Disclaimer: Don't own'em.
A/N: A couple of months back, I picked up my much-anticipated copy of SciAm Mind and came across this fascinating article that – even as I was reading it – simply screamed to be taken up, applied to H&M, and disseminated. I didn't have time then to put the idea to paper, but it's been simmering for a long while. I cite the article at the end of the fic (only because doing so now would give away the fun). I've kept the information completely accurate, and it all comes from the same article – sometimes verbatim. None of it is mine. In this fic, I mention the Documentary Channel and have made the contents of the article into a televised documentary. Interviewees in the documentary are actually people cited in the article. As far as I know, though, the DC never aired anything of this sort. I just want to be clear on this so that the author of the article – Chip Walter – gets props for his work, and that the various researchers cited in the article get props for theirs (not to mention that I don't want to get taken to task for breaching any intellectual property rights or plagiarism).
I realize that I may lose quite a few of you on the way, since this is probably an unorthodox endeavour. But please do try and bear with the scientific tech talk if that kind of thing doesn't usually interest you. I think you'll find it fascinating – and you'll be rewarded. However, in the off chance that you don't stick it out, thanks for trying!
Finally, about the timeline. Let's say this happens in season 7, after "Defending his Honour" (where Harriet buys the house without telling Bud about it), but before "In Country". And pretend it makes sense that AJ's birthday is around this time.
--
Fighting Nature
Mac shifted the laundry basket against her hip as she pulled open the stairwell door leading to her floor. She did a quick mental check, and was relieved to find she still had two hours before she had to be at Bud and Harriet's for little AJ's birthday barbeque. AJ's birthday. It seemed like it was only yesterday that she'd stood with Harm on the steps to JAG, watching the ambulance pull out of the parking lot right after his birth. She was having a hard time believing the little tyke was already celebrating another birthday. It made her feel ... old. She sighed heavily as she walked down her hallway. Enough of that. She'd been feeling a little blue since she woke up this morning. Actually, she'd been feeling a little blue since Harriet reminded her about the party last week. She couldn't help but think her life hadn't really moved in much of anywhere the past … well, too long.
But enough. Two hours gave her the time to finish her laundry – she had another load in the dryer – and make a stop at the bakery on her way to the party, to pick up the birthday cake Bud and Harriet had ordered.
She made her way towards her apartment, and just when Mac reached her front door, she heard the stairwell door open. She looked back and was surprised to see Harm emerge. He smiled widely at her in greeting.
"Hey there, Mac. Need a hand?" He asked approaching her in a few long strides. Without waiting for an answer, he took the basket from where she had it balanced between the doorjamb and her hip.
"Thanks." She pulled her keys out of her pocket. Once she'd unlocked her door, she turned and took the basket back from him. "What's up? Don't tell me you can't make it to AJ's birthday party." As far as she remembered, they hadn't made plans to meet before the shindig.
"Of course I can make it." He replied, dismissing her concern. "I wouldn't miss my only godson's birthday, Mac. I just thought we could, you know, carpool." He was having a hard time looking at her as he said this.
She studied him carefully, wondering if something had happened that he wasn't telling her about. It was unlike him to just show up at her place without some ulterior motive. And he didn't fumble when he spoke unless something was bugging him.
"What?" He caught her staring.
"Nothing." She entered her apartment and placed her laundry basket on the floor next to the couch, then took a seat. Maybe she was just projecting her odd mood onto him. "I have to pick up the cake on the way to the party."
"Sure thing." He flopped down on the couch beside her and picked up the remote control. "Chocolate cake?"
Mac shrugged as she reached for a camisole in the laundry basket.
"Don't know." She began folding the top. "Harriet ordered it. She just asked me to pick it up. The baker couldn't have it ready before today, and she and Bud are way too busy preparing their home for an invasion of three year-olds to spare the time for a cake run."
She glanced at him, and it was her turn to catch him staring at her.
"What is it?" Now she was sure something was up.
"No," He shook his head and looked down at the remote control he was holding. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"Is something the matter, Harm?" She stopped folding and gave him her full attention. He was acting odd.
"No. Really." He shook his head again. "I was just getting a bit bored at my place, so I thought I'd see what you were up to. Boredom loves company." He grinned – she recognized it as the one he used when he was in a good mood. "Everything's great, Mac." He turned on the television and reached for the TV guide that was lying on her coffee table. His grinned widened as he settled in to watch the screen. "I promise."
