Prompt: A kiss on the; fingertips (#17/25)
Setting: Goes along with the au found on
She'd only meant for him to stop talking — he was fairly certain of as much. But all it took was one slender finger pressing against his lips, and they were done for.
He pressed a kiss to her fingertip, an innocent enough response. But one that had the air between them thickening — her expression immediately changing. She dragged her finger off his lips, and they missed the sensation the moment it left. How long it had been since he'd kissed her. More than a decade and he was much better at it now — they were only teenagers then and there's no way that compares to what it would feel like now.
He knew he shouldn't. That the ring around her finger should have stopped him in his tracks, should have stopped him. But there was just no stopping it.
Before her hand had dropped he was already leaning forward, not at all missing the way her breath caught and yet she said nothing, did nothing to stop his advance. It was a chaste kiss at first, the slightest brush of lips, testing if that much would be allowed. And it was. Hers parted on their own to join his, but she made no move forward. This was not her kiss — it was his if he was brave enough, crazy enough to take it.
He pressed a little closer, adding the faintest bit of fuller contact — it was an achingly slow kiss, one that built inch by inch, as they stood breathing each others breath, weighing the consequence. It weighed little for him, but was a crushing weight for her to carry, if he could only saddle some of it too, maybe that was the only answer that was needed.
He could bear this weight for her he decided, as if he had any means to. But as his lips closed ever so slowly around hers, and the feeling of years gone by seemed to die between them — he couldn't help but justify it, if only to have a little more.
She accepted his kiss but stayed rigid and still, fighting a war within herself as he fired with all he had. If she responded he knew he'd be done for — and yet every moment was meant to cause just that. When his tongue traced gingerly along her bottom lip and she sighed into the action, he took it as a sign, an unspoken request for more, and couldn't help but oblige.
A slow kiss gave way to a frenzied connection as she suddenly gave in, gave back. Stealing all the air from his lungs and yet he only wanted her to take more. It was a dangerous path to walk and he found himself all but sprinting down it. Savoring her, tasting the hint of wine on her tongue. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be friends. Reminiscing about feelings long let go of. And yet all it took was a single touch and everything erupted, all those long repressed feelings, a decade old, breaching the surface and obliterating everything in sight.
It was only a kiss.
There is no such thing.