FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,62
jacket today. He hauled him up the back stairs toward their room, footprints leaving a watery trail on the mahogany steps behind them as they went.
At their door, Aiden hesitated. Harvard leaned against the doorframe, looking over Aiden’s shoulder at the rainy dark through a mullioned window rather than at Aiden’s sweater.
“Was this okay?” Harvard asked. “Was it kind of like your first date, the one at the fair a couple years back? That’s why you wanted to go, right?”
Aiden must have liked that guy more than Harvard realized.
“This was like the first date I wanted,” Aiden said eventually.
“Oh,” said Harvard. “I’m sorry.”
First-date guy must have turned out to be a jerk.
Harvard removed his gaze from the window, skipped over looking at Aiden, and frowned at the floor, miserable at the idea of Aiden being hurt—he’d never seemed as if he could be hurt by any of those guys—when there came a sudden warm interruption to his worries.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Aiden murmured, leaning against Harvard. “I had a really good time.”
Oh, Aiden was right there. Oh.
Harvard glanced up, and then found himself unable to look away.
“Me too,” he whispered. “What should come next?”
As soon as he spoke, he knew the answer. He hadn’t realized what he was saying.
Or had he?
A teasing smile was playing around Aiden’s mouth. “What should come next, when you’re at someone’s door after a date that went well? Come on, Harvard. You know what.”
A kiss at the door, after a date. Harvard’s first kiss.
Harvard’s stomach swooped and curled.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Aiden’s smile.
“That’s what that girl wanted. That’s what Neil was waiting around on the porch for after every date.” Aiden added, “I assume he did.”
The idea of Neil was distant and uncomfortable with Aiden this close. Aiden must have caught the flash of unease as it crossed Harvard’s face.
“Just so you know, for the future,” Aiden told him. “Hey. I, uh, I know this is…”
Aiden was speaking very low. Harvard had to lean in nearer just to hear him.
“I know we’re talking about your first kiss. You don’t have to do anything. Consider me kissed. Or…” Aiden paused again. Time drew out for a long moment, as Aiden’s teeth drew slowly across his own lower lip. “If you wanted to practice this… then I would like to. It’s up to you.”
Aiden was being so good about this. Harvard felt terrible taking advantage of his kindness.
But Aiden had said he would like to.
Consider me kissed.
“No?” asked Aiden.
Harvard whispered, “Yes.”
“What was it you said?” Aiden mused. “If you don’t like it. You should tell me.”
Aiden curled his fingers around the loops of Harvard’s jeans and pulled him in a fraction closer. Aiden kissed him. Aiden’s mouth was soft. The whole kiss was soft, like a question gently asked.
Then, a little less soft. Harvard liked it.
This was new territory for him. He was in a place between terrified and thrilled, tipping one way and then another as Aiden’s kiss deepened and his head spun.
A kiss at the door. That made sense, as a thing to do at the end of the date. It didn’t matter that this was their door, because it was just for practice. Harvard only had to follow Aiden’s lead.
A kiss at the door wasn’t exactly one kiss, it turned out—any more than rain was only one raindrop. Aiden kissed him and held him pressed up against the doorframe as though Harvard wanted to get away, when Harvard wanted anything but. Harvard slid an arm around Aiden’s waist, grasping a soaked handful of Aiden’s sweater. Harvard was reliably able to reproduce any fencing move he was shown. He had to be shown only once, and he’d know the rules. But this wasn’t fencing, this was kissing, and there were no rules. Aiden’s mouth tasted of lavender lemonade, and the warmth of his body was radiating right through his wet clothes. Aiden ran his hands up the lines of Harvard’s arms and shoulders. Harvard’s hand went to the nape of Aiden’s neck, tangling in his hair, pulling so the elastic came loose and the rain-dampened hair fell around their faces. The wet hanks of Aiden’s hair got in the way of the kiss, and Aiden pushed them back with a confused murmur of complaint as though he didn’t understand what his own hair was.
Harvard pulled back from the lavender-lemonade kisses to murmur, “I love your hair.”
“Stop not kissing me,” Aiden commanded softly. “Stop it at once.”