This Kiss
It wasn't like it was a real, never-been-kissed first kiss, but it felt like one: Stokely's hands were hesitant around her neck; in her hair. And Delilah could feel the slick-soft slide of Stokely's lips against the corner of her own.
The bathroom wall was cool against her back, but Stokely's hands and mouth were warm and Delilah felt herself arching forward towards their touch; her hands blindly coming to rest on Stokely's waist before moving upwards, one hand on her shoulder, the other curving around behind her ear, fingers tangling in sleek brown-gold hair. There was a whimper and Delilah realised it was her own, slipping out her mouth as Stokely pulled away.
They shouldn't be doing this.
Not here.
Not now.
The hallway outside was quiet, the dull clanging of lockers slowly fading away as the rest of the students left, heading out to the freedom of the weekend with all its plans. Still, there was the chance that someone would come back - a sudden urge to re-apply lipstick or brush their hair - and they'd be found: Delilah, perfect-head-cheerleader-editor-of-the-paper, pressed up against the wall by Stokely, freaky-oddball-geeky-dyke, lipstick kiss-smeared and Delilah's hair falling out of its' twist. There'd be no excuse for that.
Oh-- Delilah's train of thought abruptly derailed when Stokely's mouth covered her own again: tongue sliding between her lips and pushing into her mouth. Stokely's hands were much surer now, running up and down her back, fingers tracing circles around her spine, breathy chuckles against her skin when Delilah purred. Delilah's skin beneath Stokely's fingers seeming to glow red hot with heat.
Delilah wasn't even sure how this had happened. She'd stepped into the bathroom, intent on grooming herself, expecting to be alone. Only to find Stokely leaning against one of the basins, a questioning looking her eyes. They'd traded insults, second nature, no real thought required and then it had changed. Maybe Stokely had stepped closer, maybe Delilah had, but either way: Delilah remembered the feeling of Stokely's breath against her cheek and then the coolness of the wall and the slicksoftwarm heat of Stokely's mouth on her own.
Maybe she should--could--have stepped away, pushed her away and walked out. One more sly, insulting parting shot and then an exit of clicking heels.
Instead she'd kissed back.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.