Shit.

Shit.

This is easily my best make out session ever, hands down. Wandering hands, eagerness and an attractive person, the recipe is adding up.

There's only one thing that sours it; I'm kissing a guy. Dante, someone I've known for maybe five hours counted altogether.

I know I should stop, considering this wasn't either of our intentions, but that's much harder than it seems when he's such a damn good kisser.

His hands are moving down my body. They started respectfully, resting on my shoulder, but he couldn't resist. So he cupped my cheeks, almost to pull me closer as I am doing with his nape, but they now they rest on my sides, squeezing as though he wants to feel the muscles there.

When they move closer to my pecs, I groan again, labored breaths escaping as well.  "Fuck." More than this, I don't let pass, because it would mean being apart from his heavenly lips for too long.

He grins against my lips and if I thought what he was doing earlier was the most attractive thing I'd ever experienced, I was wrong. This is. Fuck, he is. I can't believe Jake never told me guys were this good at making out.

I abandon my grip on his neck and instead use my arms to prop myself up, desperately trying to press closer. His thighs have slid onto the backseat instead of on top of mine, but I can't complain. They hug my waist perfectly, and I could die a happy man if I had a heart attack right under him.

He tries to break away to say something, but I don't let him, addicted to his touch and taste. His mouth reminds me of the coffee we drank together and, in the back of my mind, I thank whatever deity is watching over us for making me spill my cup. It was definitely worth this outcome.

"You're," he tries, but I immediately latch myself onto him again, like a man who has been touch deprived for years. I haven't—in fact, I got laid just a couple of nights ago, so why am I this concupiscent?—but I am successfully cutting him off.

Unfortunately, he attempts again only seconds later. This time, he is wise enough to put a hand on my chest, creating enough space for me to be unable to keep kissing him. I take the few seconds to gain oxygen again, not having prioritized my breath intake over his touch.

"You're a good kisser," he mumbles, eyes flicking between mine, as though searching something in them. I snort at his bullshit attempt on making conversation and move closer again, "Then keep kissing me, asshole."

"How romantic of you," he snickers, but complies. Eventually, his hands move back up, again cupping my cheeks and pulling me closer. It's not as though I would pull away, not at all, but I like thinking he might be just as desperate to have me close as I am him.

"I'm very romantic, thank you very much." I finally realize what he said, and am not about to let him insult me without a fight, thank you. 

His mouth unlocks again, unlike me creating space to talk instead of just mumbling against lips. His eyes also open, about to roll to the side when they widen at something behind me. Curious, and a little unsettled as to what killed his mood this fast, I look over my shoulder and see...

A police officer, hand lifted to knock on the window of my car. He looks beyond pissed.

Horrified, Dante retreats, depriving me of the feeling of his hot body against mine. Now I am beyond pissed.

"What the hell?" I ask, opening my door. It's not like I want to let him in on this, definitely not, but I can't do much else. If we went on, he'd be watching, and I'm not into that. Despite that, Dante seems like he's about to choke, so I better do something, quick, to soothe him.

"Damn right, boy. What the hell you thinkin', fuckin' in the backseat of your car, in the middle of a street? At least do it somewhere private." Almost disappointed, the cop shakes his head at me.

Immediately, Dante responds,  "We weren't—"

"That's what they all say, boy. I've been a cop long enough to know better. So, either drive to the park nearby, or get out of the car and do some decent things." With that, he taps the roof of my truck and walks on, as though he never stopped.

With wide eyes full of unbelief, Dante looks over to me. I offer an innocent shrug, trying to get him to see the humor of it. Nothing really happened; at least we didn't get a fine.

When he still doesn't say anything, seeming too caught up in his thoughts, "So... you do this often?"

Finally, the distanced look in his eyes clears up. Only now, they turn and glare at me. "You're not funny, Flynn. This could've been a disaster!"

"But it wasn't," I answer, incredulously. "You're deeming it worse in your mind than it actually is. The police could see the humor of it, why can't you?"

His hands move up into his hair, and if I don't find a way to stop him from panicking  soon, he'll pull it all out. "Because I don't do this shit, ever! Maybe you don't mind because you do this every other week, but I don't. How did this even happen? One moment we were—"

"Hey!" I pull him out of his train of thought, which was definitely about to reach a precipice. "I don't do this often, either. Never, actually. Not this making out in the middle of a street at noon thing, and not kissing a guy. So, actually, you're back to square one with your reasoning."

He attempts a big, steadying breath. Then, softly, "You've never kissed a guy?"

That is what he got out of my talking? "Not really, no. It never really triggered my interest."

"So why now?"

