Kissing the Speechless

We'd been playing around. I'd been giving him shit for his new haircut. He was giving me shit for my shoes. We'd bantered back and forth all night, trying to out-do each other with the most hurtful insult. I'd shoved him, and he shoved me back. Hard. I shouldn't have read in to it, but I did, and I shoved him against the disgustingly decorated wall of the theater. Our friends must have walked on ahead of us, because suddenly we were surrounded by strangers. They'd probably been tired of our antics by that point. We'd been berating each other all night.

Everyone had had a laugh until now as we breathed against each other with adrenaline and squared jaws. Our cheeks had become reddened with true anger, self-consciousness, and hurt. My body was pressed hard against his, and as we stared defensively at each other the voltage of our pressure was registered with contact.

Without warning, his tongue was hot in my mouth and my lips pressed back roughly to his. I couldn't let go; he wouldn't let me, and adrenaline took over our instincts. I pushed against him with force and his body resisted with defiance. His nails scratched at my back under my shirt as his hips crashed towards mine forcefully. His hair was tangled in my fingers then as I tugged, forgetting any restraint. The yelp he uttered loosened my grip and I pushed away from him with a jolt of terror. The looks we were met with were those of horrified curiosity, and I felt tears sting ferociously. He'd already had a hand to his blonde scalp and was wincing as he rubbed it. I wasn't sure if what had happened, had really happened, and I looked at him with obviously angered confusion. Only as eyebrows softened and his lips slid into a grin did I understand completely that it had.