And this?" she whispers as she leans forward, pressing your foreheads together, her lips a hair's breadth from yours. "Is this okay?"
The word falls from your lips, a small, husky whisper. Vicky follows that sound, tilting her head and gently, so gently, pressing her lips against yours. And it's... it's nothing like you'd thought it would be. It's not hard, or hot, or deep. It's tender, slow, and unspeakably, almost unbearably, soft.
You shiver as her lips move, brushing against yours, so gentle and so warm it thaws something in your chest, something you didn't even realise was frozen.
You close your eyes and respond with the same softness, the same tenderness, the same gentle care.
Both her hands are cupping your face now, her thumb stroking the skin of your cheek.
You bring your own hands up to mirror hers and pull her in closer, letting her scent, familiar, beautiful, and wild, like earth after the rain, engulf you.
It occurs to you as the kiss slowly deepens, that this may be the best kiss of your life. Objectively, there is no reason that it should be. There is nothing artful or romantic about it. You're lying on an exercise mat in the back room of Jim's Gym, sweaty and bruised.
But, somehow, despite that, your trembling at the sheer impossible beauty of it.
And then it's over.
"Vicky," you protest.
"Shh," she strokes your cheek. "Not here."
"But..."
"Not here," she repeats and kisses you again, light, on the side of your lips. "Later."
"Okay..." you cede and watch as she rolls away from you and rises to her feet.
You don't really say anything after that. But that's okay. Vicky's silences aren't like anyone else's. They're not awkward or strained. They're comfortable, close, and full of silent cues. A look, a touch, a hint of a smile...
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