She shook her head and laughed. So that was why he came, she should've known. "It's misery that loves company. And you can pack away the charm, Rabb." She teased. "I know you're only here for my television."
"Cable, Mac. I'm only here for your cable." He winked at her, and then turned his attention to flipping through the channels.
Mac grinned as she stood up and headed towards the door. Maybe charm was just a congenital thing with him – she doubted he could help himself.
"I'll be right back. I just have to go to the basement and get the last load of laundry from the dryer." She informed him. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she opened her front door. "I'm leaving the door unlocked."
He only nodded, his eyes busy scanning the TV guide. "Sure." He answered absently.
She shut the door behind her, wondering not for the first time why he didn't just get his own television. That way he'd spend a lot less time being bored at his place, and fewer weekends coming to hers just to channel surf. This was the third – or maybe fourth, she couldn't be sure – time he'd come to her place just to watch TV in the past two months.
To be honest, she was getting a bit bored of all the documentaries and movies he watched that had to do with planes or ships. Let alone his obsession with cooking shows. She was also getting frustrated by the running commentaries he took it upon himself to offer during shows. She'd spent the better part of one Saturday morning forced to watch an infomercial on the George Foreman Grill while he went on about how it would just be healthier to cut meat out of the equation altogether. She'd dragged him to Beltway Burger and forced him to buy her a Double Patty Baconator after that painful session.
In hindsight, maybe it had been worth it. That was one damn good burger.
--
Nine minutes later, and with an armload of clean clothes, Mac re-entered her apartment.
"I'm back." She announced grandly.
"Hm." He replied, staring at the TV screen, obviously too distracted to spare her any attention.
She glanced at the TV only to see a commercial for Chop Shop. She rolled her eyes. Right. She'd forgotten about his obsession with shows about building stuff and fiddling around with cars. She'd tried to get him to watch an episode of Pimp my Ride, but he'd been nothing short of uncooperative. It was Discovery Channel or bust, as far as he was concerned. He could be such an elitist.
Mac sat down next to him and dumped the fresh laundry into the basket, and then began sorting the clothes.
"What're you watching?" She asked. Please don't say documentary on the history of flight, she prayed silently.
"Commercial." Was his monosyllabic reply.
She stared at him, wondering if he was purposefully teasing her. She didn't think he was. He still hadn't lost that inexplicable enthrallment that came with the initial discovery of the marvels of television. Even infomercials and commercials fascinated him.
"I meant what show are you watching." She clarified.
"Documentary on the history of flight." He glanced at her with a childlike excitement. She sighed, mentally preparing herself for an hour of boredom.
"I'm telling you, Mac," He continued blithely, "The Discovery Channel has to be the greatest thing ever invented since, since…"
He was apparently having a hard time finding something phenomenal enough to compare the Discovery Channel to. She decided to help him out.
"Tofu?"
"Cute, Marine." He didn't look especially impressed, but she didn't miss the smile he was trying not to give in to.
"I thought so, too." For her part, she was rather pleased with the analogy.
She wondered if she could finish folding all the laundry before the commercial break ended. Then she could be spared herself the misery of watching yet another show on planes.
Maybe she should just cut her cable and give him her damn television.
"In the 1960s, British zoologist and author Desmond Morris first proposed that kissing might have evolved from the practice in which primate mothers chewed food for their young and then fed them mouth-to-mouth, lips puckered." A voice on the television proclaimed.
Mac's eyes shot to the screen, where a narrator voiced over an image of primate mothers feeding their children.
"Chimpanzees feed in this manner, so our hominid ancestors probably did too." The narrator continued in his deep timber. "The human species might eventually have taken these proto-parental kisses down other roads until we came up with the more passionate varieties we have today."
Mac glanced at Harm dubiously.
"I thought you said this was about the history of flight."
"That's what the TV guide says." He replied, eyes glued in rapt attention to the screen where a mother chimpanzee was feeding her kid, lip to lip.
She reluctantly turned her attention back to the screen.
"Silent chemical messengers called pheromones could have sped the evolution of the intimate kiss. Many animals and plants use pheromones to communicate with other members of the same species. Whether humans sense pheromones is controversial. Unlike rats and pigs, people are not known to have a specialized pheromone detector between their nose and mouth. Nevertheless, biologist Sarah Woodley of Duquesne University suggests that we might be able to sense pheromones with our nose."
