The lights of the diner make a thin humming sound. Most of the time, a person wouldn't even notice they do. It's background noise. The ears tune it out without having to try.
Alec notices now. It's almost the same thin humming noise his brain must be making as it shorts out and pops like a blown fuse. It doesn't hurt. He doesn't know why he thinks it would hurt.
He's kissed people before. He remembers that. His mouth, other mouths. Tissue paper memories. When he sometimes almost thinks about it his brain glides right over it all in disinterest. There's nothing there. Pressure and texture.
It does hurt. He doesn't know why he thought it didn't hurt, but her teeth caught his bottom lip against his teeth, and he made a small noise when they did. He's not sure what it sounded like. He's breathing too loud. His heart is beating too much. His eyes are still open, and all he can see is her face so close, and his hands are on the edge of the table and the back of the booth. Pleather, rubber trim, varnish.
He's done this before. He should know what he's doing.
If her hands weren't fisted in his hair he'd fall through the floor. His bruised lip throbs with his pulse. He doesn't know if it hurts.
Fuck if I know. That's what he'd tell her. Fuck if I know, Aisha.
He's kissed other people. She's never kissed him. His head hums like lightning almost striking, the only think the brain remembers before it does.
His mouth opens like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. His lip slide over hers and stop, some fraction of an inch, his teeth barely apart. There's nowhere to push up into it, her mouth is so fierce on his. He presses up anyway, a hitch of his shoulders as he tightens his hands and braces up underneath her like he's catching her jumping off of something too tall.
He doesn't know how to kiss her. But that, he knows how to do. She always knocks him down. That's how he knows he's real.
cw: csa referenced
Alec notices now. It's almost the same thin humming noise his brain must be making as it shorts out and pops like a blown fuse. It doesn't hurt. He doesn't know why he thinks it would hurt.
He's kissed people before. He remembers that. His mouth, other mouths. Tissue paper memories. When he sometimes almost thinks about it his brain glides right over it all in disinterest. There's nothing there. Pressure and texture.
It does hurt. He doesn't know why he thought it didn't hurt, but her teeth caught his bottom lip against his teeth, and he made a small noise when they did. He's not sure what it sounded like. He's breathing too loud. His heart is beating too much. His eyes are still open, and all he can see is her face so close, and his hands are on the edge of the table and the back of the booth. Pleather, rubber trim, varnish.
He's done this before. He should know what he's doing.
If her hands weren't fisted in his hair he'd fall through the floor. His bruised lip throbs with his pulse. He doesn't know if it hurts.
Fuck if I know. That's what he'd tell her. Fuck if I know, Aisha.
He's kissed other people. She's never kissed him. His head hums like lightning almost striking, the only think the brain remembers before it does.
His mouth opens like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. His lip slide over hers and stop, some fraction of an inch, his teeth barely apart. There's nowhere to push up into it, her mouth is so fierce on his. He presses up anyway, a hitch of his shoulders as he tightens his hands and braces up underneath her like he's catching her jumping off of something too tall.
He doesn't know how to kiss her. But that, he knows how to do. She always knocks him down. That's how he knows he's real.