Two Birds, One Stone

3. Something Sick

Before anything else, any doubt or hesitation evaporated in the heat that took over everything -- the whole fucking field was burning. I was kissing Jamie, and he was kissing me back just as hard, as if he knew -- as if he knew what it was like to be deprived and just want it all. 

    His lips were soft and experienced and open, kissed rough and solid -- he seemed to melt against me, drop that air of control and just give in. It was hot, and it was stupid, and it felt fucking good, and I knew that every feeling I'd had two weeks ago -- every moment of racing pulse and spinning mind -- was nothing compared to how it felt to kiss a boy sober. I finally felt like I was in control, of my situation and of myself. 

     Things only got better from there, when my fists curled into his rain-soaked hair, when his body arched into mine, hands pulling me ever-closer by the front of my shirt. It was his teeth dragging against my lip, it was my tongue sliding roughly against his, it was our hands grasping each other, everywhere we could reach; it was here, and it was now, and there was nothing soft about it, and I loved it. 

     "Bleachers," I muttered into the kiss, desperate now. Jamie nodded -- didn't say a word, just nodded, and then we were running, hurrying over to the same spot where my bag was, and it was only a second before I was sitting against the concrete, impatiently tugging him down on top of me, squeezing his hips, kissing him like there'd been no interruption.

     I leaned back for just long enough to lift his shirt over his head and toss it aside, tongue trailing his collarbone, heat flooding when I heard his breath grow quick. He shivered when I ran my hands down his back, along the line where his tattoo was. The bare skin curved beneath my fingers, hips rolled down against mine, and I swallowed a moan as my own lifted in response. Then Jamie's hand was on my chest and I was flat on my back, he was kissing down my neck, and I could feel his breath against my skin, sharp every time I ground my hips.

    One hand moved to prop me up so that Jamie could take off my shirt. Then it was gone and he was kissing further down -- my chest, my abs -- just like his hands, his mouth seemed to burn my skin wherever it went.

     I was expecting him to come back up, waiting impatiently to feel his lips again, when I realized with a jolt that he was undoing the zipper of my jeans, and a moment later, my mind went completely, blissfully blank.

++++

I was pulling my jeans back over my hips, breathing heavily and trying to burn what had just happened into my memory forever, when the sound of a phone ringing snapped me from my hazy reverie. I expected Jamie to ignore it so we could continue, but I only got a quick enough glance at the screen to read the name Pip(squeak) before he lifted it to his ear.

    "Hey, Pip," he said, and I felt a wave of shock at how soft his voice sounded. He didn't even sound like Jamie. "What's up?"

     His eyes widened as he listened to the person at the other end of the line. His face fell, and he said, "God, I completely forgot. I got caught up with . . . something, and it totally slipped my mind."

    For the first time ever, I heard Jamie Alexander sound apologetic. Genuinely sorry.

     ". . . No, it's not okay," he said, sounding cross with himself. "I promised. Listen, I'm going to leave right now, and I'll see if there's an ice cream place still open, and if not, I'll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?"

    The look in his eyes was one I'd never seen before -- from him or from anybody else.

     ". . . Yeah, okay . . . . I missed you too, Pippy. Be there soon . . . . I love you too. Bye."