"Soul meets soul on lover's lips."
by Percy Bysshe Shelly
She'd been tentative to bring it up, the thing that had gotten them there, the almost-did-almost-didn't moment that had caught them so off-guard, but lying in bed next to him, drowsy and uninhibited from lovemaking, she let the question slip out amid the safety of his soft embrace. "Why did you kiss me that night?"
A pause as he took in whatever it was he had to take in gave her time to lay her head over his bare chest, the faint thudding of his heart under her ear spelling out assurances that he was really there, really holding her, really tangled between the sheets alongside her. Fingers wove through her hair, caressing. "Have you ever wanted something for so long you forget it's right in front of you?"
It was rhetorical, but she nodded nonetheless.
"I didn't…" He shifted under her, gathering her close, breathing in her sweet scent as she curled around him, "I didn't plan it. I just…" He struggled to vocalize, never one for blunt truths nor confessions nor romantic metaphors and equally conflicted by the words in his mind that didn't translate to plain English. "You're beautiful when you cry."
She looked up, startled by his answer. "What do you mean?"
He didn't quite know himself, halfway between the right and wrong answer. "Vulnerable. And just…I don't know." He swallowed hard. "You never let me in before."
God, if it wasn't the most eloquent jumble of words she'd ever half understood. The words themselves melted away from the meaning like layers of wax, dripping onto her; warm, melty little bits of himself, and she slithered up him to land her lips over his, hands tangling though his hair, suddenly and overwhelmingly desperate. Kissing him was far beyond any pleasure she'd felt from orgasm, any calm she'd felt from a cigarette, any relief she'd felt from a beer, anything. Safe in every possible sense, welcome as though his lips were a door mat for her alone, irresistible more than any temptation she'd encountered and delicious, fantastic, perfect, lush kisses she could fall headfirst over heels into and never recover. He drew her into his body as though he could have all of her if he only asked, and she'd give him just that at the particular moment if he had. Skin on skin as bare and raw as emotions, he brought her under him to look down upon this thing, this woman, this being he'd craved without realizing it for so long. The connect was mutually flawless as though rehearsed and suddenly the concept of making love was clear-cut, creating love out of the ingredients they had, the desire, the understanding, the respect for one another and complete sensation that this was the only moment that mattered, the frustration, the hope, the rush as they moved in syncopated bliss, soft murmurs of his name slipping from her throat, soft admissions in another language he still couldn't translate from his. He kissed her as they came in harmony, soft breaths tickling one another as they crumpled together, proximity to one another ultimate in body and soul as fingers wove together and hearts pounded in unison.