these troubled bones | s.m.

xi. troublemaker

xi. troublemaker

HERE'S THE THING about kissing: not to brag, but I've done it quite a bit. And when I say "not to brag," I really do mean it; most of my past kissing endeavors have led to catastrophe. I mean, my most recent kiss was Fiona, and that indirectly caused me to get my lights punched out - in public - so maybe kissing Willa isn't totally my brightest idea.

But as our lips brush against each other, I don't find myself feeling regretful.

It's strangely gentle at first, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks and hands hesitant in their positions. The skin on her neck is cool beneath my palm and she tastes faintly of bubblegum, which I didn't expect from her.

She puts her hand on my chest and pushes so we break apart, but not by more than an inch.

Oh, fuck. I fucked up, didn't I? Now she's gonna punch my light outs, too. And my bruise from the first time hasn't even faded yet.

Her hazel eyes search my face for something: cockiness, maybe, or detachment. I can tell she wants to make sure this isn't a prank, or something.

It's not. After that poem? It couldn't be.

Willa blinks, once, and I raise an eyebrow. Then, akin to the sentiment I had when I approached her table at lunch, she says, "Oh, fuck it." The hand on my chest bunches up the fabric of my shirt and tugs me back in.

This is where it stops being gentle.

Willa kisses like she's challenging me, daring me to back down, daring me to feel something. Her hands skate up my sides, down my back, across my shoulders. I feel breathless, but I don't want to pull away, so I simply tug her closer. I nip at her bottom lip experimentally and she lets out a muffled noise suspiciously similar to a moan.

The whole world has been reduced to this moment, to the spaces between us that we try to fill with lips, with teeth, with hands. I swipe my tongue across her bottom lip and her mouth parts easily. I realize belatedly that my heart is pounding faster than it ever has.

Maybe this is why I like fighting with her so much: she draws out this frustrated flood of emotions that I didn't even know I had. I've spent so long being numb and disillusioned that I forgot what it was like to reach out and touch fire by the fingertips, to crave something beyond a way out.

Willa's hands make quick work of my shirt, lifting it up until I get the hint to pull away and yank it over my head. I go to lean back in, but she puts a hand on my chest and gives me a wide-eyed look.

"Holy crap," Willa says. "You have abs?"

I glance down at my abdominal muscles, shrugging impatiently. "I work out a lot. And I played hockey during winter sports season. Wait, why are you so shocked?"

"No reason, I just--" She shakes her head. "It's a pleasant surprise, is all."

"Surprise?" I say. Our kissing has been momentarily forgotten.

"Well, I knew you were tall, but I didn't think you were hiding these underneath." Daringly, her cheeks pink, she traces them with one finger. Her hand is cold and I involuntarily tense, contracting the muscles. (Okay, fine. Maybe it was a little voluntary.) Willa swallows audibly.

I quickly get bored, so I start kissing my way down her jaw and neck, starting just below her ear. The skin there is soft, and smells like some floral perfume. Her breathing is ragged, and fuck if it doesn't turn me on.

"We really should've done this sooner," I whisper in her ear. This close, I feel her shiver. "I didn't know you were so attracted to me."

Willa puts one hand on my neck and yanks me back so we're face to face, noses brushing against each other. "Yeah, I think I like you better when you're not talking," she says sardonically. Some part of me is thankful for her sass, thankful that we can focus on the physical attraction without getting caught up in messy feelings. Feelings are a bitch. Trust me, I would know.