Callie's POV
The next time I am able to spend time with Arizona, I invite her over for dinner. It's been a few days since our excursion at the coffeehouse, and while we haven't seen each other since, we've been finding ways to talk throughout the day. Each time that my phone beeps I find myself all at once a bundle of nerves and yet unmistakably gleeful.
As I let her in, I am taken aback by her beauty. This is a persistent sensation; one that seems to never get old. She is wearing tight denim jeans and a loose fitting blouse, and her hair is falling in delicate ringlets around her shoulders. She is beaming at me, and that familiar fire within me is ignited.
"It smells delicious, Calliope," she says, as I hang her jacket on the rack. She places a lingering kiss on my lips before we both head into the kitchen. I stand at the stove, stirring my sauce.
I feel her approaching me from behind, wrapping her arms delicately around my stomach, kissing the top of my shoulder.
"I didn't know you were such a good cook," she says, her mouth behind my ear.
"You still don't," I chuckled. "You haven't tried anything yet."
"I can just tell," she said, breathing in the scent of my hair. "Lavender," she whispered. "I love the way your hair always smells like lavender, since that first day on the train."
I turned around in her arms and kissed her softly. "I'm glad you like it."
It turns out that Arizona did find me to be a good cook after all. We ate slowly, almost lazily, sipping our wine and trading stories. Conversations with Arizona were so entirely effortless. After we had cleaned up, I lit some candles around the living room and refilled our wine glasses.
We sat on the couch as I told her about my family: my overprotective father, our heavy Catholic beliefs, even our money. But when we began to talk about her family, Arizona became noticeably subdued.
"Hey," I said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I'm fine," she says, and pauses. "It's just… I don't really talk about it a lot."
"You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to," I reassure her, taking her hand.
"The thing is, I want to tell you. And that scares me." Her chin is quivering and my heart breaks a little. She is avoiding my gaze, trying to reign in her emotions. After a moment of silence, she looks down at our intertwined fingers and sighs heavily.
"Six years ago my brother was killed in Iraq." As soon as she says this her eyes start to tear up. "The plan was always for him to be in military. My grandfather was in the military, my father, two of my uncles… I mean this was the life that was expected of him. But he never complained. He was an honorable man and he wanted to serve his country. And then he was killed," she says, tears streaming down her face now. Her breathing is jagged and I can tell that it's difficult for her to get this out. I am stroking my hand up and down her back but I know that this is not enough.
"When they unloaded his casket off the plane, I just wanted to die. I wanted to die, too. I couldn't stand the thought of getting a-a- a pocket square of a flag in return for my brother's life. After his funeral, I moved here, to New York. I just wanted to start a new life. And I haven't talked about him since, not even with my parents. But I miss him so much," she sobbed, leaning her face into the crook of my neck. "And I feel so guilty," she choked, "for moving on."
I hug her tightly to me, stroking her hair, trying to comfort her in some small way. I feel the dampness of her tears on my shirt and the thought of this woman crying is enough to break me.
"Hey… Shh, it's okay. Arizona, it's okay. What other choice did you have but to move on? It's the only way." I am trying to reason with her, but my words are empty in the face of such overwhelming loss. She continues to sob into me.
"I've got you. Cry. Just let it out," I tell her, kissing her hair, her head. I tilt her chin up towards me so that I can see her. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and I use both hands to wipe them away. I kiss her forehead, I kiss her closed eyelids. When she opens her eyes she sees that I am crying, too.
"Why are you crying, Calliope?" she says, using her thumb to dry my own tears.
"I hate to see you this upset. I hate that you had to go through this. I'm so sorry," I tell her, my hands on either side of her face. "I'm so sorry."
I lean forward and gently brush her lips with mine. This kiss is completely unhurried and unlike any other kiss we've shared before. Both our faces stained with tears, I need this kiss to convey so much more than it ever has. She holds me tightly to her as we embrace, as though she is afraid of what letting go of me means. I pull away from the kiss to look at her, and for a moment we stare into each other's eyes, saying nothing.
"I want to make love to you," I finally whisper.
She pulls back and studies my face for a moment before nodding her assent.
