Their second kiss is nothing like their first. It's better, if that's even possible. It's totally, absolutely, completely different from the one they shared three days ago in that dark hallway at CTU.
It's quite the opposite to that one, truth be told: they are not in a rush, she is not crying and coming undone in his arms, his ankle doesn't hurt like hell, her face is not wet with tears streaming down it, work is not the place they are at, a national crisis is not threatening to go off in any minute, the world's well being is not at risk (and if it is, they don't really care at the moment), the events of the last eighteen hours haven't worn them out and although the day that is just ending hasn't been exactly a walk in the park neither has it been made of excessive shares of worries and anguish; they are both tired, yes, but it's a normal feeling of tiredness, not that consuming sensation they experienced the day of the bomb.
It's different, yes. And it's a lot better.
The adrenaline arisen by the circumstances they lived the past couple of days under is finally wearing off, and for the first time ever since the disastrous dealings started to pop out Chappelle and his people released them 'early' and allowed them to go home for the rest of the week and weekend, given that they had both finished debriefing and all bureaucratic bases were fully covered. Besides, they needed a rest before they could come back to work and function at their best.
That evening, when she was walking out the building of CTU, he softly called her name, causing her to turn around in surprise and fix those big, dark, exotic eyes of hers on his, leaving him automatically speechless when she did so, making him forget the words he had mentally rehearsed in his head and forcing him to come up with something improvised instead because hadn't he, he would have looked like an idiot staring at her with his jaw dropped (although she would have found it quite adorable).
"Are you…? Would you…?" Come on, Almeida, what are you? Fifteen and asking a girl out for the first time? That thought crossed his mind and somehow encouraged him to go ahead with what he was trying to say: "I know we said 'dinner and a movie' and I would love us to get together for that as soon as possible" Next Friday, if that's okay with you for a moment he thought he would say, but he pushed those words to the back of his head and focused on the here and now "… But it occurred to me that if you're, you know, free now, we could go grab something to eat on our way home. Some ice cream or a cup of coffee, maybe"
She smiled - finding his so obvious nervousness cute - and said 'yes'. How could she have the heart to say 'no' to such a handsome, drop dead gorgeous man? How could she dare say 'no' to the man that spent the last couple of months driving her crazy out of her skull?
So they spent the following hour and a half at a small shopping arcade that was twenty minutes away from Michelle's home, her eating strawberry ice cream and him drinking hot, black coffee with no sugar. They talked about everything, from what had been going on lately with David Palmer's attempt of assassinate and the consequences of the terrible events related to the bomb and the war the country almost went into (but neither Tony nor Michelle mentioned nothing that didn't have to do with work, keeping themselves from bringing up what had happened between them), to trivial stuff such as their favorite music and movies, different activities they liked doing outside work in order to allow themselves to relax (for her it was yoga, and for him it was cooking or playing baseball on weekends with his nephews) and their families, although when it came to that subject it was Tony who did the talking most of the time since Michelle wanted to avoid at any cost mentioning her brother (same reason why she had answered with a short 'he's at home and okay' when Tony has asked about Danny).
Then, being the perfect gentleman one could always expect him to be, Tony walked her home, both of them sunk in the most comfortable, peaceful silence, just taking in the fact that they had finally broken the ice and got to spent some time together outside the walls of CTU, where they always had to act professional.
And here they are now, standing in the front door of her apartment building, sharing their second kiss. A kiss that is totally different from their first one.
How it all started, it doesn't really matter. He just felt like not being able to help himself for any longer and decided to steal a kiss from her. She stole a kiss from him first, and even since that moment he had wanted to do the exact same thing, so he stopped listening to his head and began listening to his heart, allowing his basic instincts to guide him, just like Michelle's had guided her.
But this time, this time is different.
It's different because she didn't initiate it: it was him who with all the mellowness he could muster lifted her chin with two of his fingers so their eyes were leveled (secretly, unconsciously looking into them for a reason to back off before doing what he wanted to do, and of course finding none), leaned toward her and slowly brought her lips to his, taking her by complete surprise.
It's different because mere seconds later his hands ended up tucked behind her ears, them having found their own way there and holding her head as close as possible to his, his thumbs rubbing each side of the back of neck in a soothing, almost sedating way; their noses are barely half an inch apart one form the other and their brows almost touch, while her own hands have come to burry themselves in his hair and – once the initial surprise past – her fingertips began massaging his scalp, lazily drawing circles on it.
