“Pink And Teal”

Karasu 100408

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Summary: (fxf, one-shot) I just wanted to kiss her…

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She smiles up to me and into the camera lens. Her pink and teal hair picks up in the breeze as I snap the picture that would adorn the metal walls of my locker for at least a year…

“You take too many pictures,” she grins my way, her perfect, tiny, white teeth glimmering in the sun. I moved the camera out of my face long enough for her to giggle behind her hands, “You’re going to get carpal tunnel or something from clicking the button so many times…”

“Maybe I like taking pictures of you,” I retort. I do. She’s beautiful. Not just beautiful. She’s the kind of beauty that is scouted by modeling agencies. She’s the kind of beautiful that takes years to develop in normal women.

She is beautiful on the inside as well as the outside.

She’s the only person I would ever think to marry, even though we’ve never even done anything more than (platonically) hold hands.

“Maybe you’re crazy,” she rolls her eyes and I snap another picture. I can’t get enough of her.

I dream about our wedding. Her in a flowing, modernly traditional white gown and I in a pantsuit that would be feminine, yet retain my ambiguous air. We would say our vows, then fall into each other’s arms for a night filled with passionate embraces, moans that would echo for years, and more whispers of “forever.”

She pulls me down to sit next to her, “Take more pictures. I like the attention.”

I oblige, and I love how she’s so blunt about it. She’s modest to the point where I’ve contemplated if it’s fake or not. But she loves the attention I shower her with.

Which is fine and dandy with me, because I love showering her with it.

We grin to the camera like happy children on a playground.

“Here,” she scoots closer so I won’t chop half of my head off when I take the picture. She’s considerate and sweet, and the urge to kiss her right then was almost too much.

I have no self-control.

I snap yet another frame. She’s outright laughing in this one. She’s so lovely that I can’t stand it.

“Hold your flower up, I can’t see it,” I prod with my words, and she laughs cutely before holding up the jonquil I bought her. She doesn’t know the meaning of it.

She’d die if she did.

Snap.

Snapsnap.

She’s looking at me in that last one, I notice as I quickly flip through the film. In her eyes, I think I see the love that I have for her. I’m looking at the camera. I missed that look.

“Again.” I snap away a couple more times. Some of these are framable. I vow to get prints one day when it won’t be super stalker-creepy.

She’s closer than ever to me, and I somehow haven’t noticed her inching forward. I can feel her breath on my neck and cheek. I suppress a shudder. And a moan.

That would’ve been awkward.

“One more, then I’ve got to get home,” she whispers to me. The words hit my heart like a heavyweight boxer would, and I sigh sadly.

“Make it a good one,” I murmur half-heartedly.

I hold my arm out as far as it can go, line up the camera lens with my eyes, and prepare to shoot. But as my finger presses the button down, I feel her lips on my cheek. Softfirmwarm.

I got it on camera.

She’s not blushing. It’s a good picture. The face I’m making is priceless. Wide eyes. Deer in headlights.

“It’s my favourite,” she smiles as she talks, and I get to see that sparkle deep within her. I nod, not exactly sure how I’m supposed to react. If I nod like the maniac I am, she’ll suspect. If I shrug, I might send the wrong vibes.

I just smile in return.

“I’d better get going.”

“Yeah, don’t want your mom worrying.”

“She likes you,” she reassures me. I know this. Her mom and my mom are best friends. Just like we are. Only my mom isn’t dealing with those hidden feelings girls aren’t supposed to share with one another.

Girls are supposed to giggle about cute boys, worry about what their hair looks like. Something along those lines.

All I worry about when I’m around her is “am I going to kiss her this time?”

I’ve passed up numerous perfect occasions. Just because I’m a coward.

“I want to come out here again with you.” She’s blunt. Have I mentioned I love that about her? “You really know how to treat a gal.”

She’s laughing, like twinkling little faerie bells.

This is one of those perfect occasions I’m passing up.

“Don’t forget your scarf,” I hold it out to her, the stark black contrasting with my pale skin. I don’t get out much. I don’t have that healthy pink glow like she does.

I don’t have that remarkable quality she has.

She takes it from my hands, and we touch. Fleetingly. Just enough to make me flush in the cool winter wind.

It’s always been my favourite season.

She thanks me as she wraps that black wool comfortingly around her thin, giraffe-like neck. I want to suckle it until I leave lovebites. Marks of my territory.

No boy will touch her.

“Thanks for today,” she breathes out cold puffs of smoke. I try to inhale them without being obvious about it.

“No problem.”

She doesn’t try to breathe in mine.

We stand in awkward silence for a while. She turns the jonquil over and over in her palm for a moment before she takes in a lovely breath to say something. But she changes her mind at the last moment and I’m left obsessing over what she was about to say.

Instead, she stares at her shoes.

Another perfect occasion.

And… I take it.

Before I can rationally think it through, I grab her scarf, tightening my fingers into the body-heated fabric. Time slows until it’s almost stopped as I guide her lips to mine. Her breath hangs in her lovely throat, and I press my wind-frozen lips to hers.

She kisses me back.

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I fumble with her belt as her breathing picks up. My fingers are frozen and I let out a “shit” or a “damn” or another muddled curse. I don’t care. All I’m focused on is finding her skin and melting it with mine.

“A-ah,” she pants as my almost-numb fingers find her sensitive skin. Her scarf is still tight around her neck as she arches into me. She hurriedly undoes the buttons on my overshirt, placing her palms flat against my body.

It only felt like this in dreams.

My mouth finds hers again and we’re swirling in cinnamon gum and old hot chocolate. I’m holding my breath, and I don’t realize it until I have to let out a moan. Her cold fingers feel amazing.

“Wh-why did you wait?”

I cannot answer her until we’re safe and bare, under the satin covers that she’s insisted on decorating her bed with. Our bodies move together, and my hands aren’t cold anymore.

“I wasn’t sure.” As I say it, I hear how ridiculous I sound. She just laughs. That little faerie laugh, and her hand goes flat against me again.

Another subconscious moan.

Another new part explored.

Pretty soon, we’re content just memorizing every freckle, every dip, every ticklish spot.

She smiles down to me.

I try to memorize that, but for some reason, I can’t capture it.

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Sighing, I run my hands over the soft yellow petals. My tongue snakes out to wet my lips, cold and numb from the biting wind.

I’ve never been one good with words.

I hope she understands.

She’s smiling up to me, and I smile right back. She’s still so beautiful. I almost forgot what that smile looked like. I almost forgot…

“I love you,” I whisper down to her.

She’s smiling up to me.

I place the flower on top of the cold stone, hopingwishingpraying that things would’ve been different. But they aren’t. And I’ll just have to live with it. She’s dead. Cold. Forever.

I just wanted to kiss her…

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Author’s Note: It’s three am. I need sleep.