Title - On the Edge
Summary - He shouldn't have fallen. BLUES.
Pairings - Blues
Rating - K+
Status - Oneshot; Complete
Important Notes - another kiss-centric oneshot revolving around the blues. don't give me that look. kisses and blues go very well together.
i guess this could be seen as a parallel to "Kisses and Such". kind of. not really. a little.
Disclaimer - i do not own The Powerpuff Girls.
XXX
It had begun when they were at the fresh, tender age of five that she'd kissed him for the very first time. He wasn't too fond of the memory. It was a chaste kiss, really. She kept her hands off of him, holding them behind her back when she pecked him on the cheek.
But the second time was different. The second time she'd taken him by surprise. She wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed herself onto him, almost willingly, he could assume. She hugged him, so that he could feel her shifting her warmth on his and smell her pretty, lavender scent. But that wasn't the entirety of the difference.
When he and his brothers had been revived, they'd grown just a smidge taller. At least, in their regular height. When she pressed herself onto him and kissed him with all her might, she missed his cheek by that much. Her aim was slightly jumbled, and instead her lips smacked against the flush of his neck just below his jaw. He'd thought nothing of it at first. But now, looking back, it made his heart thump with such an uncertainty.
He could feel the skin of his jaw tingling.
He brushes his fingers over the spot, tilting his head to the side.
His heart is still pumping and his balance is wavering. He could fall at any second now.
He sees her blast through the ceiling of the bank, the flash of blue momentarily blinding him. She's in her school uniform, her chest heaving through the beige sweater as she tries to catch her breath. The movement catches him off guard, almost hypnotizes him even, and he notices the curvaceous outline of her legs, covered in thin black stockings.
He grips the bag of money tighter, slowly bending into a fighting stance. She pounces toward him and in a moment of panic, he drops the bag and shoots out into the sky. Dumb move, he thinks. He should have taken the bag with him, but Bubbles and her stupid legs blurred his vision.
It was all a mess of fists and swings and kicks before he even knew what was happening. She may have been the sweetest of her sisters, but that didn't mean she didn't have a sour punch to her. A sour punch that was delivered to his stomach with an utmost force that shoved a yelp out of his throat.
His balance is trembling again.
"Why do you have to cause so much trouble?" she shouts at him.
I don't know, he thinks, but doesn't say. I really don't know.
His neck is getting warmer by the second.
She decks him in the chest, sighing as he stumbles away in midair. "What am I going to do with you..."
Her lips were glistening in the sunlight. Something in his head clicks, or pops, or illuminates. Well. Whatever the metaphor to signify that he had thought of an idea. When she advances to knee him in what he hoped was his gut, he jerks backward, yelling, "Don't touch me!"
She pauses, staring at him with an unreadable expression. She tries to punch his face, but he dodges. Again, she is dumbfounded. He usually takes the blows or returns the favor. "What are you doing?" she demands.
"Just don't put your hands on me," he says.
She squints her eyes at him, accentuating their bright blue glow beneath her long blonde lashes. "If you don't leave these people alone and return the money, I will," she threatens.
He almost smiles. He almost gives himself away. He squares her down eye to eye and says, "Make me."
He isn't exactly sure what she does after that. All he can remember is the flash of blue that burns stars into his eyes before he feels her snaking her arms around his waist. She's still far too short to reach his cheek after ten years. He's frozen in place, but the warmth is returning to him like an uninvited heatwave. She presses her lips against his jaw, firm and certain.
He gasps a little. By accident, of course. He is lost in this moment. He hadn't been this physically close to her in years. The feeling of her legs bumping into his own, her heaving chest upon his, the curls of her hair tickling his chin. It was all so foreign. He swallows something when she pulls away, goes down to the bank and returns the money herself while he's simply suspended in air, dazed.
She comes back and he decides to continue his ruse. He says nothing to her, and he doesn't let her respond to him. He jets off to Mojo's lair. He'd fulfilled his little plan, so why does he feel empty and content at the same time?
He looks at himself in the mirror of his bathroom. The sparkle of her lip gloss was marked on his skin clear as day. So that's why her lips looked so shiny. When had she started wearing lip gloss? Maybe he wasn't paying enough attention. He should start paying attention.
He thought that this would do good to him, that maybe it would ease his overreactive heart. Yet, it's even crazier than ever. It doesn't feel as good as it had before. Before, it made him shudder and grin and grow red like his life depended on it. And now. Now, he just feels nauseous. He wants to throw up. Anything to get rid of this feeling. He feels his eyes welling up a little, and he swipes at them quickly. He looks out the window and sees her faint blue trail heading off. How long had she stayed there?
Her trail almost blends into the sky, but it doesn't. No, it's brighter. He tenses up, his muscles tightening with such a discomfort. His breaths are hollow and uneven. He doesn't know what's happening. He should feel elated, like he's jumping on clouds or some crap like that.
He had fallen off the edge.
His jaw is on fire.
What was supposed to be a rush of adrenaline that jumped his heart up to his throat ended up being the most horrifying notion of impending doom. The edge was amazing, the fall was too amazing, but he realized it now.
Eventually, he will hit the ground.
END