[ accordion-like, the seconds pull and stretch into what feels like something longer. peggy can't rightly measure, between one word and the next, how much time she spends studying his eyes. pale green, and observed in better detail now at this proximity than ever before. and yet even so in the middle of all those unreliably counted seconds, her attention slips lower, again, to watch the line of his mouth. and all with a kind of guarded anticipation.
she wishes she had the right words to say. she wishes she could apologize both for more or less. she wishes the book she'd tossed had hit him squarely in his lovely face. maybe, then, she might have felt that little bit better about how she now holds her place and raises her chin and exhales -- impatient -- in a way that dares him onward. yes, yes, go on -- give yourself something to be sorry for, peggy thinks.
rip frets over his ability to trace the broader picture. peggy, meanwhile, frets over hers to absorb the smallest specifics. hers is an intellect both immediate and instinctive, and there's something just a little too quiet and inexorable in what's soon-to-be another kiss. the lean-in is slow enough to let the bottom drop out of her stomach, to let her stew in the span of heartbeats
his pull on her hand is an early-warning sign, and peggy finds herself resenting the position in which it leaves her: with time on her hands! so much of it, brimming over, that there's no hope for blaming immediacy and instinct for what happens when she pushes upward -- heels leaving the floor to give her height, letting her mouth meet his. in this way, she's kissing him back even before the kiss begins. peggy is an equal partner in it.
it's a novel place to be. ordinarily, as earlier indicated, she's the aggressor. that role has always served her best. shoot first, cut first, kiss first.
her fingers travel from his wrist to his elbow, digging in just above the joint in a sudden hungry bid to keep her balance in favour of crashing against him. and maybe there are a handful of comments she could make, but there's no air going spare for any of them. she spends her lung capacity on him -- and only towards the end does she grab at the back of his neck with her other hand, dragging him that one, maybe two, inches lower. ]
no subject
she wishes she had the right words to say. she wishes she could apologize both for more or less. she wishes the book she'd tossed had hit him squarely in his lovely face. maybe, then, she might have felt that little bit better about how she now holds her place and raises her chin and exhales -- impatient -- in a way that dares him onward. yes, yes, go on -- give yourself something to be sorry for, peggy thinks.
rip frets over his ability to trace the broader picture. peggy, meanwhile, frets over hers to absorb the smallest specifics. hers is an intellect both immediate and instinctive, and there's something just a little too quiet and inexorable in what's soon-to-be another kiss. the lean-in is slow enough to let the bottom drop out of her stomach, to let her stew in the span of heartbeats
his pull on her hand is an early-warning sign, and peggy finds herself resenting the position in which it leaves her: with time on her hands! so much of it, brimming over, that there's no hope for blaming immediacy and instinct for what happens when she pushes upward -- heels leaving the floor to give her height, letting her mouth meet his. in this way, she's kissing him back even before the kiss begins. peggy is an equal partner in it.
it's a novel place to be. ordinarily, as earlier indicated, she's the aggressor. that role has always served her best. shoot first, cut first, kiss first.
her fingers travel from his wrist to his elbow, digging in just above the joint in a sudden hungry bid to keep her balance in favour of crashing against him. and maybe there are a handful of comments she could make, but there's no air going spare for any of them. she spends her lung capacity on him -- and only towards the end does she grab at the back of his neck with her other hand, dragging him that one, maybe two, inches lower. ]