wc: 3+
SoSuWriMo: 428
And again, he was gazing at her. The weight of that gaze had the potential to melt her, China knew. It was a scary proposition. Her words lingered between them, veiled intent causing ripples of frustration within her counterpart. If he thought to determine the underlying meaning by gazing upon her Mona Lisa smile, then he was much deceived, for she herself knew precious little. The words came and went, and they felt suitable. Female intuition, instinctual drive, turned cogs oiled by her promiscuous upbringing in faster and faster churning circles.
Unable to resist the magnetic pull, porcelain face turned to him again, slanted eyes curiously assessing the movement she expected him to make.
His attention was focused, entirely, on the hesitant movement of one hand. Together they watched it advance in agonizing slowness, till at last clawed fingers found refuge in short, silvery fur. The contact was electric. Her veins ran as cables, conveying the touch within an instant to the rest of her body. Such a slight meeting of flesh, and yet it was enough to put in process a series of responses, each triggered with instantaneous precision.
First, she became very still. Cerulean drew up from his hand to seek troubled sunset rose, but their depths had changed from enchanting pools of cornflower blue to darkened indigo, the deep now undeterminable. He would plunge in at his own risk. The slight stroke of a warm palm on cool leg was enough to drive forward a secondary reaction; widened eyes, haloed by lighter hue, were accented now by the warmth of a blush that stole across cheeks. She looked younger now than before, and he, in spite of awkwardness, much older.
The childish games now seemed forgotten, wiped from the girl's mind by that slow-circling hand. Coyness seemed forgotten in the mixture of surprise and pleasure. So this is what it was to be touched. With the foolish optimism of all teenagers, she assumed this to be the depth of it, but alas, instinct craved more.
With an unsureness that matched his, but a sincerity of expression that spoke volumes for her innocent wantings, one blush-hued hand was lifted gingerly to rest, as hopefully it would, atop one of the boy's fine, broadening shoulders. Her body had twisted unnoticeably towards him now, leg leaning slightly into timidly wandering palm. There was danger here, unleashing this new part of him. But he did not feel like a stranger, and she was far too enthralled to think that her innocent touch could have any more ramifications than his.
[/html]