"Just like Sid and Nancy, I will be bleeding after you." ~The 69 Eyes, Dead'N'Gone

14.

There is little recollection of our conversation prior to our intimate activity, but that does not matter. In our location, sitting on your bedroom floor with homework strewn about and winter seeping through your window, it was perfect; magical, if I may exaggerate.

You sat a foot from me, a recent robot project in hand, your arms waved about, motioning to your robot. My fingers found the loops to your jeans; I urged you closer. I assume you were waiting for me to initiate such action because you immediately took control by putting your hands on my biceps and scooted so daringly close that our hips touched. We sat there with our homework crunched beneath our socks.

"Can we stand?" You asked, you were very sure of yourself.

I nodded, unable to rid the quivering in my throat.

Our abdomens touched. You urged me to keep my fingers laced to your jean loops and wrapped my other arm around you.

You inhaled a shaky breath, your hazel-green eyes flickered between doubt and ache. You seemed to have made a decision; You stood on tiptoes and brushed your fingers at the nape of my neck. Your little plushy kisses tickled my jaw. Lifting my chin, your lips pressed firmly against my throat. God, it felt so eroctic when you stop momentarily for additional kisses on my adam's apple.

Plush, like miniature marshmallows. I thought.

You took a step back to breathe. You seemed satisfied that you had me flustered, but I wanted to melt.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while." You admitted shyly, averting your eyes and nibbling on your lower lip. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Never be sorry."

You didn't let me continue, once more, you took control and rose to your toes. For better leverage, you gripped my shoulders. I felt like I was crash landing as I leaned toward you, one finger loosely holding the jean loop and the other tracing the hem of your collar.

I tilted my head up, startled by the sound of your heater clicking. Your lips pressed firmly against my chin.

"My mistake." I swallowed.

You sniggered at my clumsy apology.

"C'mere." You said, you wrapped one an arm around my neck and placed your lips at the corner of my lips. I felt your lips curled in a half-smile, so plush and warm. Your lips left too soon.

Your head tilted back, centimeters apart. unacceptable.

You gasped, surprised by my sudden action of gripping your chin. My hand trailed from your chin to your throat; Beneath my pinkie, your pulse throbbed beautifully. You wove your fingers through my hair, it tickled but soothed the rush in my abdomen. You left it to my imagination when you kept your lips sealed -I wanted to be sure you'd taste like how your lips felt, sugary. My ears perked at the ambient white noise, like a tape recorder. I needed you closer; Wrapping an arm around your upper back and the other to your lower back, we were not close enough.

We withdrew. You breathed heavily, I did the same. Resting my head on your shoulder, I was failing to gain my composure. My heart throbbed in my throat, adrenaline choking me. I inhaled; Your argyle sweater vest smelled like lemon chicken, courtesy of your mother's cooking, with a hint of your natural scent that I've associated with eucalyptus spearmint. I felt you you shake.

You laughed, your little chuckled breaths tickled my cheek. "You're so gay for me Eddward Rockwell."

"I am happy Kevin." It was so clumsy, so awkward, so perfect. I wanted to lift you up and twirl while singing Tony Bennett. I kissed him. I. Kissed. Kevin. Anderson!