No Comment
by Oro

The only two words you'll ever have to learn: no comment.

 

She caresses his cheek thoughtfully, and he sees a new vulnerability in her; like crystal he's afraid to break, her eyes shine in the luminous light of his office. He doesn't remember where it started and she's only thinking about why it hasn't sooner; and why now. She licks her lips to taste him again, and decides that maybe it isn't wrong for them to pursue this, whatever they just began. The feel of her hands on his face seems like the softest approval he's ever gotten; he leans in for a second kiss. She bites his lip gently; there will be other mistakes to be made, but for now there's this. The other mistakes don't feel so damn good. Her hands reach for the back of his neck and in that moment, this image of two people pressed against each other seems to embody their idea of perfection.

 

It seems like ascension of a sort, to a certain, higher state of being for the fraction of a moment; inevitable and pleasantly surprising at once, and the sudden awareness of his taste in your mouth. A mere kiss. He rolls on your tongue like the words in your mind: Toby, Toby, Toby, and you wonder why your mind hasn't thought up anything more eloquent to shout. You realize you've lost your oxygen in him; you gasp for the air that fills your lungs and seeps into your taste of him. Your best friend of god knows how many years now, who is now just looking at you, apparently smugly surprised at his own boldness and scared shitless of your reaction. You do your best to smile encouragingly, and you find it strange that you've only now noticed he's wrapped his arms around you and hasn't let go yet; this sudden realization, somehow, is what colors the situation awkward. You remain silent in his embrace: you don't even know if you're still friends.

 

Toby, Toby, Toby; if only she'd stop shouting at you for a moment to let you collect your thoughts into the last organized spot in your mind, you might be able to hear them. Her voice hurls itself violently into your mind and rattles your brain in rapid motions, and she's never seemed sexier in your eyes. (No, that is a lie; she usually seems sexy in your eyes). You begin to forget what silence sounds like, what it feels like when your ears are not bleeding with her voice. It seems like the most intimate way you connect with her nowadays, with the added pressure (of the last five years, for the both of you, and for everyone you associate with; that will not be over until you step down from greatness onto that point where you'd feel eternally lost). The fleeting thought of Andi crosses your mind the second before you do something grandiosely moronic: approach her, without thinking, and place your lips on hers. She tastes like everything that Andi never was; you wrap your arms around her and decide that there are more intimate ways to connect with CJ.

 

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