Making love was unchartered territory between the two of us. Thus far, our relationship had been characterized by untamed sexual chemistry and wild desire: In other words, sex. Fucking is probably a better summation.
But in this moment, the tide is shifting, ever so slightly, to reveal what has perhaps been there all along. Real, genuine, feelings. Trust. Compassion for the other. Dare I say that other word?
Arizona's POV
She slowly leads me into her bedroom and I'm struck with this absolutely foreign sensation: my heart feels suddenly untethered; ethereal. Like one of those helium parade balloons, strings snipped, floating away into the sky.
We stand in front of her bed and she leans in to kiss me again, our lips just barely touching. Almost pantomiming the act of kissing. Her mouth is Braille and I am reading her cover to cover.
Her cheeks are damp and red from crying and I kiss them softly. Her eyes close at the feel of my lips kissing her cheeks so gingerly, and she is slightly blushing. I'm struck by the fact that I've never made her blush before. That in all of our fucking I had never taken the time to gently kiss her face like this.
When she opens her eyes I am staring at her, waiting for her to see me again, so that I can tell her with absolute certainty that I find her to be breathtakingly beautiful. And I do.
She sits me down on the edge of the bed and stands before me, slowly pulling her shirt up over her head. I am looking up at her, all of a sudden overwhelmed by the magnitude of what I'm feeling, and my eyes begin to water again. She finds the hem of my shirt and gently removes it from my body before taking my face in her hands and kissing me.
I place my hands on her hips and lean my forehead against her stomach, taking in the scent of her skin. She is running her fingers through my hair, allowing me to seek refuge against her body. I look up at her, eyes glistening, and she says (quite simply), "I adore you."
Later, after we are both undressed, she lays her body fully onto mine. The weight of her on top of me is so pricelessly perfect: the anchor that is keeping my floating heart grounded. She has spent the last twenty minutes exploring every inch of my skin – kissing my spine with devoted precision; bringing goose bumps to my flesh by lightly dragging her fingernails over my arms, legs, stomach.
Turning us over so that I am on top, I kiss her underneath her chin and wonder if anyone has ever thought to kiss her there before. I hope that I am the first.
Our lips meet again, and I begin moving my body just the slightest bit on top of her. Our breasts are pressed so tightly together and yet I can feel her nipples rubbing mine from beneath me. My eyes are glued to hers, and hers to mine, as we both try to process what's happening between us (because in this moment we are utterly honest with ourselves).
Calliope wraps her arms around my back and rolls us over again, tenderly grinding her pelvis down onto mine. She begins stroking my pussy with her own, and I am filled with the purest of pleasure.
"I want us to come like this," she whispers, bracing herself on her elbows. "Is this okay?"
"God, Calliope… Yes…"
There is no telling where she ends and I begin. I feel the slickness between our legs; the heat that we've created together.
I wrap my legs around her, trapping her against me. I can't bear the thought of even an inch between us now. I am hugging her to me with my arms, my cheek pressed against hers, her hitched breathing in my ear.
"Stay close to me," I plead, desperately.
"I'm right here, baby," she says, wrapping her arms underneath my shoulders to hold me tighter.
Her hips are moving languidly against me, our bodies one continuous wave of motion. She is me and I am her and we are about to take that leap, together.
We are sweating now, her body glistening above me. I hold the back of neck, keeping her forehead pressed to mine as I feel the stirrings of my orgasm within me.
"Calliope… I'm so close."
Her hips are thrusting forward more purposefully now, bringing me there. As I feel myself exploding, I tighten my legs around her waist as every muscle in my body tenses. My back arches off the bed and her body, instinctively, follows. My mouth is frozen open with no sound. As the peak of my orgasm hits I let my breath rush out of me in a stream of unfettered satisfaction.
And although I am sensitive I grip her tightly as her body jerks above me, her face the picture of an exquisiteness I've never known. She brokenly whispers my name as she thrusts with a finality that tells me she's come.
And as her body relaxes onto mine, I know that something has just happened that's beyond our control. My chest is filling, nearly bursting, with a feeling I dare not say.