First Move
Title: First Move, Second Move
Author: Kate, k4writer02
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Word Count: 825
Summary: Julie and Santiago kiss. Santiago kicks himself for letting Julie make the first move. Compliant with
leobrat's “ Permission to Exist” series (and I'm honored to say included she's including it as part X!). Answered a Juliago community challenge.
Santiago kicks himself for letting little bitty Julie Taylor be the one to make the first move.
Or, you know, he keeps thinking he ought to. Cause a man would’ve seen the signs, and taken her by the hand and kissed the words and sense right out of Dillon’s own version of Rapunzel. Probably publicly.
And Santiago didn’t do that; he waited for her to come and (literally) throw herself at him.
But deep inside, he can’t help thinking that it’s really hot that she wanted it-no, wanted him-so bad that she couldn’t wait for him. He actually really likes that he wasn’t the aggressor; he knows he didn’t hurt her or push her or do anything she didn’t want.
That’s what makes it okay for him to enjoy her move, and counter it by making the second move.
And there’s no kicking himself over that.
Julie may have pulled him into a reading room; she may have launched herself at him, she may have made the first move. But he met her, matched her, and raised the stakes. He’s the one who tangled his big, suddenly clumsy fingers in her long sunshine-gold hair. His palm was against her cheek (just as satiny as he’d imagined her baby sister’s to be), and his thumb rubbed the skin from the corner of her eye to her hair line. It’s such an intimate place to touch, though he’s never heard anyone else talk about it. It feels like claiming her, like he’s touching a part of her no one else has, at least not with this intent.
While they kissed, he used his lips to mold and memorize her lips, her other cheek. He used his palm and finger tips to caress and memorize the rest of her face. His other arm wrapped around her back, held her steady. She felt so tiny, all pressed up against him like this. Their hearts beat against their ribs-he could feel her breasts against him and there’s only three layers of clothes between her skin and his skin, but he doesn’t try to do anything to reduce or increase the distance.
He didn’t think this moment would ever end. Life couldn’t be the same after a kiss like this. Santiago’s no virgin, but there’s something more in this kiss than the quick grope that leads to a quick poke in a dark corner. It’s not like it’s a promise of more to come in the backseat of a car, though it is a tempting tease, but he just doesn’t know what it’s promising or tempting him toward.
He couldn’t fathom an after (maybe her father will find out and run him into the ground or Matt Saracen will find out and really fucking snap or Riggins will figure it out and stop telling him how to not injure himself or Mrs. Taylor will strangle him in the office or that leggy blonde, Tyra, will take matters into her own hands-he has no idea who else might kill him or send him back to juvie over this). With her pressed against him, it’s hard to think or care about consequences.
Life narrowed and filled to that second, to Julie in his arms-her hair smelled like vanilla, and her mouth tasted like cinnamon gum. The spice of the taste and the sweetness of the scent wrapped around him, driving him crazy.
Initially, her arms had been wrapped and locked around the back of his neck, but she loosened that hold. She ran one hand through his close cropped hair, down to his neck, then back up to make aimless patterns that still made him shudder. The other hand she ran down his spine, till she rested her hand on his back, palm splayed open.
They stayed like that-tongues and lips dancing, noses and chins and teeth occasionally bumping, hands exploring backs, fronts pressed together-until it was time for him to go to practice, time for her to find her mother and ride home.
Her hair was a mess; her lips were even poutier than normal, and her flushed cheeks and quick breaths were the most wonderful sight he’d ever seen. So he did something stupid. He leaned down, kissed her forehead and whispered “tomorrow” in her ear. Tomorrow wasn’t a conditioning day and he was probably going to need his study hall (which happened to be right across the hall from hers), but the way she looked nervous and happy and shivery, well, he’d make do.
He missed three easy passes at practice, ignored snickers from the guys who saw him wiping Julie’s lipgloss off the side of his mouth, had to endure a shouted “get your head out your ass” from Coach Taylor, and couldn’t seem to help wearing a big old shit-eating grin, even during punishment laps.
So far, that letting her make the first move thing was treating him all right.