The screen cut to the image of a Sarah Woodley, seated in a lab.
"Chemical communication," the woman began, "could explain such curious findings as the attraction of women to the scents of t-shirts worn by men whose immune systems are genetically compatible with theirs."
That had to be one of the oddest things Mac had ever heard. She mulled it over ... Well, at least she now knew that hers and Harm's immune systems were compatible. Whatever that meant … What did that mean? That they weren't poisonous to the other? Or they weren't allergic to each other? Mac almost laughed at the thought. Woodley's next words, though, directed her focus back to the screen.
"Human pheromones could include androstenol, a chemical component of male sweat that may boost sexual arousal in women, and female vaginal hormones called copulins that some researchers have found raise testosterone levels and increase sexual appetite in men."
Mac tried her best not to shift in discomfort. For reasons she didn't quite want to get into, sharing a couch with Harm while listening to talk of hormones, sexual arousal and appetites was … disconcerting.
She also tried very hard not to look at him, even though she knew that was just silly. They were adults. Mac purposefully dug into the laundry basket and pulled out something to fold. Harm's silence was the noisiest thing in the room. And the fact that he wasn't changing the channel was the most distracting.
"Kissing unleashes a cocktail of chemicals that govern human stress, motivation, social bonding and sexual stimulation." The narrator continued, oblivious to his audience's distress. Well, that of one member of his audience.
"In a new study, psychologist Wendy L. Hill and her student Carey A. Wilson of Lafayette College compared the levels of two key hormones in 15 college male-female couples before and after they kissed and before and after they talked to each other while holding hands. Hill and Wilson predicted that kissing would boost levels of oxytocin, a hormone which influences social recognition, male and female orgasm, and childbirth."
Mac couldn't help but sneak a peek at Harm. She never would've thought he'd find this kind of documentary worth watching. To her surprise, his eyes were glued to the screen, his face wearing an expression of extreme concentration and interest.
She turned her attention back to Wendy L. Hill, who was discussing the findings of their study.
"We were surprised to find that oxytocin levels rose only in males, whereas it decreased in females, after either kissing or talking while holding hands. We concluded that females must require more than a kiss to feel emotionally connected or sexually excited during physical contact. Females might, for example, need a more romantic atmosphere than the experimental setting provided."
How intriguing. She clearly remembered her first kiss with Mic. It had been an incredibly romantic setting, intoxicating even. Under the Southern Cross, the sound of water rippling, the smell of sand, the warm breeze in her hair. She could admit that she had enjoyed sharing kisses with him. She could feel the very heart of him whenever he'd touched his lips to hers.
She could equally remember her first kiss with Harm … Mac bit back a sigh. She didn't particularly want to think about that.
"To the extent that kissing is linked to love, the act may similarly boost brain chemicals associated with pleasure, euphoria and a motivation to connect with a certain someone. This brain activity occurs in the two brain regions that govern pleasure, motivation and reward. Addictive drugs such as cocaine similarly stimulate these areas of the brain, through the release of neurotransmitter dopamine." The narrator paused dramatically. "Love, it seems, is a kind of drug for us humans."
She could attest to the fact that there were definite and painful withdrawal symptoms involved with love. Was there a twelve-step program in place? Doubtful. She would've definitely signed up for those.
"Kissing has other primal effects on us as well. Visceral marching orders boost pulse and blood pressure. The pupils dilate, breathing deepens and rational thought retreats, as desire suppresses both prudence and self-consciousness. For their part, the participants are probably too enthralled to care."
And she would definitely second that conclusion, too, based on personal experience. Namely at her engagement party. She was still more than a little ashamed for just offering herself so readily when she was supposed to be celebrating her impending nuptials to another man.
But that had been some kiss.
She didn't think anyone had ever kissed her like that. And she knew for a fact that she had never kissed anyone like that. It still cut her, though, that nothing had come of it. Sometimes she thought they were moving towards something. At snail's pace, but still. Other times, she just thought she was fooling herself and spending a lot of time waiting for something that would never happen. Maybe that accounted for her strange mood today? After all, AJ's birthday could only bring up certain memories … Mac forced herself to resume folding the shirt she'd grabbed earlier, just to keep from throwing herself a pity party.
