Little Things Ch. 02 of 04

I can feel him there in the seat beside me, with whatever subconscious sense it is that speaks such things. His presence, pressing at the back of my mind, a shadow in the periphery of my vision. I wonder what he's thinking, feeling right now. The same thing? That we could be...

I glance in his direction, hoping to gauge the expression on his face. But his eyes are already there, waiting for me, dimly visible in the flickering reflected light of the onscreen figures writhing against one another. Watching with a gaze slow and softly wistful, his mouth a low, silent line. It would be a scene to tear at my heart - if it weren't for the silly pair of glasses perched on his nose, turning the moment from mournful to bizarrely comic. I have to bite at my lip to keep from giggling again, and as his eyes rest on mine, a tiny, self-aware smile curls on his lips. I must look just as ridiculous, myself.

A beat passes, our eyes still fixed, and suddenly the absurdity is too much. I snort with laughter, giggling madly as David tries unsuccessfully to stifle his own snickering, each of our struggles driving the other further over the edge. Here, at the movie's emotional climax, we hardly less than howl with mirth, until at last the concentrated glares and chorus of shushing from our fellow attendees brings back some measure of sanity. Even then it's a struggle, half-quiet giggles sneaking through like escaping prisoners. Somewhere along the line his hand catches mine, or mine his, and I feel the connection, the warm delight in our fingers closing together.

We stay like that, with linked hands, for the rest of the movie, speaking a silent code in tiny squeezes. Each one a short exclamation, translated by our knowledge of the other's thoughts, by a raised eyebrow or an amused grin. He admires the wide and impossible landscapes; I poke fun as the characters flatten into caricature. And in the times between I just sit, and let the film pass by, and absorb the pleasant pressure of his hand around mine.

Only after the movie's formulaic ending do we separate, linked hands pulling tight and reluctantly parting. Laughter, as we push open the double doors into the lobby. "God, what a piece of shit." More amusement than vitriol in my voice. The movie, at least, is a safe topic of conversation.

He shrugs, and demurs with enlightened unconcern. "I kinda liked it."

"Really?" Faintly incredulous. I could tell he wasn't as down on it as I was, but still. "Jesus, it was just, like...cliché piled on top of cliché."

"Maybe," he grants, "but the effects, the visuals...they put it together really beautifully, you know? It was an experience. I almost felt like I was there, especially with the 3D stuff." There's a box by the door to dispose of the cheap plastic glasses; we toss them in as we pass by, and step out of the theater. The snow is coming down more thickly now, and there's already some accumulation from the time we were inside. I tug pointlessly at my coat, hoping it will keep me warm enough. "Besides, cliché isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it just...works."

"Blech." I stick out my tongue at him playfully, in mock disgust. "This isn't one of those times. You could figure out exactly what was going to happen from the moment Lady Catsmurf showed up." Smirking in satisfaction as this elicits a laugh. "Seriously, you'd have to work to come up with a more generic and obvious plot. Take away the CGI world and the orchestra blaring sappy music and you'd see how silly it is." We pass before an undeveloped lot, the ground inside still an even carpet of undisturbed snow, and I grin with sudden inspiration. "You know what? I'll show you."

Brown fur-lined boots sink into the deepening white as I fairly scamper into the lot, an uncommon cheer in my heart. Then, turning to face David once again, I drop into a feral pose, knees bent and hands low, barely grasping at the uppermost layers of snow. Fuck, it's cold; should have worn mittens. No matter. An intake of breath, and then I dramatically declare, "I am Noble Savage Warrior Woman, attuned to the spirits of nature!"

Still on the sidewalk, his figure faintly occluded by swirls of falling snow, David blinks in vague confusion. "Um?"

Man, I thought he'd catch on faster. I drop out of character a moment to give him an exasperated look and a pointed command. "You need to be Good-Hearted Man from Civilization."

"Oh!" Now he steps in after me, and I gotta admit, strikes a pretty good heroic pose. One shoulder forward, his head upturned as though staring up into the heavens, though his eyes still rest on me. "Uh, I...need your stuff."

"How dare you tread upon our sacred lands, outsider!" And without any more warning, I toss at him the snowballs I made while crouched in the snow. One goes wide, but he sputters with surprise as the other shatters on his cheek, exploding in a puff of white.

