FICTION, number 2

"Hi," you say to me, an apprehensive smile on your face.

"Hey," I smile brightly back at you.

You look the same, sort of, a bit more beefed up, but you have the same sparkle in your eyes, and the same shy attitude that got me hooked four years ago. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers.

"It's been a while," you say in our dialect.

That's an understatement and you know it.

I laugh anyway, "Yeah, it has." I look at you again, really look this time, and I know behind those glasses is a calculating player who is trying to get me back into his chess board.

"So how have you been?" you ask, again in the dialect, as you assess me slowly, your heated eyes raking in the length of me.

 You see that I have changed a bit, too, and for the better.

"Fine, actually, back home now," I grin as your eyes finally reach mine, and I tell you without words that I know what you were doing, because I was doing it, too.

"You look good," I say, a sly smile forming on my red lips.

You look away shyly, oh, but I know you, love, and I've played this game with you before.

"Don't say that," you grin, and look back at me, "you look beautiful." You say sincerely, but you were always sincere when the moment suited you, and, yes, of course I look pretty, I'm in a short red skirt and a white tank top with red lipstick on.

"It's the truth, though," I laugh, "thanks," I smile sweetly and already I see you melt.

You look at me with smoldering eyes, and my breath hitches, oh, but I have missed you. I was too young then, I think, too naive. But I'm here now, aren't I? Let's play.

"Where are you staying?" you ask as we walk down the mall hallways.

I already know where this is headed.

"Nowhere, yet," I shrug, "I left my bag at the package counter. You have any ideas?"

You look at me and smile in that predatory way you men do, "I have an extra bed."

I smile back, I've been waiting for this, "Extra bed, as in extra bed, or extra space in your bed?" I raise a questioning brow.

This time you shrug, "It's free, at least."

"Where is it, then?" I ask.

You tell me the address and I nod, "Yeah, sure, why not?"

"Great," you smile, "So, dinner?"

"And Gelatissimo after," I smile back, and there's the 18 year old who fell in love with your artwork, again. I feel everything in a split second: the awe, the attraction, the way your hands felt against my skin while you painted me for that contest, the way I felt warm every time you spoke of your art.

You smile brightly, "Like that first date!"

"Exactly!" I laugh, only this time you take me to a fancier restaurant than KFC, and you offer to pay for the ice cream.

Just as we pick up my bags from the package counter, my phone rings, "Hi, C, yeah?" I answer, the present is catching up with us, but it's not like we're anything more than friends, "Yes, found a place to stay, yeah, see you tomorrow."

"Who was that?" you ask as you lift my bag and we go look for a taxi.

"Work mate," I answer simply, "I was supposed to meet up with them, because I'm not here on official business, but they were busy, so I ended up here," I gesture to the mall, "and i bumped into you."

"Good timing, then?" you flirt. So, it begins.

"Definitely," I laugh. We flirt a bit, and I ask you about your work now, you're teaching art. You seem happy, and the passion is still in your eyes, you still love it all. Too bad you never loved me, huh?

We reach your apartment, and you open the door, you take me to your room, and already I feel the heady anticipation in the air.

"Uhm, hey," I say, my voice small, because how do I tell you I don't want to do IT, I just really want to know how it feels to really kiss you?

"Don't worry," you say as you slowly put my bag at the foot of your bed and walk towards me, you're lips are a hairsbreadth away from mine, "We won't" you whisper as if you've read my mind.

I sigh as your lips touch mine softly, carefully, and I melt. Four years, I've waited for this kiss, the questions of how you would feel or taste plaguing me every day. You're sweet, at first, but then you always were, soft and endearing, and protective. I kiss you back gently, savoring the moment.

You pull away, and look me in the eyes, yours are molten, they still take my breath away. Then your lips come crashing down on mine in a hungered frenzy, and I try to catch my breath as you pin me to the wall. I match your kisses, trying to get my bearings, because my brain has become such a frazzled mess. My hands find your shoulders and i rake my nails on your shoulder blades because I can, because I want to. You smile against our kiss as I start to learn your taste, and it's all haggard breaths and hands everywhere, and silenced moans, and licks, and kisses.

Somehow we end up on the bed with your shirt off and me straddling you. Your hands creep under my skirt.

"Shorts?" you grin through the lust filled fog in your eyes, and you look so damned cute with your hair a mess from me running my fingers through it, I have to laugh.

"Yes, shorts," I bite my lip, and place my hands on your bare chest, Goodness, you've gotten wider. I trace the lines on your torso and feel the muscles jump underneath my fingertips. You take my hand in yours, while the other tugs at my now untucked tank top.

"Your turn," you whisper, eyes hungry, lips pink from ravaging mine.

I smile and rake both my hands down your torso before I lift my shirt and take it off. I'm wearing a black lace tube bra, and your eyes immediately zero in on it. Typical. I am amused now, really.

"Baby," I whisper as you finally look at me, "off, or on?" I ask, referring to my bra.

Your hands are on my waist as I bend over and plant little kisses on your neck.

They find the clasp and undo it.

"Off." you say in a husky whisper.
~~

It's morning and my phone alarm is blaring from your bedside table. I reach over and shut it up. 8 am.
I'm topless and skirtless, but i still have my cycling shorts on, and on top of you. My head is on your chest and my legs are tangled with yours. You're still sleeping soundly, but I have to go. I trace circles around your chest for a few seconds and then get up.

I find the shirt you were wearing yesterday and put it on. I grab my toiletry pouch from my bag and brush my teeth in your bathroom. My phone rings suddenly, and I rush to take it. You groggily hand it to me, and I kiss you on the cheek, "Good morning, R," I whisper and you smile sleepily.

"Hello?" I answer my phone. It's C. "Yeah, no, I'm fine. I'll meet you at the mall at 10. Yeah, ok." I don't hang up, not right away, because you've wrapped your arms around my waist and  pressed my back against your front.

"Good morning, baby." you say in your deep bedroom voice. The call is still going.

"Hi, handsome," I laugh back, "Kiss?" I grin as I turn to face you. Why haven't I hung up yet?

"Yes, please," you growl and I hang up, finally. We make out again for almost an hour until I push you away and say I have to go.

You pout, and it's extremely adorable, but you and I both know this was all just a calculated game.

"Again, soon?" you ask after I've showered and changed and kissed you again.

"Maybe, if you're in town," I wink and say goodbye. Of course I didn't hang up right away. I was trying to make someone jealous. I'm never going to see you again. Not intentionally, I suppose. You've answered all my questions, but I do respect you more. I smile as I wait for a taxi.
~~

"So who was that?" C asks as he drives back home in the company car, all our workmates in the seats behind us.

I look at him through my rose tinted sunglasses, he looks nice today, a bit tense, but nice. His jaw is doing that clenching thing it does when he's thinking of something.

I wave my hand form the passenger seat, like I'm shooing away a fly, "Nobody."

"Didn't sound like nobody," he says, voice measured.

"Really none of your business, C," I laugh and push his shoulder, "an old... flame, I guess."

"So what happened?" he asks, curious, but his voice is still tight.

"We just made out, bruh," I shrug, "he didn't even try to have sex."

"Really?" his eyebrows raise.

"Would I lie to you?" I smile at him.

He nods, knowing that I wouldn't. Not about stuff like these.

"So who is he?"he asks again.

"No one, really, you don't need to know."

The next four hours are the quietest we have ever been.