"Although a kiss may not be wise, it can be pivotal to a relationship. A recent survey found that 59 percent of 58 men and 66 percent of 122 women admitted there had been times when they were attracted to someone only to find that their interest evaporated after their first kiss. Evolutionary psychologist Gordon G. Gallup explains."
The screen cut to Gallup, seated in an office against a backdrop of shelves stacked with books.
"The 'bad kisses'," Gallup began, "Had no particular flaws; they simply did not feel right – and they ended the romantic relationship then and there – a kiss of death for that coupling."
Well. That was thought-provoking. Mac tried to recall if that had ever happened to her … It also made her wonder what would've happened if the Admiral had followed through on that almost-kiss of years ago. She'd been too taken aback by the attempt to do much of anything except stand frozen in place. Though, she couldn't deny, it had been tempting. Or rather, she had been in a pretty bad place at the time, and the comfort he'd seemed to be offering…
Mac shook her head at her own thoughts. She was pretty sure the Admiral's pheromones didn't boost her … hormones. She also thought it would save a lot of people a lot of grief if someone just came up with a more precise formula of some kind to measure romantic compatibility. Her thoughts again drifted to Harm, who was still watching the screen attentively. It would also deny a lot of people a lot of pleasure – half the fun was discovery, right? Sure, she told herself. Convince yourself of that.
"The reason the kiss carries such weight," Gallup theorized, "is that it conveys subconscious information about genetic compatibility. From a Darwinian perspective, sexual selection is the key to passing on your genes. For us humans, mate choice often involves falling in love."
The screen cut to a woman, identified as anthropologist Helen Fisher of Rutgers University. "This attractive mechanism in humans evolved to enable individuals to focus their mating energy on specific others, thereby conserving energy and facilitating mate choice – a primary aspect of reproduction."
Mac decided that she liked this clinically analytical approach. It made the everyday drama of her life seem a little less … dramatic. Although, it apparently meant that she was wasting a lot of mating energy. She wondered what that translated into. That she was bad at sexual selection?
That she wasn't doing her part as a human being? Did that mean she sucked at life? At being human? What a terribly horrible notion. On second thought, maybe she didn't like this clinically analytical approach to love all that much.
Gallup was back on the screen, talking about kissing.
"Our findings indicate that for most men, a deep kiss is largely a way of advancing to the next level sexually."
Mac's eyes whipped to Harm. He was staring at the television, but the tips of his ears were conspicuously red. They'd shared one deep kiss. At her engagement party. She wondered how accurate Gallup's findings were. Pretty inaccurate, she thought, if Harm's follow-through was anything to measure the findings against.
"But, in a deep kiss," Gallup continued, "Women generally look to take the relationship to the next stage emotionally, assessing not simply whether the other person would make a first-rate source of DNA but also whether he would be a good long-term partner. Females use kissing to provide information about the level of commitment if they happen to be in a continuing relationship."
It was Mac's turn to blush and stare intently at the screen. She could feel Harm eyeing her from his seat. She tried to stop thinking about that kiss on the Admiral's deck.
She forced herself to listen to the narrator as he continued.
"Because women need to invest more energy in producing children and have a shorter biological window in which to reproduce, they need to be pickier about whom they choose for a partner – and they cannot afford to get it wrong. So, at least for women, a passionate kiss may help them choose a mate who is not only good at fathering children but also committed enough to stick around and raise them."
Mac had to put in a conscious effort to keep from snorting at that gem. What a crock of … If that were true, she was the worst reader of kisses iever/i. Well, maybe not iever/i ever. She was pretty sure that kiss on the dock in Norfolk with Harm was special, but he'd been kissing his lost love. She sighed. If wishes were horses…
And what about Mic? She'd been ready to pledge herself for life to Mic, had been convinced he'd stick it out with her – she really had enjoyed kissing him, among other things. But he'd shocked the hell out of her by leaving. She decided Gallup was full of shit.
Her thoughts once again drifted to kissing Harm at her engagement party. That occurrence itself shot the stupid documentary's theory right out of the water. Even if that had been one of the most spectacular kisses she'd ever been a party to, they hadn't progressed much from that point. Life partner. Whatever.
She realized that she was twisting the t-shirt in her hands into knots rather than folding it. Mac forced herself to relax and hazarded a glance at Harm. He was focused on the documentary. She could admit that her … 'friendship' with him was the longest relationship she'd sustained with any man – heck anyione/i – other than her uncle over the course of her thirty-something years.
