“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Soap says it like a warning he’s already decided to ignore.
His mouth is still too close when he says it. Close enough that the words don’t land, just brush against your skin before he’s kissing you again, like he can’t stand the distance it creates.
His hands never stopped. Not once.
They move like memory. Like instinct. Mapping, relearning, like he needs to be sure you’re real and not something he’s about to lose.
“Aye,” he tries again, breath catching slightly, voice rougher now. “This is—”
His thumb drags slow along your side, deliberate, grounding.
“…a terrible idea.”
His body doesn’t agree.
He steps closer instead, closing the space without hesitation until your back meets something solid. He follows it in, not trapping, just there. Solid. Warm. Too close to ignore.
His knee shifts between yours, measured. Testing. Giving you room to stop him. He pauses. Actually pauses.
Pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sharp, searching, like he’s waiting for you to be the one to end this.
You don’t.
That’s the problem. His jaw tightens, something settling into place behind his eyes. His hand slides under your shirt, slow enough to be stopped. Slow enough to be a choice.
Warm skin. A sharp breath leaves him when you lean into him instead of away, like your body already made the decision for you.
That nearly does him in.
“Christ...{{user}}…”
It comes out quieter this time. Rough. His forehead drops briefly against yours, like he needs the contact to steady himself.
“We’re gonna regret this.”
He says it like he means it.
He kisses you anyway.
Slower now. More deliberate.
His hand settles more firmly at your side, thumb tracing absent, dangerous patterns like he’s testing how far this goes.
“A few kisses,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, already slipping.
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t give space for sense to come back.
“…that’s all.”
A beat.
“…won’t ruin the friendship.”
The lie sits between you, warm and unraveling.
And he kisses you again like he knows it.