Interfacing

“Are you going to kiss me?” I asked staring at his face. His lips to be more precise. I was aware of the window to his right, the door to his left, the cracking brick behind him. But my eyes were only focused on the area between nose and chin; everything else was just a blur including the chocolate eyes not even a breath above where I was focused.

“Why, do you need to prepare yourself to be kissed by me?” he asked partially incredulous, partially chuckling.

“Nevermind!” I said as a scooted away, keeping the counter at my back. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” I hid my face in my hands, wishing I could let my brown locks slip over my digits, adding one more layer to hide behind. Alas, the hair was contained so it did not work as well as a shield as I hoped.

If he could see my skin, he would see bright red from my roots to the top of the collar of my shirt. I radiated heat from embarrassment. If? If he could see my skin? Of course he could see my skin.

I wanted to tell him that no, not it was not that I had to prepare for the meeting of our lips, but that the opposite. I had spent the last two hours refraining which was made especially difficult after the dancing of our hands while the movie played. I refrained as I was still so unsure. Unsure of me, of him. Was he as interested as I? Or had I already fallen more than he had? If he had even fell at all? I knew what I wanted, at least in this moment, in this scenario. I had no idea what he wanted. Or wants. Moments? Future? Absolutely nothing?

I heard movement and released the hold I had myself in. Words were coming out of his mouth; they were lost in the deep timber of his voice wrapping around me in warmth and the movement of air. Was I reaching for him or was he reaching for me?

Lips met. A bubble encased us, removing us from time, space and all meaning except this, this meeting of cells wrapped in touch and feel and exploration. I stretched up on my tiptoes, pressing into him, feeling the fabrics of our clothing pressing. His hand moved down around my shoulders finding the end of my braid. The ever-slightest tug sent a shockwave down to my and toes and back up through my lips. A growl escaped me, the noise of satisfaction. More! the animalistic side of my cried out, more.

We broke apart.

Was it him?

Was it me?

The itch for more ticked in the back of my head.

It wasn’t the itch just for the physical fire that had been ignited, it was the more on every level, mental, emotional, physical. To be accepted. To be wanted, desired.

I stepped back with the fierceness of the more, the revelation that I was not as uncaring and unfeeling as I had begun to believe that I was. Well fine then. I wanted. I desired. I hoped. And for this moment, for this moment I will be brave.

I stepped forward into an embrace of warmth, safety. A desire to know if he was on this same level, wavelength, ethereal plane flirted with my awareness. But no. Not yet. I must be equally prepared for the affirmation as the declination. This was not that moment. The bravery needed for that-

Well.

That was still building, churning in the mess of emotion, swirling in my head.

Not yet.

But soon.