Okay, she thought grudgingly, so maybe Gallup wasn't that far off the mark. His theory probably just didn't account for the fact that she and Harm were both a little emotionally … reticent. Bordering on retarded.
She turned her attention back to her television screen.
"That said," The narrator resumed his script, "Kissing is probably not strictly necessary from an evolutionary point of view. Most other animals do not neck and still manage to produce plenty of offspring. In fact, up to 10 percent of humanity does not touch lips, according to human ethology pioneer Irenäus Eibl-Eibesfeldt. Findings suggest that some 650 million members of the human species have not mastered the art of kissing."
That thought was oddly comforting. If 650 million human hadn't figured out how to kiss, then shse'd bet good money that a whole bunch more hadn't figured out mate selection, however they went about it. Or so she hoped. She didn't really want to be the only member of the club. Or even a member of the club. Mac frowned at her own attitude, and decided she'd be better off paying attention to the documentary, rather than bemoaning the lack of kissing in her life these days. Maybe she'd catch some tips if she paid close enough attention.
"For those cultures that do kiss, however, osculation – the scientific term for kissing – conveys additional hidden messages. Psychologist Onur Gütürkün fond that people tilt their heads to the right twice as often as to the left before their lips touched. Nature may influence our tendency to tilt to the right. Studies show that as many as 80 percent of mothers, whether right-handed or left-handed, cradle their infants on their left side. Infants cradled, face up, on the left must turn to the right to nurse or nuzzle. As a result, most of us have learned to associate warmth and security with turning to the right. Some scientists have proposed that those who tilt their heads to the left when they kiss may be showing less warmth and love than those who tilt to the right. Other scientists hypothesize that right-kissing results from a motor preference related to the lateralization of brain functions that develops at the end of gestation and in infancy, rather than an emotional preference."
What a curious thought. Before Mac could pick it up, however, the narrator proceeded to conclude the show.
"Despite all these observations, a kiss continues to resist complete dissection. Romance, it seems, gives up its mysteries grudgingly. And in some ways, we like it like that."
The screen cut rather anti-climactically to the closing credits, and Mac took what seemed like her first breath is a very long time. She turned to look at Harm, and was caught off guard to find him staring at her. He was watching her with the same look of intense concentration and interest that he'd leveled at the television screen just moments ago.
"Well," She began, knowing even as she spoke that whatever she was about to say would be the product of nerves. But for the life of her, she couldn't stop herself.
"It's an emotional preference, I would think, rather than a motor one." Mac knew that she continually surprised herself with her clumsy attempts to cover her nerves. And this here was no exception.
"What?" Harm frowned, his expression turning to one of confusion.
"Tilting right," Mac clarified. She tried to stop herself from rambling, but it was a lost cause. "Well, I'd guess mothers would hold their kids on the left because that's where the heart is. The sound of a heartbeat is supposed to be, uh, soothing. I think. So, that would make sense …" She trailed off helplessly.
He nodded thoughtfully in response. "Yeah. Stands to reason." He was now back to studying her intently. "Do you associate tilting your head to the right with good things?"
She eyed him, considering his question, relieved – not that she would admit it – that he wasn't teasing her about her inexplicable nervousness.
Did she associate good things with tilting her head to the right? She watched him, thinking about it. Her eyes roamed the familiarity of his features as she mulled over her answer. It was then she realized that she was tilting her head to the right as she looked at him. She broke into a grin, and straightened herself. He grinned as well when he realized what she'd unconsciously done.
"Now every time I do it I'll be looking for some deeper meaning." She told him, only half kidding.
He smiled warmly at her. Slowly, his head tilted to the right as he held her gaze. He stopped himself abruptly, suddenly realizing what he was doing.
"Oops." He gave her a sheepish look.
They both laughed, but she couldn't help her thoughts from drifting back to the content of the documentary.
"Makes you think." She finally said, leaning back heavily into the couch cushions.
"Of what?" He turned to face her, still smiling over their right-tilting head movements.
"We build all these … structures," She waved her hand in the empty space in front of her to illustrate her point, "All these rules and regulations and boundaries that don't exist," She made air quotation marks with her fingers, "In 'nature'. Yet we invest them with all this authority, make them real, act a certain way based on them … and in the end, it's all about finding a mate and continuing the species."
