the last kiss
Title: The Last Kiss
Rating: PG
Word Count: 311
A/N: I accidentally stumbled across this in a notebook mixed in with notes on the history of linguistics and Seamus Heaney from 2008. And then the community opened up again so I thought, eh, perfect timing. Unbeated so all mistakes are belonging to me.
Rodney never really thought anything about first kisses. The romance of it was very much not his department. If anything Rodney truly remembered last kisses. Because, of course, they were an ending of something, a final goodbye, something that ended up being far more important than the beginning, at least to Rodney.
The last kiss he received from his mother was a kiss to the crown of his head. Light, sweet and innocent and then she died, slowly and painfully. It's easier, for Rodney, to remember being 26 years old and feeling the soft touch of lips, the sweet smell of his mother's perfume, the loving touching that left him, not the heart wrenching death that followed or the years of misunderstanding and regret before it.
The last kiss with Katie Brown was a short peek on the cheek. An, I'm sorry that things didn't work out between us sort of kiss. Cold and slightly uncomfortable, a question mark posing as a kiss. Why didn't this work out? How did we think it could? When he walked down the hallway, the kiss was already a distance memory locked up and stored away.
He doesn't want a last kiss with John. Doesn't want the need to remember every kiss just in case it ends up being their last. Like the time John kisses him in the fake privacy of the Jumper, their lips pressed against each other, the taste of coffee, fear and adrenaline so strong and vivid. The slight part of John's lips that allows his tongue to snake through, gliding along Rodney's lower lip. The way Rodney opens to him, invites John to stay, to taste, to play, to never, ever leave. It all presses into Rodney's mind, branding itself into his brain. A long sweet kiss that leaves him breathless when they part.
He wishes so hard he doesn't ever have to remember it.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 311
A/N: I accidentally stumbled across this in a notebook mixed in with notes on the history of linguistics and Seamus Heaney from 2008. And then the community opened up again so I thought, eh, perfect timing. Unbeated so all mistakes are belonging to me.
Rodney never really thought anything about first kisses. The romance of it was very much not his department. If anything Rodney truly remembered last kisses. Because, of course, they were an ending of something, a final goodbye, something that ended up being far more important than the beginning, at least to Rodney.
The last kiss he received from his mother was a kiss to the crown of his head. Light, sweet and innocent and then she died, slowly and painfully. It's easier, for Rodney, to remember being 26 years old and feeling the soft touch of lips, the sweet smell of his mother's perfume, the loving touching that left him, not the heart wrenching death that followed or the years of misunderstanding and regret before it.
The last kiss with Katie Brown was a short peek on the cheek. An, I'm sorry that things didn't work out between us sort of kiss. Cold and slightly uncomfortable, a question mark posing as a kiss. Why didn't this work out? How did we think it could? When he walked down the hallway, the kiss was already a distance memory locked up and stored away.
He doesn't want a last kiss with John. Doesn't want the need to remember every kiss just in case it ends up being their last. Like the time John kisses him in the fake privacy of the Jumper, their lips pressed against each other, the taste of coffee, fear and adrenaline so strong and vivid. The slight part of John's lips that allows his tongue to snake through, gliding along Rodney's lower lip. The way Rodney opens to him, invites John to stay, to taste, to play, to never, ever leave. It all presses into Rodney's mind, branding itself into his brain. A long sweet kiss that leaves him breathless when they part.
He wishes so hard he doesn't ever have to remember it.