Julian Devorak Coffe Shop AU

Kiss

Y/N's perspective
Trigger warning: brief mention of vomit
Quick notice: I'm going purely off of what I've learnt from films and books here, but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. Hope it's not too crap! Also, please leave some suggestions of what you'd like to read.

I'd invited Julian to my flat. I'll admit, I was absolutely petrified. To begin with, I'm a little self conscious of my hardly decorated studio flat- and the mountain of blankets that filled it due to my attempt at cutting down on heating fees- but also because having a big, tall man with an eyepatch know my address went against every spy film I'd ever watched. The men with eyepatches are almost always villains, what if this one decision meant I'd be first to go in the robot apocalypse? The thought gave me shivers.
With all that being said, I had invited Julian to my flat. I'd opened the door to his flushed face, he wouldn't come in even after I stepped out of the doorway. Maybe he wasn't a spy, more like a vampire- maybe he couldn't physically come in until verbally invited.
I'd told him to come in comfortable clothes (which he had) but he still wore his characteristically dramatic overcoat.
I absolutely loved that coat. Everytime he wore it my mind drifted into the cinema screening the award winning "He Let Me Wear His Coat" and I'd stay for the full feature. The lining looked so silky, like the surface of still water, and the idea of turning up the wide collar against my neck gave me butterflies. Though, of course, the best part was the thought of him draping it over my shoulders, feeling him aid the heavy fabric about me, letting it consume me in it's comforting weight and musky smell.
He shrugged it off and I felt something drop to my stomach.
We'd put on a film- Doctor Strange- and sat on the sofa. It had been my grandma's, the thing had been attacked by both moths and wood worms alike in its time. I'd rather I had somewhere nicer for people to sit when they came over, but recommending the floor seemed a little unhostly.
We'd both enjoyed the film, we'd also already seen it before- separately- so it seemed likely we'd enjoy it a second time anyway.
During the film, Julian had extended his arm over the withering edge of the sofa- a vacancy appearing at his right side. He radiated heat, it was already tempting enough to cuddle up to him, but the allure of warmth? Irresistible. Almost.
I'd frozen, and not because of the cold, balled up on the other side of the sofa. He turned his face to me, smiling shyly, and nodded to the space he'd made.
I promise I tried to repress the grin spreading across my face, I just didn't do a good enough job at it.
I shuffled into his side, hesitantly leaning my head into the crook of his shoulder. My heart was beating in my throat with the force of a criminal rattling their cell bars, I was very sure I was close to throwing it up.
Of course all good things must come to an end, the credits rolled and I had the decision to either move or stay all cosy next to the runner bean of a man who'd wrapped his gangly arm about me.
Butterflies are too pretty an idiom, there were wasp nests in my stomach; massive, noisey wasp nests.
The film had ended and neither of us moved. The credits were rolling and I thought maybe we were so still because we (he) were waiting to watch the end credits scene. His arm hung over me, his cold hand resting lightly on my knee- which had rested itself against his leg. I hadn't known what to do with my hands, so I'd given myself a hug. Though I remained in a tight ball, I could feel the expansion and recline of his rib cage as he breathed, I could watch it too with my head leaning against his shoulder. He was warm, besides from his hands, and if it wasn't for the unnecessarily loud background music I could have fallen asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing. I feared that if he moved his arm and I would be exposed once more to the frigid air, I might just freeze.
He shifted, my head followed in the direction of the action.
I wish I was comfortable with eye contact, because he was staring right at me- which is worse enough, but now my heart is rattling its cage again and I'm definitely going to throw it up this time. Even though it was outside of my comfort zone, I found that once I'd settled my gaze there was something comforting about it. In the receding light his eyes (well, visible eye) - usually a slate grey- had darkened into a deeper green, and his gaze wasn't intense- like I thought it might have been- it was soft, seemed relaxed. The corners of his lips twitched upwards and my heart gave up its flailing and fell like lead to the pit of my stomach.
I took an excuse to break our eye contact, finally finding something to do with my hands, and reached to his curls, brushing them aside as if it would do anything.
Can hair be warm? Because his felt warm. I quite liked the feeling of it under my fingers, so they stayed there. it - being my hand- traced its way to the back of his head, where my fingers took liberty to run themselves through the shorter hair there. It moved with them and fell back into place; Julian did move his arm- though not from me entirely- he'd taken the crook of my arm, causing me to slow what I'd been busy with- bringing me back to Earth. His thumb grazed over my jumper and I truly believed for a moment that humans could change state. Because I was molten.
His lips parted to speak, but lingered before he'd produced any words, when he did, his voice came out slightly hoarse from speaking so little for so long.
"Benedict Cumberbatch is pretty great, huh?"
I was admittedly disappointed. I turned back to the screen, the end credits scene now playing. It didn't excite me much, after all, I'd already seen it.
"Yeah," I sighed, "easily one of the best."

He'd stayed a little later, just for a drink and a proper catch up. It had turned dark by the time he was getting ready to leave. I watched him put on that coat, feeling awfully jealous that it was what he was taking with him. He straightened its front, looking out the window into the light polluted night.
He stepped towards me, leaning down to reach me better. He'd normally depart with a kiss on the cheek and I'd assumed tonight wouldn't be any different.
I know you go a little birdy when you fancy someone, but I would have sworn to you that night his lips lingered against my skin a fraction longer than usual. The temperature dropped significantly when he pulled away.
He didn't straighten himself to his full height, he stayed stubbornly close and I began to hope that maybe he had felt exactly as I had. Felt that, although it was more appropriate to move, there was no way of shifting himself, that he wanted to stay exactly as he was so deeply that he couldn't tell himself what was polite or the correct etiquette.
He spoke, in a tone so far away from his usual confident, charismatic manner. "Would it be okay if I kissed you? Properly?"
A little too quick to respond: "yes."
His breath brushed against the side of my face, his hand taking to my jawline, the other at my waist. I once more was frozen, mind full of fizzing static.
His lips met mine and I was done for.
At first, they'd been feather-light, but how they touched was enough. I'd no idea that that was how kissing could feel, soft and delicate, caring.
I moved my hands to his slender jaw, wishing to somehow be closer when we were already touching. Like I said, my mind, static, and the rest of me quickly followed suit as electricity flowed into my bloodstream. He'd pulled me in closer until our bodies gently collided, but the kiss remained slow and relaxed. I hadn't worried or felt self conscious. I knew I was safe, in many ways, wrapped up tightly in his arms.
I couldn't believe I'd spent most of this afternoon worrying about spy films.