Author: Kate, k4writer02
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Word Count: 825
Summary: Julie and Santiago kiss. Santiago kicks himself for letting Julie make the first move. Compliant with
leobrat's “ Permission to Exist” series (and I'm honored to say included she's including it as part X!). Answered a Juliago community challenge.
Santiago kicks himself for letting little bitty Julie Taylor be the one to make the first move.
Or, you know, he keeps thinking he ought to. Cause a man would’ve seen the signs, and taken her by the hand and kissed the words and sense right out of Dillon’s own version of Rapunzel. Probably publicly.
And Santiago didn’t do that; he waited for her to come and (literally) throw herself at him.
But deep inside, he can’t help thinking that it’s really hot that she wanted it-no, wanted him-so bad that she couldn’t wait for him. He actually really likes that he wasn’t the aggressor; he knows he didn’t hurt her or push her or do anything she didn’t want.
That’s what makes it okay for him to enjoy her move, and counter it by making the second move.
And there’s no kicking himself over that.
Julie may have pulled him into a reading room; she may have launched herself at him, she may have made the first move. But he met her, matched her, and raised the stakes. He’s the one who tangled his big, suddenly clumsy fingers in her long sunshine-gold hair. His palm was against her cheek (just as satiny as he’d imagined her baby sister’s to be), and his thumb rubbed the skin from the corner of her eye to her hair line. It’s such an intimate place to touch, though he’s never heard anyone else talk about it. It feels like claiming her, like he’s touching a part of her no one else has, at least not with this intent.
While they kissed, he used his lips to mold and memorize her lips, her other cheek. He used his palm and finger tips to caress and memorize the rest of her face. His other arm wrapped around her back, held her steady. She felt so tiny, all pressed up against him like this. Their hearts beat against their ribs-he could feel her breasts against him and there’s only three layers of clothes between her skin and his skin, but he doesn’t try to do anything to reduce or increase the distance.
He didn’t think this moment would ever end. Life couldn’t be the same after a kiss like this. Santiago’s no virgin, but there’s something more in this kiss than the quick grope that leads to a quick poke in a dark corner. It’s not like it’s a promise of more to come in the backseat of a car, though it is a tempting tease, but he just doesn’t know what it’s promising or tempting him toward.
He couldn’t fathom an after (maybe her father will find out and run him into the ground or Matt Saracen will find out and really fucking snap or Riggins will figure it out and stop telling him how to not injure himself or Mrs. Taylor will strangle him in the office or that leggy blonde, Tyra, will take matters into her own hands-he has no idea who else might kill him or send him back to juvie over this). With her pressed against him, it’s hard to think or care about consequences.
Life narrowed and filled to that second, to Julie in his arms-her hair smelled like vanilla, and her mouth tasted like cinnamon gum. The spice of the taste and the sweetness of the scent wrapped around him, driving him crazy.
Initially, her arms had been wrapped and locked around the back of his neck, but she loosened that hold. She ran one hand through his close cropped hair, down to his neck, then back up to make aimless patterns that still made him shudder. The other hand she ran down his spine, till she rested her hand on his back, palm splayed open.
They stayed like that-tongues and lips dancing, noses and chins and teeth occasionally bumping, hands exploring backs, fronts pressed together-until it was time for him to go to practice, time for her to find her mother and ride home.
Her hair was a mess; her lips were even poutier than normal, and her flushed cheeks and quick breaths were the most wonderful sight he’d ever seen. So he did something stupid. He leaned down, kissed her forehead and whispered “tomorrow” in her ear. Tomorrow wasn’t a conditioning day and he was probably going to need his study hall (which happened to be right across the hall from hers), but the way she looked nervous and happy and shivery, well, he’d make do.
He missed three easy passes at practice, ignored snickers from the guys who saw him wiping Julie’s lipgloss off the side of his mouth, had to endure a shouted “get your head out your ass” from Coach Taylor, and couldn’t seem to help wearing a big old shit-eating grin, even during punishment laps.
So far, that letting her make the first move thing was treating him all right.