The corner of my mouth tips up. "You fishing for compliments, Dante?"

To my delight, the tips of his ears turn red. "No! I- I just... Oh, screw you!"

He throws the plastic bag with my ruined pants towards my head, but it doesn't stop my laughter. For a while, he just keeps on glaring at me, but eventually, he can't do much more then join in.

When our laughter winds down, I reach for his hand. Thankfully, he doesn't pull away. He doesn't look too comfortable either, but that's a matter for later. "Do you—"

"Absolutely not," he interjects, shaking his head and pulling away. "This might have been nice, but there's no way you'll get me in your bed that fast."

My eyebrows move on my own, I swear. Before I know it, they're up there where my hairline is. "I wasn't going to ask that."

Bashful, "Oh."

I can't help the grin that is plastered on my face. "But you thought it was nice, huh? And that I could land you in my bed, eventually?"

Before he can answer, not that he would anyway, "But you called me a non romantic, earlier. So perhaps I could land you in my bed, eventually, to continue this nice thing. As long as I'm romantic first, right? Bring you on a first date, maybe light a candle. Is that what you want?"

According to the seemingly permanent stain on his cheeks, he would. He coughs once, twice, "No, thank you. If not that, what were you about to ask me then?"

Right. I notice the mere inches between our faces, which were my doing during my taunting. "I was going to ask you if you still wanted that walk."

His eyes lift from where they were glued to his lap. He seems lost for a moment, utterly confused, then, "Walk?"

If his confusion has reached its peak, then so has my amusement. "I was going to change my pants, considering the coffee, and then we were going for a walk, remember?"

Finally, his eyes widen the slightest bit, as though he does realize now. "Yeah, I know. I was just... asking what walking path we should take. The park that police man advised?"

Clever solution, but he doesn't fool me. "The one he recommended for us to fuck in? I'm not big on getting a free show."

Once again, he gets flustered. To save him, because poor guy, I decide to move on. If not, his cheeks would combust, I'm sure. "How about we just walk through the shopping district? Maybe I'll treat you on a gift."

He snorts, clearly eager to move on from the earlier topic. "Sure."

This time, it is only one of my eyebrows that lifts. "What, you don't think I can afford to give you a present?"

A shrug. "Considering your clothes look tailored, it's not that you can't afford it. But why would you want to? You don't owe me anything."

I send him a wink before starting to climb out of my car. He follows close. "You did buy me a coffee."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't comment on my remark. Instead, he follows me into the busy street. The silence that stretches is nice, comfortable, while we both watch the people pass us. I like watching people, always have. When I was in my dad's office, I used to watch the streets beneath us out of his big windows. And although the people down there couldn't see me, I could see them, and it was all I needed to pass through the day. I'm sure my dad liked that, instead of me clinging to him every step he took.

Watching people I don't know go on with their day, whether they're biking to work or doing groceries, perhaps shopping the perfect outfit for a first date or organizing a birthday party, it gave me a sense of comfort. I knew, even when I was five or so, it meant I wasn't alone in this world. There would always be other people to get to know if I had an argument, there would always be bigger problems in the world than mine when I couldn't see past my issues. I would never be alone, weird or hopeless; fitting into a mass of unknown people and disappear seems so easy.

As a teenager, it was a huge relief to see people still managing their life, joining together in a shopping district to live their days. I wasn't sure where to fit in at school, with my dad nearly abandoning me with the work loads he had, and my mom truly abandoning us both to find a new hot, young love on Ibiza. It seemed I was alone often, at night, when I was eating dinner with the TV on in the background just so I wouldn't hear the silence. But then I would visit my dad the next day in his office and study in the conference room next to it, and I could overlook the streets as much as I wanted. It stuck to me then; I wasn't alone.

Now, with Dante, that feeling hasn't wavered. I enjoy walking around here, and taking him with me wasn't my first intention. But it feels good, to let him in on this little thing of mine. I grab his hand and pull him along to the nook I always hide in when I'm in a rough mood. 

He must think I am trying to make out with him again, because he immediately steps out of it. But when I pull him back and point at the perfect view we have of passing people, he grows silent. "You're a creep?"

I nudge my elbows in between his ribs, having him wheeze. "I was joking!"

Ignoring him, "I like staying here for a while. It's hidden, so people don't notice me, and I can clear my head. The passing by of people makes me calm, and it's the perfect spot for me to wind down after a hard day. Maybe journal, or draw."

This time, his gaze softens when he looks at me again, away from the rush a little away. "Not a creep, then."

"Well, if you're up for some kissing, I wouldn't mind—"

"We were having a moment!" Dante exclaims, shoving at me.

"How? You just called me a creep!"