Red Love

Chapter 6

And who are you to not grant him that?

With a muffled rumble of consent, he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you know he is not used to this when he awkwardly explores. But you give him an 'A' for effort; you have experienced worse with irritating teeth knocks and having someone shove their tongue into your mouth. You let your eyelids flutter close, bringing a hand up to tug on his shirt. He tastes sweet, like maple syrup and soda with a unique 'Scout' tang. The way he gingerly slips a hand under your shirt to caress your breast though the fabric of your bra makes you gasp.

By the time he pulls away from you, his lean face is flushed; it is cute, honestly, especially when he looked away for a moment like he is uncharacteristically hesitant and shy. You find it amusing how he is panting softly from the kiss, but not from all the running he has done all day with you. But you have no right to say as your chest heaves with each breath, trying to comprehend what has just happened.

The Scout's awkward cough for confidence snaps you back to the real world-of you, against the wall, with him, in a hidden, camera-less room of an empty map during ceasefire and the rest of the Team back in the barracks. You do not notice the heat of your cheeks until you look into his grey eyes, now swirling and dancing with unreadable emotions of lust and anxiety and love.

But then he takes your soft, wide-eyed gaze as something else.

The runner pulls away, stepping back until he is several feet apart from you. He shakes his head and grabs his cap, fumbling with the black material with his fingers, like a depressed person facing denial and shock. "I'm- I'm sorry, I... I jus' dunno what came over me. M-maybe it's 'cuz ya jus' so friggin' cute an' all an' I can't help but stare at'cha from across dae hall but it ain't my fault ya such a friggin' tease jus' by standin' dere all casual but ya can't blame me f' findin' ya hawt an' not bein' able ta tell dat to ya in front of everyotherchucklenutevenifIdolikeyou-"

He abruptly stops when you approach him, pulling him into a tight hug. He seems to calm down, growing limp in your embrace.

"...I just don't want to hurt you, toots," he murmurs into your ear, voice a mixture of emotions, but you know that when his accent is not as noticeable and words not muddled, it is good. It is a sign that he is confident like he always is, other than being snarky and loud and proud. "Ma told me dat a true gentleman never hurts a lady, and seein' you chat with Spooks da other day got me thinkin' 'bout dat."

You laugh in disbelief. "Spy? Seriously?"

The speedster chortles too. "Yea, I guess comparin' an awesome guy like me to dat backstabbing frog-eater's pretty lame."

"Mm-hmm," You pull back slightly from the hug and trace small circles on his back. "And a hot chick like me would fall for Spy?"

"Heh, maybe,"

"I like you in character, Scout, stay like that." With a mischievous grin, you added: "The day you start acting like a Spy is the day that I call up the asylum."

This time he laughs out loud, not as humourless as the previous one. "Then ya comin' with me," He hugs your hips and lifts you onto the table, pushing away all irrelevant thoughts as he demands another kiss. You give a surprise-albeit pleased-yelp, but close your eyes and lean in. He slings his lean arms around your body, holding you close, like he is afraid to lose you, like he wants you all to himself. You can feel the heat radiating off him, and something hard against your knee, where it sits on the edge of the table. You peek an eye open to watch his cheeks colour even more when you 'accidentally' shift your leg; he moans softly into your mouth before pulling away.