#ra'fs LITTLE GRINNN

[phpruitts]

Rafael promised to stay still.

There's the crackle of paper as Phoebe works the bandage from its casing, but even as she removes the large patch she can feel Rafael's eyes on her— they rest over her, heavy and warm, and as Phoebe crouches there, eying the wound, the best placement of the bandage, she can feel all sorts of funny things shift around in her chest.

He was funny like that. Intimidating to the rest of this city, and intimidating to Phoebe, but not out of any sense of self-preservation— Phoebe wasn't afraid for her life, nothing like that.

No, Phoebe was concerned about her heart. Concerned about how he made it swoop. Concerned about how he made it free fall, like a bird dropping right from the sky. No hook-up had ever done this to her before. Phoebe had long ago admitted to herself this wasn't just a hook-up. In between searing kisses, the crack of sudden laughter, in between tangled legs, and dinners, lowlight and candlelight and sunlight. Yeah. There was only so long she could deny that.

The bandage in her hand wobbles and flaps once she realizes Rafael is shifting towards her, beautiful and inevitable— like a planet moving closer in its orbit.

No scolding escapes her lips, though, she doesn't command him to stay still. Not right now.

No, Phoebe just closes her eyes, sighs, almost imperceptibly, when her mouth touches his.

Oh, this chased away the emptiness of her apartment. This banished all the thoughts she had earlier today, the loneliness embedded deep in her gut, the ache within her that only could be satisfied by Rafael. She could have kissed two dozen men. She could have received a thousand gifts, or thousands of dollars at work from strange men. Absolutely none of that would satiate the great, terrible ache of her heart that could only think of Raf.

Phoebe feels the point of his nose drag along the side of hers.

'Sorry. I should mention that I've always been really bad at staying still.'

And Phoebe doesn't answer at first.

She's debating something. Debating imaginary lines, and what constitutes crossing over them. For a minute she just stares at his face— lovely golden skin, eyes that looked like the darkest part of a storm cloud, blue and steely and just perfect.

Eventually Phoebe can't help herself. She needs to indulge, and if she feels embarrassed after, or mortified, or something. Oh well. At least she was letting herself feel something. Too long had she deadened her emotions while in survival mode.

Phoebe, still biting at her lip, raises her free hand and uses it to stroke the smooth plane of Rafael's cheek. She pets it for a minute, brushes her thumb against the side of his face with a low exhale. Yeah. That felt intimate. That felt... amazing. She grins, and for a half-second she doesn't even think on whether Raf thought it was too much; too intimate, too soft and loving to allow from a hook-up.

But then a small splinter of self-consciousness digs into her side. Phoebe kisses him to soothe it, humming into the kiss and inhaling hard as if the extra oxygen might help her corral her thoughts. And yet her heart keeps thudding.

"I don't mind the moving..." she admits. Her hand hovers near the now-cleaned wound, bandage still balanced carefully in her palm. "... I just don't want to mess anything up. Leave a scar..."

“...You're always super nice to me....”

Yeah. Rafael was very nice to Phoebe, nicer than he’d ever been to someone that he was sleeping with. This had been the longest, most consistent connection that Rafael had ever had with a romantic partner. It’d always just been about the sex, the stress relief, the pleasure. And with Phoebe — well. He’d shown up at her apartment with no expectations of anything at all, really.

He’d just wanted to see her.

When Phoebe finally leaned forward, offering Rafael a proper kiss on the mouth, he felt his entire body relax. He’d missed her all day, hadn’t he? He’d missed her since the last time that he saw her.

But Rafael didn’t know how to fess up to it. The feelings were completely foreign, and oftentimes, they paralyzed him. Rafael sat on the edge of the couch, still inches away from Phoebe’s face. He stared at her mouth — her beautiful, perfect lips that were sweeter than honey.

He swallowed. She needed him to be perfectly still.

“Okay,” he replied in a whisper. “I can stay still.”

Rafael could’ve watched as she finished cleaning the wound or unwrapped a fresh bandage, but his eyes were stuck on Phoebe. Phoebe and her perfect features. Nothing was ever out of place. Her eyelashes were always perfectly curled. Her cheeks a nice, warm pink color. Even the way her hair fell onto her shoulders was effortless and. Just. Perfect.

Rafael hadn’t noticed that he’d been leaning forward in a bit of a daze. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape as his body gravitated toward Phoebe. It was physically impossible to fight against.

In other words, he wasn’t sitting perfectly still, the way he’d promised.

His mouth found hers in a matter of nanoseconds. He lips brushed against hers in a quiet, deep kiss. This wasn’t going to get him bandaged up any quicker, but it didn’t matter if it was delayed for a few seconds. He’d missed her, and it was the first time that Rafael had missed anyone that wasn’t family.

When he finally pulled away, he brushed his nose against hers. He leaned in again. Resisted the urge to kiss her a third time. He should let her finish applying the bandage, and then he could kiss her all that he wanted, right?

"Sorry. I should mention that I've always been really bad at staying still."