Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Thirteen [Liam]

*this chapter contains multimedia relevant to the plot*

My bed calls to my body like a magnet to metal.

I plop down over the covers, face first, immediately feeling the effect of a full day's work. I honestly don't think I can keep waking up to be in the rink at five, then go through my classes, a full work shift and a second practice. It's just not humanly possible. No one can do it.

It's almost eleven and I haven't eaten yet, nor have I finished any of the homework I have for tomorrow. And the worst part is that the little piece of functioning brain power I still have is too far taken by another thought to focus on school work.

It was easy to forget about it during practice, with Helga's instructions blocking anything outside of Chloe, my own body and the ice beneath us. But now that I'm home, my mind can't help wander back to that kiss.

Not 'that kiss', actually. It was a full-on make-out session. Short as it might have been.

I lift my face from the comforter for air and roll over onto my back.

I can see him inside my head. Thoughts and feelings locked behind a face set into stone and ice, standing by the dish washing station. Good thing I got the most stubborn side of both my parents, or I wouldn't have been able to go through what I'd set myself to do, after seeing that look.

But I went ahead and did it. 

For a second, I thought he might punch me, adding his fist's mark to the nearly faded bruising on my face. Instead, I felt his wet hands on my face and his lips on mine. And I won't lie. Despite the pep talk I had given myself this morning, reminding me that he was the one who made a move last night, I was a little shocked.

I just can't help thinking back to Chloe's words three weeks ago. "As far as the sexuality spectrum goes, I imagine Eli Blake stands as far away from every color of the rainbow as humanly possible," she said.

Well. As wise as my skating partner might ususally be, I guess she got this one wrong. Eli Blake might not be a full rainbow, but there's at least some color to that one.

Because he fucking kissed back.

And, hell, did he kiss.

I had been fascinated to find out this summer with Rafael that kissing a boy wasn't at all much different from kissing a girl. I expected that different genders would feel different, touch differently, smell differently, taste differently.

Rafael had smelled of chlorine and sunscreen and sweat, and his lips tasted of apple juice and the wine on Mack's parents' cellar. That aside, the experience wasn't all that different. There was a different topography to male and female bodies, but not much of a distinction between the act itself and the way it made me feel.

Until Eli.

Where Rafael's lips had been soft and full, Eli's were rougher than I expected, even a little chapped from the cold. Where Rafael was tentative and exploratory, Eli was direct and firm. His hands held my face in place with a steadiness I never felt in any of Rafael's gentle touches and experimental caresses. The kiss had a kind of urgency to it that I never experienced before.

It was hot.

But Eli also made it very clear from the moment we parted that the kiss was a dead topic. Actually, no. More than that. A no-topic. A non-occurance.

To be honest, I still can't get over how fast he snapped, clicking from hungry and ready to cool and uninterested. Guess some people really do have an on-and-off switch.