It's different because they are in no hurry, so he can take all the time in the world to gently move his mouth against hers, tug at her lips with tenderness and enjoy the feeling of her smooth, sweet ones nibbling at his own.
In one fluid movement he parts her lips open and asks for her permission to go a little bit further away, and the instant their tongues meet and everything deepens all of a sudden they both forget who they are and they can feel nothing but an overwhelming sensation of joy mixed with pleasure and redress for the time they have wasted dancing around each other during the last year without daring to take the first step.
The encounter of their tongues starts slowly, and past a few seconds it slows even more before it speeds up all of a sudden; the sound of the several 'mmmh' she instinctively moans into his mouth every two seconds send him to the roof, making his desire raise more urgent, making him want to taste and explore all corners of her mouth to no end and die intoxicated by the lingering sweet flavor of the strawberry ice cream she ate and that other newly discovered and powerfully addictive essence that can only be hers.
She, with her brain switched off to any other thing than the pleasant spasms elicited by this man and the way he touches and caresses her neck and mouth with his hands and lips respectively, has been proven now that Heaven does truly exist. And if this is not Heaven, then it's the closest she's ever going to get to it. There is a brief instant after he accelerates the tempo of his stroking during which she remains passively flabbergasted by his craving and yearning and by the passion he is putting into the kiss, but then she manages to pull herself together and catches up with this new swiftness.
The battle their tongues are fighting now is heavy and passionate but the rhythm their following is still sweet and quiet at the beginning, to later progressively develop into a faster, more aggressive one, yet the prime softness is still there someway. Maybe because he could never be anything but gentle when it comes to her, maybe because although they need to feel each other and be felt by the other with all the strength they can possibly gather tenderness can't be left out of the equation when lust and passion come along with love.
They can't get enough, which becomes clearly obvious the moment their pace increases once more, furiously, and the little moans of pleasure that have been escaping their mouths ever since their tongues met grow jerky and elaborated to the point it seems as if they wanted to collapse suffocated in each other's arms; breathing has become a priority necessity long minutes ago, but deprivation of air is a fine price they're willing to pay: they'd rather asphyxiated than pull away.
But eventually oxygen ranks first in the scale of things they can no longer do without and they see themselves obligated to disjoin their mouths that at this point are attached as if they were magnets strongly drawn one to the other by the laws of physic.
They remain quiet for a couple of minutes, his forehead pressed against hers, eyes closed, his hands still tucked behind her ears, his thumbs rubbing the sides of her neck nonstop, her fingertips working their magic on his scalp, their breathing patterns unsteady and their gasps for air filling the intimate atmosphere; both their lips are swollen and reddish from all the tugging and nibbling, feeling all corners of their mouths embedded in the other's taste makes them crave for it even more than before because – as it's said – you can't miss what you've never had.
After what seems like a little, never ending eternity spent still and trying to pull their breathless bodies back together, he opens her eyes and speaks:
"You have no idea how much I enjoyed what has just happened" his voice quivers a little.
"Hopefully as much as I did" comes her reply. And then she opens her eyes as well and locks them up with his. A smile spreads across her face when she sees just how happy and relaxed he looks after having kissed her, as if by sharing that moment of sweet intimacy made all of the stress and anger accumulated during the course of the previous days fade away.
He grins at her and gently moves his right hand from the back of her neck to her cheek, cupping the side of her face with his palm and leaving his thumb to rest in between her lips, parting them open just a little.
When he asks her the following question, his voice is the sexiest one she's ever heard, and at the same time it can be felt and sensed in it a sort of implicit need that undoes and melts her to the very core of her soul
"Is there by any means a little chance that I am going to be kissing these beautiful, incredibly soft lips of yours soon?"
Her answer comes right away in the shape short but passionate pecks, in between which she whispers to him:
"You can kiss me all night if you wanna" then she adds "And even if you don't want to, I'm gonna make you kiss me all night anyway, 'cause I've waited long enough to have you like this and I don't wanna wait anymore" she is half-joking, half-being serious, and that is something too easy to tell.
Before getting completely lost in the depths of her strawberry flavored mouth again he says in a tone that drives her crazy:
"I don't wanna kiss you; I wanna devour your lips. Is that okay with you, sweetheart?"
For all response, she seeks and finds entrance to his mouth and wraps her tongue around his.
And their third kiss begins.