That thing we do
K is for Kiss-AppleJacks, PG
For my soulmate, hope it's remotely worthy of you.
The first time they kissed they were drunk.
And not like, a little drunk, a socially acceptable level.
They were wasted, shitfaced, like a couple of teenagers at a frat party.
And it was a messy kiss, teeth smashing into teeth. At one point he was pretty sure April was going to fall off the barstool and like, break her nose or something, and they’d end up in the ER.
Which was at least close enough to walk to.
None of that happened, though, he caught her, one hand on her thigh, the other on her waist, slipping under the hem of her shirt. And he couldn’t seem to stop stroking her skin, soft and warm.
But he was drunk, beyond drunk, really, so it wasn’t like it counted or anything.
They shared a cab, and made out in the backseat, and they were getting better at it, or maybe they were just drunk enough that it didn’t matter anymore.
After dropping her off he sat back, eyes closed, hands folded into his lap, and tried to pretend he didn’t miss her already.
8888888
Kissing became a thing they did when they were drunk. And then one day a thing they did when they were sober.
And then they were just kissing, all the time, like it was normal or something.
They didn’t date, they didn’t have sex. They talked, sometimes, not about the kissing, just, in general about how much their lives sucked, and how they were lost, and how they missed Reed and Percy and not constantly looking over their shoulders, dodging bullets that weren’t there any more.
And then they kissed some more.
8888888888
“Do you like me?” April asked.
Jackson looked up from the chart he was writing in. “Yeah, of course.”
“Right,” she said, nodding to herself.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not…I just say things, sometimes. I can’t help it.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
“And that’s annoying.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes it’s cute.”
“Cute,” she repeated. “Right, well, see, it’s just, you know, we do all this kissing, and then…I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re doing, and I know other people are good at this, but I’m not really, I’m not really good at anything.”
“You’re pretty good at the kissing.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “Some girls, they think biting’s hot, and it is, a little, but they don’t really know when to stop, so they just kind of gnawing on you like you’re a piece of bacon or something. You don’t bite too much.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s…helpful.”
“Come here,” he said.
“So we can kiss again?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Sure, whatever you want.”
For my soulmate, hope it's remotely worthy of you.
The first time they kissed they were drunk.
And not like, a little drunk, a socially acceptable level.
They were wasted, shitfaced, like a couple of teenagers at a frat party.
And it was a messy kiss, teeth smashing into teeth. At one point he was pretty sure April was going to fall off the barstool and like, break her nose or something, and they’d end up in the ER.
Which was at least close enough to walk to.
None of that happened, though, he caught her, one hand on her thigh, the other on her waist, slipping under the hem of her shirt. And he couldn’t seem to stop stroking her skin, soft and warm.
But he was drunk, beyond drunk, really, so it wasn’t like it counted or anything.
They shared a cab, and made out in the backseat, and they were getting better at it, or maybe they were just drunk enough that it didn’t matter anymore.
After dropping her off he sat back, eyes closed, hands folded into his lap, and tried to pretend he didn’t miss her already.
8888888
Kissing became a thing they did when they were drunk. And then one day a thing they did when they were sober.
And then they were just kissing, all the time, like it was normal or something.
They didn’t date, they didn’t have sex. They talked, sometimes, not about the kissing, just, in general about how much their lives sucked, and how they were lost, and how they missed Reed and Percy and not constantly looking over their shoulders, dodging bullets that weren’t there any more.
And then they kissed some more.
8888888888
“Do you like me?” April asked.
Jackson looked up from the chart he was writing in. “Yeah, of course.”
“Right,” she said, nodding to herself.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not…I just say things, sometimes. I can’t help it.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
“And that’s annoying.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes it’s cute.”
“Cute,” she repeated. “Right, well, see, it’s just, you know, we do all this kissing, and then…I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re doing, and I know other people are good at this, but I’m not really, I’m not really good at anything.”
“You’re pretty good at the kissing.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “Some girls, they think biting’s hot, and it is, a little, but they don’t really know when to stop, so they just kind of gnawing on you like you’re a piece of bacon or something. You don’t bite too much.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s…helpful.”
“Come here,” he said.
“So we can kiss again?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Sure, whatever you want.”