shadows under streetlights The air was cold but she refused to wear his jacket. She refused anything from him at all. Home was hundreds of steps away but they still kept walking. Neither of them could kick the fog away. “I don’t know why we’re doing this,” she said. She was turned away from him so he couldn’t see her eyes (they were red and sparked and pained – weaknesses) but he had an idea anyway. “Look, I love you—“ “Stop fucking saying that!” she screamed. She waited for the words to echo back – stop fucking saying that, fucking saying that, stop, stop, stop – but didn’t wait for him, just kept walking, striding along like she really could get away. “Stop f-fucking – fucking-“ Whatever words she could stammer out were swept away by lips that weren’t hers. They grazed over her nose and a soft, familiar face warmed her cheeks and skin while his breath hovered over her own. He kissed her, just barely touching her mouth at first but soon gave in to pushing their bodies together, his hand cupping the back of her head, holding her hips against his, the full curves against the rigidness of his body. He was demanding; he wanted her mouth, wanted all her words to be his, wanted her to be free of him and he told her so in the reverence of his breathless shudders and in the depravity of his tongue sweeping over her lips, circling the mouth he poured his kiss into. << [heart] >> scribble me your heart