What Is Love?

Arm Kisses

Author's Note: This takes place before the season 19 premiere, the source of inspiration for this story being their "My Girl" performance. Seeing that made me start shipping them😍 The photo above is a still from that dance - are they kissing, or are they just really close to it? Either way, it's supremely sensual and it makes me die inside - in a good way. 😂 Anyway, this is a little thing I call "Arm Kisses." Enjoy!
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The light ruche of her shirt was blue, like a robin's egg, and he watched in mesmerization as it became a swirl of colour: her body swaying with the graceful gait of a professional.

Her blonde hair tumbled in crimped waves along her shoulder blades, softly grazing the material of her tank-top; seeing her like this - so passionate, throwing herself with such vigour into the motions, as though she were nothing more than a rag doll, made him absolutely crazy with pride.

He taught her this; he taught her to dance with such abandon; he showed her to dance with all of her heart.

"Wit," he queried now, breaking the focus she'd held so close, shattering the finesse of the track that played on, totally unfazed in the absence of her lines: improvised, yet completely correlated in a storytelling kind of way. "Why are you so hyper today?"

Witney looked to him then, meeting his eyes for only a second before tearing her gaze from his in a motion so abrupt you'd think she was angry.

"I'm not," she began to twirl once again, one turn, two, three, four, all in a row, clean and concise.

Mark placed a hand on her shoulder, ever so gently as though not to knock her out of the turn, just interrupt its rhythm. She pouted playfully. "I was going for a record!"

"And we - have to rehearse. How 'bout you channel this energy - gotten from, at eight in the morning, god know's where - into the actual choreography."

She rolled her eyes in a playful manner, moving to get into the starting position. The chosen song to back this number - My Girl - with its tender, soulful and rich timbre - met her ears in a soft cacophony of noise.

She could feel his arms, skin so warm, tighten around her waist, delicately pulling her body towards him. Her right arm wrapped, as previously instructed, around his neck, as she felt him nuzzling her face a second later.

Soon, the pillowy skin of his lips began their pathway up her arm, though they only made it halfway before the giggles began, again. He sighed, saying nothing, only moving to begin again when the sound subsided. Not too long after however, she's unable to keep a straight face and he watches, slightly amused, as it crinkles in beautiful laughter.

"I'm...I'm...so horrible, I'm sorry, oh my gosh. It just tickles!"

The giggles, pitchy and juvenile, spewed from inside her supple smile like a waterfall, falling prettily into the cannel of his eardrums. "I can't believe you babe. I really can't."

"Why?" she asked, a break in laughter.

"How can one person be so utterly adorable?" "It's a gift," she shrugged, winking. "One that, unfortunately, you don't seem to have."

"Witney Carson," Mark feigned offense, "didn't your mother raise you to be nice to those around you?"

Witney skipped to the other end of the room, reaching into the bag that lay haphazardly along the stairs for her water bottle. She twisted off the top and as she did so, small droplets of water dripped down the outer plastic, evaporating, soon after into the filtered, chilly air.

"She told me to always respect my elders. I'm sorry, was I not being respectful to you, old man?

Mark came to sit with her on the step, side by side, with Witney closing the tiny gap between them as she pulled her feet over his legs, laying them atop his knees. "It's only seven years, you know. You're a great girl."