She was a bit surprised at her morose conclusion. She was having a terrible case of the blues. AJ's birthday really was another depressing reminder of how life was passing her by, and she was only getting older. What had the documentary said? Her biological window was closing. Rapidly.
"It's not all about that." He replied gently.
"No, not anymore, I guess. We've built enough structures to obviate that imperative." She sighed, and was surprised to hear Harm laugh. She looked at him in question.
"I know you're getting philosophical when the LSAT words come out." He waved a finger at her in amusement.
She arched an eyebrow at him, but couldn't help the smile his teasing brought out. He was right. She was being silly, reading too much into a television show. She was seriously going to have to consider cutting her cable and gifting Harm with her television. It might just be for the best.
"I'll just finish up," She sat up straight and reached into her laundry basket. "Then we can head out.
She resumed folding the laundry in the basket. He picked out t-shirt, and started helping her fold.
"You know," He began slowly, after a few minutes of silent work. "Maybe you're on to something."
"What do you mean?" She asked, intent on her task of folding. By her count, they now had one hour and 15 minutes before AJ's party began. She still had to get dressed. It'd take 40 minutes to get from her place to the baker's, and then to Bud's house. Which meant they had to leave soon.
"Maybe we are fighting nature." The tone of his voice brought her attention back to him. He sounded nervous, of all things.
She paused in her folding to consider his words. She wasn't quite sure if he wanted to discuss what they'd just watched, or if he was cryptically trying to hint at something. She decided to take him at face value.
"Or evolving." She answered, after giving it some thought. She watched as he finished folding one shirt and picked up another. "If everyone reproduced the world would be overpopulated." She brightened at her own words. That was a great answer! Maybe she wasn't bad at life. Maybe she was doing her bit to ensure the propagation of the species by not reproducing.
"We'd all die from scarcity, not enough resources." She warmed to her topic as she considered what Gallup would say to that. "As it is, we're pushing our luck in some parts of the world, in some resource areas. Unless we can follow through on our plans to colonize the moon. Or even Mars. There may be water there, beneath the surface. You think there'd be oil too? If there was life at some point, all of which is now extinct then it stands to reason that …" She trailed off when she realized that he was staring at her askance.
"What?" She asked defensively.
"Nothing, Ms Gloom and Doom." He seemed a little exasperated and highly amused.
She laughed apologetically, and shrugged. He could be a bit more specific with his questions, she thought, instead of looking at her like she was the one who wasn't making sense.
"You were saying." She said graciously, instead of voicing her thought out loud.
"Kissing." He elaborated. "It serves a purpose: ensures the survival of our species."
"90 percent of our species." She corrected, and began sorting through the socks in the laundry basket, locating pairs. They were fast running out of time before they'd officially be late.
"90 percent of our species," He acknowledged. He picked up the last t-shirt and started folding it. "By helping us pick out our life mate. I mean, you can't fight centuries, millennia even of evolution."
"But we sure do try." She commented, frowning at the two leftover socks in the basket, one black and one white. Typical. She shook her head. Another one of life's mysteries: socks and romance.
Mac's thoughts came to a screeching halt when she felt Harm's fingers caresses her cheek. She turned her head slightly. Her eyes searched his. He was watching her with an expression she rarely saw. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted that his head was angled head to the right.
"Are you?" He asked, so softly she had to strain to hear the words.
"What?" Her tone matched his. She couldn't look away from the intensity on his face.
"Fighting it?" His thumb traced her lower lip.
She tilted her head slightly to the right, only noticing that she'd done it when his lip curled into a half smile in recognition of the gesture. She could see mischief in his eyes, and knew he was going to tease her.
"Do you need a more romantic setting?"
"What?" She was having difficulty finding her footing. This seemed so … odd. On a Saturday, over a basket of folded laundry with the Discovery Channel serving as background music.
"I don't want to hurt my chances. Studies show women may need more than just a kiss." He raised one eyebrow in an attempt to look serious.
She couldn't help but tease him back. "Maybe if I smelled your t-shirt."
He broke into full-blown grin, a playful twinkle in his eye. "You asking me to go topless?"
She laughed. "Consider it a request."
He joined in her laughter for a moment, but humour was quickly replaced by the same compelling intensity. She could not look away.
