Tree Kisses

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It hurts, you know, to watch you with all those girls, how you kiss and grope them like nobody is watching, and act like I don't care. I mean, I shouldn't care, right? Because you're straight and I'm supposed to be. Even so, it doesn't stop the pain from coming, whether I want it to or not.

It's always the kind of pain that lifts from the pit of your stomach; burns it's way through your chest, and makes you forget how to breathe. Then it comes up to your head, where it makes your jaw ache and your eyes sting, and you want nothing more at the moment then to die.

That's now I feel right now, watching you from the park bench as you make out with some random chick against one of the trees. I know you aren’t trying to hiding behind it, because it’s still in the open, and all the people who pass can still see you. I can still see you.

Yet you don’t care. You keep eating each other’s faces like you’re some private hotel room, not the middle of a park where parents take their kids to play. I try not to watch, but am unsuccessful. So I peek at the two of you out of the corner of my eye and wish that it were my hand curled in your soft golden locks instead of hers.

Your hair feels like silk. I ran my hands through it one night, when you got drunk and passed out on my front porch. I picked you up, even though you were bigger then I was, and did everything I could to get you upstairs. It took a while, probably ten minutes, but I did make it, and I laid you down on my bed.

You still had your jacket on, so I took it off. I made sure to fold it and place it somewhere it couldn’t get ruined, because I knew it was your favorite.

Your bangs got caught in your eyelashes, so I pushed them away from your forehead. The strands slid right through my fingers. I placed a soft kiss on your forehead then, before pulling one of the blankets up to cover you. You looked so innocent, with your arms curled under my pillow and your mouth open a few centimeters.

You were snoring softly as you slept. I told you this one time, but you refused to believe me. I like to remind you sometimes, because you snort and tell me not to lie, before smiling and pulling me into your one armed version of a hug.

I close my eyes and look away as your hand travels up her shirt and her lips find a path down your neck.

I’d tell you to have some fucking decency, but I’d only be saying it because it isn’t me underneath you against the tree with your hand up my shirt. If it were me, I wouldn’t care less about what everyone else saw, because it would just be about you.

The two of you pull apart, and it surprises me. I try to keep my face blank as I pretend to read a book. I haven't actually turned a page since you got here.

She says something and looks rather pissed while doing it. You look just as mad as you say something back. She glares and suddenly she looks like she want to hurt an important part of your body. Her leg is twitching, I believe, unless my eyes are going shitty on me. You take a step back and start talking again, only this time you’re louder and I can catch a few words.

“I can’t…fucking….bit…crazy…”

She yells louder when she responds, so I can head a great deal of her words.

“Fuck you…get it somewhere else…great of a kisser anyway…”

Her hand flies up before you can stop it and the sound of her hand slapping your cheek seems to echo in the air. She walks away, looking proud of herself. She goes gracefully, or at least as graceful as she can look in a pair of three inch heels, a denim skirt, and a barely there tank top.

You don’t even look at her anymore. You just stand there, your hands clenched into fists and your teeth clenched painfully.

I wait until you look a little calmer before closing my book and walking over to your spot next to the tree. You glance at me, and your anger fades into what looks like faint happiness. It confuses me, but I don’t ask about it.

“What happened?” I ask you. You look angry again, but it fades quickly.

“The bitch bit me,” you say, and you turn your head so I can see your neck better. Sure enough, there are teeth marks, and a few of the indents are bleeding. I reach up and prod the area gently with a fingertip, wiping the blood away. There isn’t much, so I just wipe it off on the grass.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine. My ego is a little bruised though.”

I tilt my head in question and push up my glasses that are threatening to fall. You smile a little at this and fix them so that they’re more secure around my ears. I can’t fight the blush that appears after your fingers brushed my right temple. You raise your eyebrow at my reaction and I look away.

“Why is your ego bruised?” I speak, hoping to distract you. You smile again, only this time it kind of bitter.

