Leather Kisses

Leather Kisses. 21

When we got in, the house was dark, cold, and quiet. The television was playing softly, providing a blue glow for the living room. Approaching the couch, I found my father peacefully asleep. He still had his glasses on, so I lightly lifted them from his face and pulled a knitted blanket over him.

Dean quietly followed me up the stairs. The door to my parents' bedroom was open just a crack, so I peered in, only to find my mother asleep as well. Charlie's door was closed, so I let him be. He would be the last person in this house to disturb us anyway.

My bedroom was just as I left it. The clothes I had thrown in a hurry were still scattered across the floor, used tissues were still moist from the tears I had shed just one night before, and the blankets on my bed had been twisted and tangled.

"Is this the messiest your bedroom has ever been?" Dean asked, flopping onto my wrinkled bed sheets.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wow, this is nothing compared to my room," he chuckled. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't even seen his room, nor any part of upstairs of his house.

Having Dean in my bedroom was not nearly as uncomfortable as last time, but I still felt slightly awkward and anxious. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop my leg from bouncing in anxiety. I even went back to an old habit of mine, and started nibbling on my thumbnail. I sat at the foot of my bed, stiff as a rail.

"So you must be excited to go back to school on Monday," Dean inferred, as he flipped through the pages of one of the books on my nightstand.

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged. "It's gonna be weird seeing everyone. They all know, don't they?"

Dean dolefully nodded. "A good number of people do. They all seemed to be pretty shocked."

"I guess nobody pegged me as the type of girl who would break the rules and get suspended," I rolled my eyes, disturbed by the constant, concrete stereotypes within my school.

"I don't blame them," Dean mumbled. "But I always knew you were secretly a rebel at heart."

I grinned at the thought of being reckless. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he grinned back.

In a way, Dean suffered in the same way that I did. People at school labeled him as the bad boy; the misguided, simple-minded kid who was up to no good. Nobody really knew or suspected that he was a sweetheart who loved to read.

Dean uncomfortably shifted around in my bed. He crinkled his eyebrows, stood up, and reached under my mattress. He pulled out my red leather journal. "Hey, what's this?"

"Hey, give me that!" I leaped in the air, and tried to snatch it from him. He teased me, holding it high in the air, far from my reach. "Dean, come on, give it back!"

"What? I can't hear you?" Dean played. "Let's read Riley's inner thoughts."

He untied the ribbon, and thumbed through the worn pages. In a moment of panic, I tackled him to my bed, and grabbed my journal from his hand. I couldn't let him read the entries I had written about him.

After it was back in my possession, I had realized what I had done; I was on top, straddling him. But I didn't want to get off, his black, midnight eyes had put me in a trance. And then, everything from there happened so quickly and so unexpectedly. He reached up, stroked my cheek, and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. Dean gripped my waist, and rolled me over so he was on top of me. He bent his neck down, and let his warm breath tickle my skin. Softly and slowly, he kissed me. I felt myself melt under his touch.

"Wait," I huffed, as I broke away. "What are you doing?"

"Doing what I should have done a long time ago," Dean whispered, before kissing from my ear down to my neck.