away, he hadn't even touched me, and he'd taken my speech away. I couldn't tear my eyes away as I watched him drink, his adams apple bopping as he swallowed the liquid. His eyes were on mine as he drew the cup away. He wiped his bottom lip with his tongue, and I knew then that it was happening. That there was no turning back. I watched as he made his way around the desk toward me. It felt like I was watching in slow motion. He opened his mouth, his teeth and tongue moving together forming a word, I think it was my name, I can't be sure, my heart beat dominated me. I felt the presence of his hand on my cheek before he even made contact. It felt like fire, stung my senses. It felt like the only thing I would ever need. His thumb traced over my lips, sensitising me to only him. And then he waited. And I knew he wouldn't go any further, that he was making the next step mine. What he didn't realise was that I was already his. My actions, my being, is dedicated to him. It wasn't a choice, I wasn't asked, it's what he did to me. I can't remember when or how, his clandestine actions always a mystery to me. But he can turn my body into molten lava with just a touch of his finger tips at my elbow, or the rush of breath on my skin as he stands too close to me, yet not close enough. He's turned my dreams into memories of him, my life into his service. It's the only thing that doesn't bring me pain.
I pushed my lips up to his, and tasted perfume, and sugar. Lisa. I shrank back, disgusted with myself. It was the first time since Lisa, and she was punishing me by being present. I felt a burning in the centre of my gut, guilt. He whispered my name, placing his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back through the flames of my nightmare. Rescuing me, like he did before, and will do again. I pressed my lips to his once more keeping my eyes open. I took in every inch of his face, as my lips registered his taste. I adulated the way the moonlight danced over his eyelids, the way his hair looked as soft as his caress. He tasted of cinnamon, coffee and a taste I couldn't quite remember, but now can't forget. His fingers dented into the skin on my shoulder bone. I can still feel the pressure of them, I'm marked as his. I opened my mouth under his, my tongue licking past his lips, past his teeth. He tasted exquisite, like the first sip of coffee on a bitter cold morning. His tongue melded with mine, and I lost. I was lost in an abyss of his sense, the sight, smell, feel, taste of him. His hands slid down my shoulder, grabbing me pulling me towards him. I hesitated, stupidly. I was scared of what I would feel with his groin pushed up against me. I knew I was already more than half hard. I knew he would be able to feel me. I worried about feeling him, and was scared of what he would make of me.
I was stupid, it was the most amazing feeling in the world, his need pressed into mine. My desire sensing his, fuelling his, fuelling mine in return. It was Indescribable. I swallowed his moan as my hands made there tremulous way to his body.
He pushed me away from him then. Suddenly his hands were on my chest, and he was pushing me back, hard. He could barely look at me. His words now add to my pain, my over-whelming feeling of desertion.
"Go home, Ianto".
Maybe he realised I had given him all I had to give and that he wouldn't be satisfied. Maybe it wasn't his moan I had swallowed, but my own. Whatever the reason I am going to make sure that it doesn't happen again. I don't want him, I can't. I'm not gay, so I can't. This is the last time I remember that kiss.