“She said I was a bad kisser.”

I nod slowly, looking for the right words. They come to me, but very slowly.

“Well…I’m sure…she’s wrong..”

“Are you trying to make me feel better? If you are, it’s not really working. You can’t say anything about it, since you’ve never kissed me before.”

I have in my dreams, I think, and I don’t even notice that I’m blushing until you laugh.

I glare at you, but I’m too embarrassed to make it look real and settle for watching a squirrel in a nearby tree.

You look down at me, your six-foot frame towering over my 5’5. Without looking at you I know you’re still laughing. I can tell from the way you’re breathing. I poke you in your stomach, in a spot that I know is weak. You squeak, in a very manly way if it’s possible, and poke me back.

“Stop it,” I order you, but I giggle after I say it, ruining the desired effect.

Again, you poke me, though this time it’s on my cheek. I turn my head and swat at your hand with one of mine, and the other pokes your stomach again.

I look up at you and smile. You smile back with this weird look in your eyes. Your hand freezes as you continue to stare at me.

“Hey!” I yell, sounding cheerful and a little worried, “You have to poke me back.”

All of a sudden I’m lifted up and pinned to the tree by your body. I gasp, trying to get my heartbeat to slow down. Its not happening because his breath is mingling with mine, we’re so close.

I close my eyes and swallow, breathing deeply a few times before opening them back up.

“What,” I ask quietly, “are you doing?”

“I was going to kiss you,” you whisper back, “but if you don’t want to, I’ll let you down.”

I lick my lips, my mouth feeling ridiculously dry, and I nod.

“I want to.”

You hesitate before leaning in all the way and pressing your lips to mine.

I’m not sure if you know, but I’ve only been kissed one time before. It was with some girl at lunch in eighth grade, and was so awkward that I never wanted to do it again. Her lips had some slimy lips gloss on them, and when we pulled away, it was on mine. It tasted chalky, and the taste of it staying in my mouth until I went home and brushed my teeth.

You have no lip-gloss on. And when you pull away, my lips are a little moist, but they taste like mint and I don’t mind. In fact, I think I really like it.

“Chris?”

“Yea,” you reply, your breath tickling my lips.

“Can I kiss you back now?”

You nod and this time I lean in. You respond automatically, pressing your lips harder on mine. I feel your tongue on my lower lip and I open my mouth, letting it slip in. Yours finds mine and I, not sure what to do, tentatively flick the tip of mine against the tip of your tongue.

One firm press of the lips and you pull away, beginning to place small kisses along my jaw and on my ears. I sigh and wrap my legs around your waist, needing to find better balance.

“You know..” I say as you nip at my collarbone.

“Hmm?” you asked, and your voice vibrates against my skin.

“She couldn’t have been more wrong.”

So here we are, my back pressed up against the tree in the middle of a park, your mouth pressed against any inch of skin you see uncovered. I curl my hand in your golden hair and you run your nails on my back underneath my shirt.

Thank god you have no fucking decency.

--

It hurts, you know. To watch you across the hall and know I can’t touch you. My hand aches to be interlocked with yours, my head wanting to be resting on your chest. But we can’t do it here with all the people around and watching.

The pain rises from my stomach and into my chest, but before it can get any higher, you’re next to me. You lean against one of the lockers right beside me, and you hold my hand. They’re trapped behind our bodies so nobody can see them.

I look down at them, and then up at you, and you smile. I scoot a little closer, not enough for anyone to notice but enough for it matter.

And for now, it doesn’t hurt.

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A/N: I really don't know what to say about it. It was supposed to be sad, but it obviously didn't end up that way. I wrote the "kind of pain that..." part a week ago and its been bothering me to put it in a story somehow. I don't really like how it turned out, but I'm glad I wrote it because now I might actually be able to write something for my other stories.

Please review if you like it. No flames.

I fixed the typos I saw. I'm not sure if it was all of them, but it was a few.