D is for Desire. Unspoken lust. One insane, heated moment between them that they had hidden from the rest of the world. An accident really.
He had kissed her. It was a quiet night at the Crashdown, the two of them cleaning up after hours. No one had seen nor heard about it because they agreed to say nothing by unspoken agreement. She had been pushing her way into the back room, as he was coming out to see if she needed any help finishing the front when they collided. Hands clutched at his arms for balance, his wrapped around slim hips, their chests pressed together, soft exclamations and apologies were made, a rueful chuckle bubbled over her lips, he smirked and commented on her grace, she smiled.
It would have been fine if they had left it at that, had moved away from each other without looking up, if their eyes had never met; but they had and her wide, confused, warm brown eyes, glossed pale-pink lips and flushed cheeks had been his downfall.
D is for Drown. Drowning in emotion, drowning in sensation, drowning in the sweet taste of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, of the ultimate forbidden fruit as their lips met hesitantly for the first time and hers parted, inviting him to taste and tantalize, drenched in sweet scent and fevered flesh. His breath snagged, his head swam, his heart pounded and his blood pulsed as her body molded to his, hands tangled in each other's hair, damp breaths mingled and converged as lips met again and their mouths fused, the entirety of his world tipped on its axis as the kiss grew in intensity and rose to a fevered pitch, nearly searing him from the inside out.
Lost in her eyes, in her feel, her taste, adrift, over his head, floating, and drowning in the revelation that nothing could ever be the same again. They crossed a line, forged a bond and the desire that he'd banked for years, knowing his best friend liked this tiny brunette, burned with the force of a wildfire. He was destroyed.
D is for Devastated. It's what he'd felt when they pulled away and realized what they had done; something awakened that should never be and a feeling that had to be repressed because duty prevented his pursuit of that fleeting happiness. She wasn't his to worship and never would be. They pulled apart, avoiding each other's eyes, skirting around each other, discomfited by the fire still burning inside; a feeling quickly banked by distress at their actions and the potential ramifications. So he left and they never spoke of it again; they couldn't afford to break the group up for one perfect moment. After all, it was a fluke, a moment of madness, a passing fancy - they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
D is for Denial.
