Work Text:
(It happens like this.)
“Thank you,” she says, and her face is radiant, beautiful, and his breath catches so suddenly he must release a shaky sigh before he can return the sentiment, to which she replies, “that’s all,” averting her gaze, the spell broken, but far too late as realization sweeps through him like a tidal wave.
“Thank you,” she says, and he smiles and echoes her words. They share a delicate moment, thick with silence, before she relents and breaks it with a soft, “that’s all.” It isn’t until he approaches - to offer his arm for the walk back, he thinks - that he realizes what he is about to do.
“Thank you,” she says. He sighs, smiling, and parrots the phrase, which draws a chuckle from them both. “That’s all,” she offers - an exit, ending the dance of their juvenile predicament. A predicament from which, he suddenly and firmly realizes, he wants no escape at all.
She looks up, barely in time, mind stuttering at the sudden proximity, keenly aware of his body heat, and then his lips are crushed against hers, awkward angle smushing her nose, inelegant and wonderful and over much too soon as he steps back, heavy breathing echoing her own.
She looks up as he pauses, turning abruptly to face her. He takes a breath and leans in - leaving room for her refusal, but quick enough that he cannot back out. Scarcely breathing, she tilts forward, and he presses his lips to hers - warm and sweet, insistent yet chaste - before pulling back.
She looks up with a thrill as his hand settles on her waist, the other reaching for the back of her neck as he pulls her in. She clutches at his coat when their lips meet, hot and promising, long overdue and almost desperate. His thumb brushes her cheek and she surges into him, toes curling, before they break away, flushed and panting.
“So we’ll talk later,” he blurts, face burning as she watches him with wide eyes, lips parted, and he twists away, blood rushing in his ears, helpless against the swirling joy and anxiety bubbling up to curl his mouth into a grin, an uncouth mixture of terror and elation.
“So we’ll talk later,” he breathes, ducking his head and blushing at the open wonder of her expression. He turns and walks away, ashamed of his cowardice, yet quite certain any further conversation will result in his malfunctioning - a misfire on par with any of his weapons.
“So we’ll talk later,” he promises, foreheads pressed together, their breath still mingling. He draws back, untangling fingers from her hair, taking a moment to appreciate her darkened gaze. Then he departs, to grant them both a measure of privacy, and fails to keep the undignified spring from his step.
She cannot move, startled by how sharply she already misses his touch, a single word skittering around her head, looping over and over as she tries to catch her breath.
She cannot move, absorbed by the tangible afterimage of his mouth on hers. She savors it, listening to his footsteps retreat, each one settling a single word more firmly in her mind.
She cannot move, paralyzed as her heart pounds with shock and relief and desire in equal measure. She closes her eyes and breathes, a single word her only coherent sentiment.
Finally.
Finally.
Finally.
(Or maybe that’s not how it happens at all.)