this was written for a fan fiction challenge, and the ending came from a kickstarter exercise at an LJ community called The Clinic.
1. No two people can keep looking into each other's eyes that way without making something happen; willing it into being.
It starts this way: You catch a glance from the other person, and then quickly look away, because you were immediately hit with an unexpected intensity. It might even have been unwelcome. You find yourself thinking about looking again, to see if it was just a one-time thing, or if there's something really there. It doesn't matter if you want it to be there or not. What matters is the physical sensation it caused. Naturally, you also wonder if the other person is thinking or feeling the same thing.
When your eyes meet again, because of course they do, there's an inkling that the response is a targeted one, that the sensation is reciprocal. While you're pondering over the meaning of this, he's thinking, "Dude, she's so into me." It's not that he necessarily believes that, it's just that the male is programmed that way for the initial reaction. The second time around, he's just as flustered as you are.
It doesn't matter that you think going beyond the eye lock is a very, very bad idea. A part of you just wants the feeling to continue, and to grow. Basic human nature. If it feels good, we want to do it again.
You're busy, he's busy, there are other people around, and everyone does their own jobs, same as usual. But accidental deliberation becomes a part of your day. Your fingers brush when he passes you a folder. Walking down the hall together, you move to the right in an effort to reduce the growing sense of intimacy, but the space feels thick and tangible, and not nearly as wide as it looks to anyone heading in the other direction.
And then it starts to feel like he can see straight through to your insides.
Let's face it; you're a bold girl. You couldn't have gotten where you are otherwise. If you want something, you ask for it. If you need something, you take it. If something isn't right, you demand for it to be fixed. This shouldn't be the least bit harder than anything else you've worked for.
You don't know why you want it. Because it's there. That's not good enough. Because you know he wants it. He'll never admit it.
Anyway, It's more basic than that. The truth is, you've walked into a restaurant without realizing you were hungry. And as soon as you smelled the food, you were hit with hunger pangs. To carry the metaphor forward, you've never even tasted this kind of food, never encountered it before, not sure you'll like it. You're simply compelled to try it out. Bad idea? How can you know if you don't have at least one bite?
2. She decided to wait around and find him in his office. She reasoned it this way; he didn't want to date her, because of all the trappings that go with the traditional dating routine. Doing this means that, going here means something else, two dates mean a relationship, three dates mean communication, and so on. Date-wise, they were already a bust. He was suspicious, looking for a motive, and on the defense as soon as she spoke to him from across the dinner table. And yet he'd made more effort than necessary to please her, which meant something. It had to. All that was in the past, of course, but they were still locking eyes, stretching moments into timeless pauses, and now she was too hungry to bother thinking about meanings and reasonings and conclusions.
As usual, he was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk, eyes closed, headphones on, and she thought, as she had so often before, this is when he's most himself. This is when he's most vulnerable. It touched her for a brief second, then she shook it off. Strangely, she realized, he hadn't sensed her presence. She quietly stepped around the back of his chair, and watching the rise and fall of his chest, she took a deep breath and lightly placed her hands on the side of his face. Opening his eyes, he looked up at her as she leaned forward, pressed her lips to his forehead, and slid her hands down, cupping his chin, spreading her fingertips and moving further to the exposed skin just beneath his open collar.
He closed his eyes again, slipping the headphones from his ears and she could feel his pulse quicken as she dragged her lips over his nose, cheeks, tugging at his earlobe, nuzzling the quiet spot behind it, unbuttoning his shirt enough to slip her hands inside and across his chest. In a low, resonant tone, she heard him murmur, "Face me."
Taking her right hand in his, he pulled her arm forward so that she had no alternative but to come around to the other side of the chair and confront him, slightly trepidacious, but too far gone to think of breaking the connection, and then all at once he pulled her, hard against his chest, forcing her to straddle him with her right leg bearing most of her weight as her left knee drew up just above his thigh, squeezed into a narrow space against the arm of the chair. He ran his hand down the length of her torso, under her right thigh, and pulled her leg forward, wrapping it around his waist.
She thought of none of this until much later; how smoothly he compensated for his damaged thigh while allowing her to continue her "seduction," working her hands down to the buckle of his jeans, lifting her skirt and easing her way up and back, and only then did he slip his hands under the hem of her blouse, yanking up the tank bra covering her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, then suddenly, forcefully, gripping her ribcage and forcing her hips to rock forward, taking him in all at once, daring her to look him straight in the eye in that one swift moment.
The hard part was the kissing. As awkward a position as she found herself in, their matched rhythm and locked gaze eliminated any thoughts of discomfort she might have had in the beginning. But his lips were slightly parted, breathing a little unsteady, and she needed to taste his mouth. There's a reason people equate sex with food and vice versa; sex is about consumption, and that means biting and tasting and swallowing, she wanted to take and be taken both above and below, like the cliches in the romance novels she no longer had time for.
She pressed herself up against him, the back of her mind remembering to keep her weight on the right, just as he reached up and wove his fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth onto his and tearing at the flesh, allowing her a moment to gasp before assaulting her lips with his teeth, making her hungrier than ever for his tongue, lips and teeth gnashing, their hips still posting in a rhythm completely outside the control of heart or mind.
When it was all over, he pulled her head to his shoulder, and they both remained quiet for a moment, until she suddenly realized she no longer had any sensation in her left leg, knee still pressed against the side of the chair, seemingly locked into position safely above his damaged muscle. She started laughing, realizing she couldn't lift her leg's dead weight from the inside of the chair, and with her other leg still tucked around him, the situation began to seem ridiculous and slightly embarrassing. They met eyes once again, and he spoke with amusement in his voice, "Nobody ever said this was going to be easy. You wanted me. Next time be careful what you ask for.”