Hard To Pretend [PG-13; Layla/Warren]
Title: Hard To Pretend
Author: worblehat
Genre: Sky High
Pairing: Layla/Warren
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and I'm the last person to claim so.
Word Count: 402
Her eyes are deep and honest from across the table. Warren watches them, scrutinising. It's been a long time since he's seen someone so full, so laid-out, so vulnerable. He smiles, enjoying the warmth from across the table. He can tell, even as she speaks, that none of it is for him. He knows whom it's for.
But he doesn't want to think about that. Her lips are full and pink, covered in the gloss of chapstick, or lipstick, or - well, it doesn't really matter. All he knows is that she looks warm, tender; kissable.
He looks up, off to the side, wondering if they'll watch him if he leans over. Thoughts run through his mind, hot and awkward, all full of red hair and pouty pink lips. His mind wanders as she talks, hearing but wishing, for this one time that things were different. He's never been one to force new realities on others, but Layla is more genuine than anyone he's ever met. A great part of him wants to hurt Will, but all that seems trivial when he breathes in, tasting her scent on his lips from across the table.
He jokes, gently. Layla laughs and he records the sound for later.
She's entirely beautiful, though he knows he can't say so without seeming awkward or complicating things. As much as he wants to reach over, he knows it won't do any good. Instead, he lets his mind reel at possibilites that will never happen; lets Layla's lips fall against his own in his mind, tasting her ease, her gentle perfume; her warmth.
Layla looks back at him, too immersed in her own world, her own temporary sadness to realise what the man sitting across from her is thinking. Her mind is working fast and Warren tries to regain his normal mental footing.
Until she reaches across the table and takes his hand in hers. "Thanks, Warren."
Pretending is too difficult and he reaches over, pulling her body closer, across the table. His lips are clumsy when they meet hers, tongue slipping between hesitant lips, bare taste of innocence gracing his skin momentarily.
Until she pulls away.
Warren coughs, standing. "Well," he says gruffly. "I think -"
Her lips cover his again and he grins to himself, glad of her forwardness, her kisses sweeter in her aggresiveness.
Author: worblehat
Genre: Sky High
Pairing: Layla/Warren
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and I'm the last person to claim so.
Word Count: 402
Her eyes are deep and honest from across the table. Warren watches them, scrutinising. It's been a long time since he's seen someone so full, so laid-out, so vulnerable. He smiles, enjoying the warmth from across the table. He can tell, even as she speaks, that none of it is for him. He knows whom it's for.
But he doesn't want to think about that. Her lips are full and pink, covered in the gloss of chapstick, or lipstick, or - well, it doesn't really matter. All he knows is that she looks warm, tender; kissable.
He looks up, off to the side, wondering if they'll watch him if he leans over. Thoughts run through his mind, hot and awkward, all full of red hair and pouty pink lips. His mind wanders as she talks, hearing but wishing, for this one time that things were different. He's never been one to force new realities on others, but Layla is more genuine than anyone he's ever met. A great part of him wants to hurt Will, but all that seems trivial when he breathes in, tasting her scent on his lips from across the table.
He jokes, gently. Layla laughs and he records the sound for later.
She's entirely beautiful, though he knows he can't say so without seeming awkward or complicating things. As much as he wants to reach over, he knows it won't do any good. Instead, he lets his mind reel at possibilites that will never happen; lets Layla's lips fall against his own in his mind, tasting her ease, her gentle perfume; her warmth.
Layla looks back at him, too immersed in her own world, her own temporary sadness to realise what the man sitting across from her is thinking. Her mind is working fast and Warren tries to regain his normal mental footing.
Until she reaches across the table and takes his hand in hers. "Thanks, Warren."
Pretending is too difficult and he reaches over, pulling her body closer, across the table. His lips are clumsy when they meet hers, tongue slipping between hesitant lips, bare taste of innocence gracing his skin momentarily.
Until she pulls away.
Warren coughs, standing. "Well," he says gruffly. "I think -"
Her lips cover his again and he grins to himself, glad of her forwardness, her kisses sweeter in her aggresiveness.