Layers
Trying to preserve the comfort of the dark, I decided to switch on the table lamp as he, still doubtful of my intentions, made an effort to accommodate his umbrella. In the dim light I gave him a mischievous smirk before I took off my coat and demonstratively threw it over the couch. Oswald took the hint. Tentatively he walked farther into the room while I proceeded to arrange for suitable music. Satisfied, I turned to face him again. My heart dropped. He smiled politely, as he usually did, and yet I was convinced I saw a tang of concern. Had he guessed what I was up to?
"I thought we should have at least one dance," I forced myself to say. None of us had brought it up earlier, but I had grown bold over the course of the night and now I wanted more. More of him. I wanted to feel him.
"This is not something I'm proficient in, I'm afraid." The leg.
"Neither am I," I admitted, "but now that no one will see us..." I trailed off. Oswald still did not look confident as I stepped up to him. The instant our eyes met a rush of adrenaline kicked in. I hesitated. A moment passed as I mustered all my courage. The cold of the Gotham winter surrounded him. The scent of snow. His chest slightly moved underneath the tight-fitting waistcoat. I wished I could embrace him as tightly.
Closing the remaining gap between us, I cautiously wrapped my arms around his neck and, sensing no resistance, laid my head on his shoulder. The soft touch of his cold fingers on my bare back made me flinch. However, he left his hand in place, and so I made an attempt at moving to the music.
We were midway into the song when it hit me. "I love your white skin, your touch, cold as ice," the speakers revealed. I felt myself blush. I hadn't thought about the lyrics when I picked the song. Was Oz paying attention? If he drew any conclusions he didn't let it show. I tried my best to play it cool, as well.
Once the music died away we halted. I started to back off, but Oswald did not make a move, holding on to me. How unexpected.
I resumed my previous position. My cheek brushed his face and I let my head rest touching his. Leaving his right hand on my waist, Oswald moved the other one further upwards. Below the halter-neck strap of my dress his fingers found my spine. One by one he traced down the bones. Involuntarily I held him tighter, bringing our hips into contact.
I did not want to let go when his fingers approached cloth again. I wanted to raise my hand to his head, feel his hair, ruffle it. I smiled at the idea and turned my head to face his neck. Only a few layers of clothing separated my lips from his skin. Only an inch's movement to reach above his collar. I wondered what his skin tasted like.
But I let go. Oz let go.
I couldn't look at him. Was I still flushed? Had he noticed my breathing had turned heavier?
"Was this why you asked me to come inside?"
"Yeah."
I tried to make out the expression on his face. The smile was missing.
Taking his time, he picked up his coat.
I had angered him. I had wasted his time. I had gone too far. I shouldn't have pressed. He had hated it.
"Well then, thank you again for accompanying me! I owe you!"
He had put his smile back on.
"No, it was... a pleasure."
"No, really," suddenly he took my hand with both of his, "I insist."
I studied Oswald's sleek fingers that firmly clasped around my hand.
"Okay."
"Okay," he repeated, presenting a pleased smile.