"Hey, wait-" I don't give him a chance to ask questions. Scooping up more of the powdery drift, I dance forward with a flurry of flung snowballs, pelting David until at last he laughs and begins to fire back. And for a time we engage in a running snowball fight, capering like children around the empty lot as we wage a frozen war. It's a minor delight, this, only slightly marred by my increasingly numb fingers.

I don't let it go on long enough to become tiresome. The opportunity comes when one of David's snowballs hit me in the head - I take a dive, suddenly collapsing to the ground, my face plunging into the frigid snow. Keeping still. I can practically hear his momentary hesitation, waiting for me to get back up. Then the questioning call, "Sam?" Boots crunching toward me, slowly at first, but accelerating to a jog. "Are you...oh, god, Sam, I'm sorry, I..."

I have to stifle a giggle as his hands first brush upon my back. Not very nice, maybe, teasing him like this, but he's always forgiven me. Then he grasps solidly, lifting me from the snow, turning me in his arms until we're face-to-face. I can see the worry evaporate from his features, replaced by an exasperated relief as he notes my open eyes and mischievous grin.

But it's my line. I try to keep my teeth from chattering. "You master our ways so fast, outsider. Perhaps you are one of us in spirit." We're so close, I hardly have to murmur.

"Yeah, ah..." he chuckles softly, "Maybe so."

"It must be." A laugh in my voice as well. "For I would be mad to love outside the tribe, and yet..." Alarm bells ring suddenly in my head, forethought delivering a warning far too late about the role I've taken up. All the little intimacies of this moment abruptly pulse in my consciousness. How I rest, laying half on David's knee, supported by the strong arm which encircles my back. How his fingers curl possessively upon my shoulder, his other hand just barely touched at my midriff, subtle but distinct through my thick coat. His face hovering above mine, hardly a foot away, beaming down with those beautiful blue eyes. His hair carries a sea of snowflakes - it sparkles like diamond, bright and brilliant in the diffuse winter light.

It's past the time of second thoughts. I'm already speaking, the words that grabbed my mind to mock the movie we just shared, but I fear that too much of truth inhabits my tongue. Pushing me to say what I should not. "And yet, you make me feel such things..."

The smile fades slowly from David's face, supplanted by the look of quiet longing which is growing all too familiar. He knows, just as I, that this was more than just a playful line. I can feel the muscles of his arm as it tightens beneath me, uncertain, his big fingers squeezing. "Samantha..." His lips barely shape my name, and something of a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of it. It has the feeling of a prayer, a hymn, an incantation. I should be creeped out. I should be. But I can't stop staring at his mouth, at his lips, strong and defined, but paled almost into whiteness by the cold. Barely parted - I can see his breath, a ghostly trail escaping every few seconds. And a sudden hunger in me as I imagine how it would feel to share that breath, to have him press those lips to mine. A kiss.

"There's so many different kinds..." Murmuring, again; whispering in the wind and cold. I'm not even entirely aware that I've said it until the quizzical look falls across David's features, and he intones a soft 'What?'

"Um. Of kisses." I swallow, fighting back a shiver. Not sure if it's the cold or my nerves. We've slid together, closer now, six short inches of space between our eyes. His chest like a rock wall against me. "I mean, there's pecks on the cheek, and then there's making out. There's kisses on the forehead, on the forehead, on the neck; there's closed-mouth, open-mouth, tongue...they all have their own meaning, their own feeling." God, I hope I'm not babbling. "How do I know which are okay, which we can have?"

"I don't know." A whisper, a soft shake of the head - David kneels there, holding me in his arms, his fingers caressing with an exquisite gentleness at my shoulder. His eyes speaking of an infinite patience. Of course. I sigh a little. It's up to me to figure out the boundaries. There have to be boundaries, have to be rules, some line in the sand to keep us from going too far. Or at the very least, to tell us when we have.

One of my hands clasps loosely at his forearm; the other rests upon his back, slowly tracing out muscles through his heavy woolen jacket. Rules don't have to be exact, don't have to be perfect, as long as you have the right idea. As long as you stop the big things, it doesn't matter so much if some of the little things get through, right?

"One second." A low inhalation. It sounds reasonable, in my head. "That'll be the rule. We can kiss, but not for longer than a second."

A moment's pause. His hand shifts upward minutely on my abdomen. "Are you sure?"

I briefly wonder if he's asking about the permission or the limitation. I suppose it doesn't matter. "Yeah." Barely spoken, with scarcely a nod, unwilling to risk breaking eye contact. I've forgotten the cold; there's a warmth inside me, an electric tension tingling in the air. I wouldn't be surprised to see a spark jump across and shock us both.

