Heat is everywhere.
It radiates from Tally's body.
It hangs in the summer night.
It even seems like there's heat coming from the moon.
Tally pulls me across the street, into the woods and her hand slides from its grip on my bicep down until her fingers are threaded through mine.
So much more heat.
Just moments ago I touched a girl's hand for the first time and now I'm holding a girl's hand.
We walk without words, picking our way through the trees. Then she stops, tugging me to a stop.
"What is it?" I ask, squinting to see her in the moonlight.
"Spence," she says softly. "I just—"
She lets go of my hand and her fingers are in my hair, sliding down, grasping the back of my neck, pulling me to her.
My heart picks up and my breath catches. I can barely see but I feel more heat. The heat of Tally's mouth centimeters from mine.
"Tally," I whisper.
"Shhh."
Her lips are touching mine as she shushes me.
"Please," she whispers. The words move against my mouth.
There is no earthly power that will allow me to resist and I don't want to call on God for the strength. Because I don't want to resist. Politics and hormones be damned.
I slowly increase the pressure of my mouth against hers and as I do every ounce of tension leaves my body. Every muscle relaxes and I sigh into her.
She's the expert and she directs me. I'm an eager student. I let her lips coach mine. And then I let her tongue coach mine. In a matter of two minutes, I'm sure the student has become the master and I take over. Maybe I'm over-confident but insecurity has no place in this heat. It's incinerated. I am fire.
Carefully, I walk her backward until her back bumps softly against a tree. Then I increase the pressure and quicken the rhythm, letting my heart be the percussion that guides the tempo.
She makes a soft noise and grasps my hair, matching my pressure. I let my body press against the length of hers and revel in the heat between us.
With my hand behind her head, I let my fingers sort through her hair, sifting and twisting a million strands of that spun gold around my fingers. I'm wrapped up in a million pieces of Tally.
My other hand strokes her cheek, her neck, and back up again. I run the back of my fingers over her skin and just feel and taste, taste and feel.
Far too quickly, reality slams down on me. This isn't how I want this.
I groan and ease back. But I can't quit. Not yet. I swoop in for one, two, three, four more soft kisses.
"Tally," I say. The word catches in my throat and comes out deep and husky. "We can't."
"Don't say that. Not now," she whispers. "Please."
"So many reasons," I whisper, resting my forehead against hers and then jerk away. "But the most pressing one is that Mavis and John will be here any second."
"Spence, I'm—"
"Walk and talk," I say. "They'll be suspicious if they catch up with us."
How can the moment I've been dreaming of for years be one of the dumbest moves of my life? How can I regret something so fully and simultaneously be so glad it happened?
CITEȘTI
(NOT fan fiction!) Kurt Cobain and Tally Fisk
Ficțiune adolescențiSpence Westfahl is seventeen and invisible. A lot of people are unpopular, but that's not Spence's problem. Spence is invisible. People simply cannot see him. No one even notices him enough to make fun of him. The only people who seem to be able to...