They both leaned forward, towards each other. He lowered his head and gently rubbed his left cheek against hers. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the sensations his touch was evoking. He trailed his lips along her cheekbone, and she focused on the way his slightly coarse skin felt against her face, and the familiarity of his scent … He kissed her then, with an aching tenderness, with a sweet longing that she could feel right to the soul of her heart. It was a kiss that reminded her of the one they'd shared on a dock, and another that they'd shared under mistletoe. She could've sworn that she could hear water lapping against a pier, could smell the sharp pine and warm spice of the Robert's home during the holidays. And yet this kiss was like nothing she'd ever felt, tasted, experienced before.
She didn't want it to end, ever.
The warmth of his lips faded and she had to force herself to open her eyes. When she finally did, she found him watching her carefully, trying to read her response. The hope in his eyes made her feel secure and so impossibly happy, she could only marvel at how it was possible for one person to carry so much emotion.
She bit her lower lip, trying to contain the smile that was threatening to burst.
His entire brightened and she guessed that he must have liked what he was seeing in her reaction. He raised an eyebrow in that gesture of self-assured arrogance she knew so well.
"What's the verdict?"
"Well," She pretended to mull it over, "Technically this isn't our first kiss."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I've been fighting nature since the dock at Norfolk."
She would have sworn at that moment that shock had a physical weight, that it was a tangible force. But she thought…
"I guess we both have." She managed to eke out.
"Are you still?" The tentative hope was back in his eyes, barely hidden by his steadily increasing confidence. She loved him in a way she'd never thought herself capable of.
She realized he was waiting for her answer. What was the question? Was she still…
"Fighting?" She whispered, he was so close, his face mere inches from hers.
"Fighting." He nodded, the beginnings of a smile in his eyes. She loved it when he smiled with only his eyes. Sometimes, she could even convince herself that he did that only with her.
She shook her head once, slowly, from right to left, her eyes not leaving his.
"Me neither." His voice was only a whisper. She could feel his words on her lips, and found herself craving another kiss, the feel of his lips against hers. Sharing the same breath.
He leaned in for another kiss, but even as she craved his touch, she couldn't help herself.
"Are you going to grant me my request?" She teased, watching him for a reaction.
He stilled in his movements. His eyes flicked up to hers.
"I thought it was men who used a deep kiss to advance to the next stage, sexually. Studies say most women don't do that." He sounded incredibly cocky. She hadn't intended to stroke his ego.
"I'm not most women." She traced his ear with her finger, and watched in fascination as his eyes drifted shut.
"My request, Harm." She whispered, reveling in what her touch was doing to him.
"Request?" He repeated distracted. She watched his eyes open, and then darken as they focused on her lips. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate.
She tugged the hem of his t-shirt. "Request."
He broke into an all out grin at that, his eyes meeting hers. "Only if I can make the same one."
She laughed, and his expression turned intent as he watched her. She had to remind herself to … he lifted his hand and ran his fingers along her face, his expression mesmerizing ... breathe. Remind herself to breathe. She watched him as he watched his fingers trace her lips.
"You can have an open invitation if ..." She trailed off as he kissed her neck once, and then again. God, that felt good. She'd been saying something. "… If you want one…"
"Please." He whispered into her neck. "Thank you." He mumbled against her lips, and then kissed her again.
When the kiss deepened, it was as though time itself froze and this one moment was forever captured. In its intensity and in its tenderness. It was a kiss that bound them to each other, she knew, more than any words could. They would both carry this … ithis/i … with them for the rest of their lives.
He angled his head slightly, increasing their contact. She couldn't help but moan her satisfaction, her train of thought lost. She leaned into him, savouring him, trying to reach deeper, seek out more and offer more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he voiced his pleasure at the gesture in a low groan. He wrapped one of his arms around her waist, and ran his other hand through her hair.
They couldn't get close enough, but she was ready to try. She shifted, bringing one leg over his to straddle him. He trailed his hand down from her waist to her hip, pulling her closer still. She was falling deeper and deeper into his touch, getting lost in the sensations they were creating. But before she gave up on all pretense of reason, she allowed herself a fleeting thought: if it was all in a kiss, then he was definitely a keeper.
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end
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Did you make it to the end?
Here's the citation, as promised.
Walter, Chip. "Affair of the Lips" in Scientific American Mind. 19 (1): 24-29.