Seconds tick by silently, but still the moment holds. Both of us knowing what's coming, but waiting for the other to begin. David's hesitation, his trembling uncertainty, is printed on his face in flaming letters; his tongue emerges briefly to wet lips dried from the chill, he leans down an inch...then stops. Fear in his still-open eyes, fear of - I don't know what. Inadequacy. That I won't like it. That he won't like it. I don't know.

I don't usually instigate kisses, don't usually have to. But right now...my mind goes back again to a decade past, to my systematic practice in our shared bedroom, and a little smile quirks itself into being. Reaching up, my hands slip around behind his back, and I lift myself up close - my eyes closed - a fraction of an inch away, faint heat from his face bathed upon my skin - his lips, there. Contact. A spike of cold, and then a surging inner warmth. His mouth, solid, pressing into mine. His breath flows out, and I drink it in, greedily, so suddenly starving for this thing from his center, from his soul.

One second. I jerk back - not truly wanting to stop, but...I have to. That's the rule. Already breathing slightly heavily, cold air filling my lungs. My eyes flicker open late, and I see the softly delighted smile on David's lips. The joy in his eyes. "That..." A note of laughter falls from his throat, helplessly. "That was nice."

I can only agree, one hand absently stroking at the back of his neck. "It was very nice." And I smile back at him, foolishly, exuberant giddiness radiating out from a swiftly beating heart. Silly. This is so...but it was nice. Thrilling - a sparkle of excitement in my chest, like holding a secret that no one else knows.

"Again?" David's knees shift beneath me as his voice sounds, deep and hopeful. His teeth peeking out whitely from his smile.

I do want to. But the circumstance isn't the best. "Not right now." And a quick huff of laughter at the crestfallen look in his eye. "Just not right now, I said. I'm freezing my ass off out here. Let's head back to the apartment, huh?" Pushing up to my feet, I extend a hand backwards for him to take as he follows. A wave of satisfaction washing through me when he grabs hold, cresting in an open grin upon my lips. Hand in hand, we walk back to the truck.

There are a few moments to think on the drive back. To consider what this means, what I feel. It's hard to avoid the obvious conclusion, that I am feeling a certain...attraction, towards David. I glance over at him, sitting tall and upright in the passenger seat, and my heart flutters a bit, as if to confirm. Crazy. Crazy, no matter what he himself might feel. I mean, he's still a kid, basically. More or less. I need to be the reasonable one, keep us from getting into too much trouble. And this...this is a whole new kind of trouble.

I mean, so it's a crush. A psychological thing. I've taken a few psychology courses - probably I miss home, subconsciously, and he represents home, and so the feelings are kind of transferred, displaced, something like that. I can't remember the right term. And it becomes sexualized because...hm. I don't really know. The main thing I remember from my classes is that the human mind is weird as hell. But I'm sure there's some reason for it. There has to be.

So what do I do about it? It's not like I can try to avoid the guy, not when I'm about to spend two weeks with him for the winter break. I wouldn't want to, even if I could. Besides...he's had months at a time with no contact, and it doesn't seem to have helped him much.

Another notion slowly takes shape, wriggling its way in from the back of my mind. If avoidance isn't a solution...then maybe indulgence could be. Just let it play out, get it out of my system. Out of his system, too, maybe - I mean, David must have had me up on one hell of a pedestal these last years. Must have imagined a host of impossibilities, that I'm a lot of things I'm really not. If he actually had me, if we had some kind of pseudo-relationship...he'd get over me quick enough. Everyone else does, after all.

The pieces are settling into place in my mind as I pull into the parking lot. What I said and thought before still stands; we can't do anything big, can't do anything real. But little things - a kiss, an embrace, a look, the surface features of romance...there's no harm in our pretending at them, not really. It's like a game. Make-believe - what if we weren't brother and sister, but were dating instead. Once, long ago, we all but lived in such fantasies...if not quite the same as this. The pirate queen and her loyal first mate. Wonder Woman and Wonder Man. The swashbuckling explorers Sam and Davey, descending into untamed wilds in search of savage tribes...we built worlds, running around the fields and woods of home. Who's to say it's wrong, if we entertain one more dream?

