#and then all bets are off
The small talk had diminished, exhausted, about five minutes ago. Whatever conversation lurched on at this point was reanimated, an abomination, just sentences and questions without even conversational value. They were running out the clock, although neither would admit why, at least not yet.
Occasionally they’d share a look. It would last a short time, about as long as it takes two people to realise that they’re staring, mouths slightly ajar, without saying a thing. To descend into that pleasant discomfort, that happy awkward that occurs when desire has not yet been realised, conversation hasn’t yet avalanched into… well, that was the question really, the one that was hanging in the air like a thundercloud ready to break, burst its banks and drench the two of them.
He wanted to make a move. Knew he would, it was just about the right moment appearing, when he knew, just knew, that she was thinking the exact same thing that he was, that their minds were completely aligned, and that momentum would carry them through and past the space between maybe-lovers and the actuality of that relationship.
The moment had almost come a few times, such as when she had made a clumsy innuendo after he mentioned the word ‘bottom’. It had been mumbled, without confidence, a fumble towards a desire, and he’d laughed all the same. It was cute, in its own way, that she could be almost forward, that there was enough confidence to appear without it. Another time she’d tucked her hair behind her ear just as the sunlight struck her across the right side of her face, and she’d been painfully beautiful, ethereal almost, all freckled and shining, more suited to a meadow in Ireland than his bed, in this city.
But just as resolve had finally had the wherewithal to activate limbs, move bodies, the clouds had slipped in front of the sun, and he’d been meteorologically cock-blocked.
Now there was just an emptiness. A lack of words because they’d used them all up, meandered through culture, weather, gossip and shared interests, and ended up here, with only one thing on their minds and nothing but the space to express it in. He felt like his mind was cycling through possibilities at an alarming rate, picking up one suggestion only to toss it aside looking for something better, some great pile of ideas residing in the back of his head, a search for the perfect 'Move’.
This would not do. He would not be the man to see the moment, feel it crackle in the air around him, and allow it to pass unnoticed and unmarked. So he did something. His hand came up, slipped around her neck, and for the slightest moment she stiffened, surprise manifesting as fear in her face, perhaps more akin to shock, before it softened with realisation into something altogether more attractive.
He surged, the other hand pressing against her stomach, pushing her down onto the bed, so that he could pin her with his body, his chest against hers, the insistent prod of her nipples against him making him swell at the thought of it. Then he kissed her, and it felt like that kiss was the needle that popped the balloon, let all that tension fill all that space, and in the doing of it dissipate, dwindle into nothing but a happy composition of moans, crinkles and the odd gasp.
