I apologize for this being late. I had it half written but… a friend of mine was in a car accident a week ago and passed and I haven't been sleeping, eating, functioning. Writing really wasn't a priority. Seventeen year olds are too young to die. Well, heavy sigh, writing about these two makes me happy and I consider this to be a very special chapter, for a number of reasons. So I hereby dedicate this to you Matt, you will be missed.
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He's drumming his hands on his lap to a non-existent beat and she is watching him out of the corner of her eye. They have a respectable seven inches between them and his eyes are glued to the illuminated screen.
She has her head tilted at such an angle so that she can see his mouth twitching at odd intervals. He is chewing on the inside of his cheek and now his knees are bouncing up and down. She isn't used to this and she must say, she is amused. She is used to cool, indifferent Jess. She is used to the Jess who doesn't care, doesn't show emotion, doesn't let anyone (anyone) in. She tried, she should know.
"What?"
She jumps slightly and shakes her head, looking at his face which is fixed in intent contemplation (the eyebrow. always the eyebrow).
"What?"
He smiles softly and turns his head back to the television as she bites back a laugh at their juvenile behavior and stands up, busying herself with the discarded pizza crusts and boxes. She carries the trash to the kitchen and returns to sweep up their crumbs, using her hand as a makeshift tray.
She is somewhat aware that his attention is now directed on her, his head tilted against the back of the couch, his body now completely still. She doesn't move to look at him, but continues to sweep the table clean, smiling to herself.
She squeals loudly, half in laughter, half in surprise, when she feels a tug on the back of her jeans as his finger twists into her belt loop and she tumbles backwards. She falls haphazardly into his lap and he lets out a grunt, squinting his eyes shut.
She giggles and rests her hands on his chest as he squints open an eye. "Didn't think that through."
She laughs and tilts her head to the side like a curious dog. He makes another grimace and quirks an eyebrow.
"Try not to look so pleased with yourself. I hardly believe you intended that specific maneuver. I was the one who pulled you over and onto my very delicate lap."
"Delicate."
He smiles in spite of himself. "Yes. Delicate." He draws out the word as she ponders the way his bottom lip juts out in determination. Looking at his lips is a dangerous thing. She snaps her eyes to his.
"Oh? Well, what possessed you to pull me into your lap?" She smiles but he doesn't return it any longer and his eyes look darker a bit. She remembers this look. Anguish and indecision was never a good look for him and he was never very good at hiding it. She feels her forehead wrinkle and she ducks her chin down a fraction of an inch to looks into his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
She can't help but run her thumb across his cheek and she feels his fingers tangle in the belt loops on her hips.
"Seven inches is too far." He pouts.
Their noses are touching as he leans forward and her eyes drift shut, relief flooding through her body at the cause of his (mortal) anguish.
"You seem to be a fan of the belt loops."
He chuckles lightly and gives her hips a gently squeeze. She swallows (hard) and shifts in his lap slightly. His delicate situation seems to have repaired itself because he doesn't grunt or make any noise of displeasure as she makes her move. She hasn't opened her eyes and she's pretty sure he hasn't either because she can feel his breathing and she knows this is how he breathes right before-
His lips brush hers and she fists his shirt in her hands because she had forgotten, completely forgotten, how it feels to have him kiss her like she's the only girl ever, anywhere, everywhere, forever, that is of any and all importance.
She responds to his kiss and she can feel his smile because the room is suddenly brighter and she feels like giggling because this is what she wanted (won't ever admit it) when she first saw him on the subway, head tilted back against the steel wall, eyes shut. She wanted to craw up into his lap and kiss the part of his neck that forces him to make that noise deep in his throat.
He pulls her closer to him as their shy kissing turns into a desperate battle for contact. These past few days with hand holding and sneaking glances and light touches have not been enough. She shifts her body so that she directly faces him and her knees land on either side of his. She wraps her arms around him and plays with the hair at the base of his neck and remembers how the first time she did this, he had pulled away and looked at her curiously, unused to intimate contact as opposed to frantic physicality.
He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, pulling away from her lips and burying his head in her neck. She sighs and runs her fingers through his (still unruly) hair as he breathes a pattern (a promise) into her neck.
"Well, this is better."
She pulls back and looks at him, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "What's better?"
He looks down at their bodies that seem to almost be entwined and squints his eyes in faux concentration. He looks up at her and smiles and she feels a part of her shift inside.
"I would guess…no inches."