---

A few minutes later, and I'm explaining this idea to David as we relax and warm back up in my room. "...so that's how it'll work." I'm stretched out on the bed, my head resting on a pillow; he's perched on the corner, looking half over his shoulder at me. "We can't kiss for longer than a second. We can't go under each other's clothes. And we can't tell anybody." My eyebrow raising to accentuate this point. "But if we keep to that, we can...pretend. Pretend like we're going out, or whatever." It sounds suddenly absurd, laid out plainly in everyday words. Another stupid idea. I bite at my lip, uncertainly - David hasn't said much yet. "What do you think?"

He sniffs, shakes his head...but there's a smile on his face. Wry, and a little bashful. "Heck, if you want to, I'm not gonna say no."

"Well...good." Laughter, brief and slightly nervous. "So. Um." A piercing silence. The stage is set - but I'm feeling pre-show jitters. "We had a good date. And now here you are, back at my place. In my bedroom." I shrug my shoulders, wriggling back a bit against the blanket. "On my bed."

"Yeah..." He draws the word out slowly, his voice high and anxious. Not quite looking at me, now. But his shyness actually makes me feel rather more assured. It's just David, after all. Or, I shouldn't think just, but...it's David. I can be comfortable with him, no matter the circumstance.

"You could join me," I observe quietly. "Lay down next to me." Not a command. A suggestion, a possibility.

"Should I?" His eyes dart over to me, a bright but worried blue. "Is that what..."

"Yeah." I slip into his silence with a crooked grin. "That's what fits, right now." And watching, as he gives a tiny nod, turns and crawls up the bed to my side. Lies back, looking up at the ceiling. My bed's just a queen - to fit, he has to squeeze up beside me, his shoulder pressed to mine. No great stretch of propriety. Yet.

"It's..." He speaks after some delay, his voice self-conscious, uncertain. "I like the, the color here, of your room." The walls are painted in a white just barely tinged with yellow - I don't know the hue's actual name. "It feels warm, you know? Good in winter. Um, now, that is. Since it's winter now." An awkward half-smile.

"Well, I didn't pick it. Like that when I rented the place." I roll my eyes, affectionately amused - and slightly perplexed. This is flustered, even for David. He wasn't like this last night...not to this extent, anyway. "You seem a little nervous, Davey." I keep my voice gentle. Quiet, my hand seeking out his in the crush between us. "Didn't you have dates like this with Sarah?" Not exactly appropriate, of course, bringing up other girls right now, but...

"No," he shakes his head firmly - and then pauses right in the middle of it, reconsiders, nodding faintly. "Or, well, yes. I guess, kind of. It wasn't quite..." His mouth keeps moving, slowly, as he tries to find the right words. "I didn't care, with her. Or, you know, I cared, but it wasn't really important. With you..." I can see his throat tighten, his Adam's apple bobble down as he swallows. "When it's just you and me, that's one thing. But if this is a date...I don't want to screw it up."

Ah. "I see." A sympathetic smile curls my lips, and I reach across with my right hand, rest it lightly on his chest. Let it sit, rising and falling with his breath. "Then maybe you should still think of it as just you and me. I mean, that's what it is, right?"

"Right. Yeah." He agrees weakly, and then releases a long exhalation. Trying to relax - I can feel it, in the shifting muscles of his chest. The tightness, the slight shallowness of his breath. It tugs quietly at my heart. His worries can be adorably pitiful at times, but I wish I could free him from them. Or maybe I'm the one being crazy now by not feeling worried. I don't know.

"Well." My hand sliding further, tracing up his pectoral muscle, grasping at his shoulder. "I think you owe me a kiss."

"I do?" Faint surprise. Honest. I have to laugh, a little bit. That honesty - you can totally tell he's innocent, inexperienced, whatever you want to call it. He doesn't play the game, doesn't subscribe to the artful lie. Just...reacts.

"Yeah. You do." A touch. My fingernails running down the side of his arm. We took off our outer clothes coming in; he's just got on a plain white t-shirt, pulled tight around his chest. Blue jeans. White socks. "I kissed you, remember? You need to return the favor. Fair's fair."

He turns, propped up on his elbow to face me, and for a moment I don't breathe. Waiting. Anxiety, hesitation, still scurry about in his eyes, shadows in a sea of blue. But my thumb rubs warmly at the back of his other hand, and gradually, a smile breaks onto his face. Fear falling away like a shattered layer of ice. A note of laughter, and of agreement. "Fair's fair."