A/N: this is my first AD fic. it's just a short and sweet oneshot about George-Michael and Maeby. reviews are apreciated. hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: i do not own AD. if i did, i would choose to move the show to Showtime and live happily ever after.
He was a mess.
His self-esteem was faltering.
His palms were sweating and his tongue felt like sandpaper.
She always managed to do that to him.
As he sat on the sofa pretending to do his work, his focus kept falling to the brunette sitting on the floor in front of him. Her hair was tied up and she was absently thumbing through a fashion magazine her mother had left lying around. There was the faint smell of lavender in the air. Must be her soap he surmised. He drank her presence in. Every second he spent with her felt like an eternity---but in a good way. All he wanted was to surprise her like she surprised him that day on the boat. He wanted to capture her lips in a kiss. He wanted to give her a real kiss---one with no ulterior motives other than a boy and girl satisfying their own desires. No parents to freak out, no house collapsing around them. If only he could.
Guilt.
That's what he felt too. Amongst all the love and desire was an underlying current of guilt. What would his father say? What would her parents? What would the world? He didn't want to upset the balance but every single time he looked in her eyes he felt at peace.
"Fuck the world," he said out loud. He blushed as she turned around to acknowledge his shocking statement, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
"What?"
"Uh, fuck the world?" he stammered
"Yeah. Fuck it," she replied after a few seconds of awkward silence.
"Really?"
"I guess so."
"Ok then. Uh, yeah. Fuck it!" he declared with an unusual amount of passion.
"Well, now that that's settled, I'm going to go take a shower," she exclaimed as she reached for the sofa behind her to steady herself for the rise from the floor. In her attempt to grab a hold of cushion behind her, she blindly took hold of his hand. She felt him tense at the contact. It made her smile inwardly. Poor George-Michael. Someday he'll grow up. "So, help me up then?"
It's now or never.
He kept a firm grip of her hand and pulled her off of the floor. She was standing up now, and she was about to walk away from him. He stood up too. He tightened the grip on her hand. She looked at him intensely.
"What's up, George-Michael?"
"Nothing. Everything is just fine." he whispered as he put his hand to her cheek.
Her breath drew in sharply as he caressed her skin. Slowly he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She responded after a few seconds, acclimating herself to the newness of his touch. When she kissed him, it was never like this. She had been aggressive and abrupt. He was tender and gentle. Her eyes fluttered open as he sought permission to deepen their kiss. She closed her eyes and parted her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. They stayed this way until it was vital that they come up for air. When they broke apart, she stared into his eyes and smiled.
"Took you long enough," she whispered.
"Well, I didn't want to spend my life watching sunsets through side-mirrors."
"You're so weird, George-Michael," she said as she playfully rolled her eyes.
"So are you," he murmured as he leaned in once more to meet her smiling lips.