(no subject)
They didn't have an excuse for the fourth time. Or the fifth, sixth or even the seventh time and beyond.
It was almost like a flood gate had been opened, and there was nothing to obstruct the rushing water that flowed from it. The frequency that they saw each other didn't increase, but something so vital and important to their tentative 'acquaintanceship' had changed to the point of where the careful balance they had managed to maintain over the years was quickly beginning to tip.
It became a constant ritual. He would run into her on accident while she was working at a cafe in America to replenish her funds and lure her to the back, where he'd promptly be pulled into the storage room for some quality time with her during her break. Or they'd happen to be staying at the same hotel in Hong Kong, where he'd tug her discreetly into a coat closet and kiss her senseless while she responded fully in kind. It even sometimes carried over to the temples they happened to raid together; drawn aside into a dark catacomb with no living creature in sight while Kazuha (and sometimes Kudo) searched for them to continue their way to the treasure chamber. It was dangerous, they were well aware of this fact, particularly with the heavier trapped hallways. Perhaps that's where the appeal hid.
They had the remarkable ability to be very quiet, nothing but the sounds of rustling clothing and parting lips and ragged breathing filling the air around them. It was all tactile exploration, too. Kissing, tasting, pushing, pulling, and nothing further; save for a few times Kaito let his hands wander across her bared, smooth shoulders and down her sides to her waist, touch light and wanting and yet not crossing any unseen lines that neither of them knew existed. Or the times her fingers slid across the skin of his neck to twirl in the deep brown of his hair, lightly scraping across his scalp as she used the leverage to pull him closer. It was a contest of feeling; who could lose themselves in the other more?
They didn't think.
They never thought.
Thinking hurt too much.
Thinking required making assumptions and guessing on what was running through the other's mind at any given moment. Thinking was imperfect, uncertain, susceptible to change; feeling was real. It was there, it was solid, it was hot, it was imperfect, but it was certain.
They never came up with a good excuse for what was between them, other than the fact that it was a game neither of them wanted to quit.
It was almost like a flood gate had been opened, and there was nothing to obstruct the rushing water that flowed from it. The frequency that they saw each other didn't increase, but something so vital and important to their tentative 'acquaintanceship' had changed to the point of where the careful balance they had managed to maintain over the years was quickly beginning to tip.
It became a constant ritual. He would run into her on accident while she was working at a cafe in America to replenish her funds and lure her to the back, where he'd promptly be pulled into the storage room for some quality time with her during her break. Or they'd happen to be staying at the same hotel in Hong Kong, where he'd tug her discreetly into a coat closet and kiss her senseless while she responded fully in kind. It even sometimes carried over to the temples they happened to raid together; drawn aside into a dark catacomb with no living creature in sight while Kazuha (and sometimes Kudo) searched for them to continue their way to the treasure chamber. It was dangerous, they were well aware of this fact, particularly with the heavier trapped hallways. Perhaps that's where the appeal hid.
They had the remarkable ability to be very quiet, nothing but the sounds of rustling clothing and parting lips and ragged breathing filling the air around them. It was all tactile exploration, too. Kissing, tasting, pushing, pulling, and nothing further; save for a few times Kaito let his hands wander across her bared, smooth shoulders and down her sides to her waist, touch light and wanting and yet not crossing any unseen lines that neither of them knew existed. Or the times her fingers slid across the skin of his neck to twirl in the deep brown of his hair, lightly scraping across his scalp as she used the leverage to pull him closer. It was a contest of feeling; who could lose themselves in the other more?
They didn't think.
They never thought.
Thinking hurt too much.
Thinking required making assumptions and guessing on what was running through the other's mind at any given moment. Thinking was imperfect, uncertain, susceptible to change; feeling was real. It was there, it was solid, it was hot, it was imperfect, but it was certain.
They never came up with a good excuse for what was between them, other than the fact that it was a game neither of them wanted to quit.