[Dated 12/31] For Scripps

[madeofstories]

There's something almost magical about tonight, and it goes far beyond the fact that the building that used to be the compound is so wonderfully decorated, that the kitchen seems to somehow have anything to eat or drink that anyone might ever want. There's almost an electricity to the night that she can't quite put her finger on, something that brings to mind the party in Baz Luhrmann's version of Romeo and Juliet. They've all been forced into something wonderful and formal, even if part of it is only a facade.

It isn't that she's been looking for Scripps in particular, but admittedly, when her eyes scan the crowded building, he's one of the faces she's hoping to see. So, it's no surprise that she brightens upon seeing his familiar face in the throng, and approaches, a glass of champagne in each hand— one for herself, and one as an offering.

"Enjoying the party?" she asks.

Comments

[turnedtoproust]

"You mustn't tell Dakin," he responds before leaning in to the touch of her hand on his collar, bowing his head as he indulges for a second time, eager to soak up whatever attention and affection he can manage from this one girl that he's managed to become so taken with that God and Jesus fly out the window.

[madeofstories]

"Is this meant to be a secret, then?" she asks, not certain at all whether or not she likes the sound of that. Already, he's lead them out of view of everyone else, and now he wants her to keep it all a secret as well. But perhaps she's reading too much into it all again; he's kissed her now when she previously wasn't sure whether or not he ever would, after all.

[turnedtoproust]

"No," Scripps assures her, finally opening his eyes so he might give her a wry smile. "I've no care about who knows, but he'll be insufferable and he's hardly sufferable at the best of times," he confesses. "I don't know what I'll do if he's worse than usual. Well, besides possibly clock him."

[madeofstories]

"Well," Grace replies, her own smile returning, "If that's what has to be done to keep the peace." She comes up onto her toes a bit to kiss him briefly once again.

"But I won't say anything, if that's what you'd like."

It helps that Grace isn't entirely sure who Dakin is; she thinks that she may have met him once, but can't be certain.

[turnedtoproust]

It's all a bit intoxicating. When she draws him back for another kiss, he loses his train of thought and is helpless to do anything but lean in and allow himself to be kissed like that again -- and wishes to do it once more. "If I'd have known kissing would be this wonderful, I might have had to make a deal with God for temporary exemptions," he breathes out.

[madeofstories]

Grace's response to that is to look up at Scripps with slightly wider eyes.

"...was that your first kiss?" she asks him, and it's not that she thinks it's a bad thing at all if it was, but she somehow feels guilty for not knowing. She might've done things differently, otherwise.

[turnedtoproust]

"I confess that it was," he admits, slightly breathy as he gives her a sheepish look, touching his fingers to his lower lip before ridding himself of the gesture. "Was it bad?" he asks, suddenly worried. "Did you not like it?"

[madeofstories]

"No, no, it was perfect," she says, wishing that she hadn't asked whether or not it was his first kiss. It's a question she regrets not keeping to herself, even if she feels like she's stolen a moment from him that should have been more romantic.

"Besides, there's always time to practice, isn't there?"

[turnedtoproust]

"That sounds like an invitation," he says with a slightly mischievous smile on his face, coaxing her against the wall so he can allow the plane to do the work of standing for him. "It sounds a delightful one, too."

[madeofstories]

"That is the only way to get good at anything, isn't it?" she says, allowing herself to be lead closer to the wall. As she comes up onto her toes to press her lips to his again, she wonders whether or not this is the first of many times they'll get to try this out.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps carefully slides his palm over her shoulders in order to keep her close. It's problematic in that it gives their bodies a small degree of friction (which is too much by whole when he's already willing himself not to touch any part of his body in accordance with old promises). Still, he's sure she's going to feel it at some point in the midst of this kiss.

[madeofstories]

She already has felt it, but it's not polite to point out that sort of thing, even when they've stolen away to some private corner of a very public party. It's altogether too intimate, even for something already so secret and intimate, she thinks. Grace grabs lightly onto his collar again, if only because it brings with it the illusion of feeling more anchored in the moment and keeps her from thinking tonight is all one magical dream.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps feels like he can practically fall right into her arms if she keeps welcoming him forward like this. He inhales sharply, pulling away in order to simply breathe before he utterly loses control. "Oh, Grace," he murmurs fondly. "There could be no other name for you."

[madeofstories]

She doesn't expect him to pull away when he does, and for an extended moment, Grace is left there with her eyes shut, her hand still firmly on his shirt. She dips her head for a moment before looking up at him again, smile somehow even wider than before.

"So," she says, "what happens now?"

[turnedtoproust]

"I'm not sure," Scripps admits as he tries to put himself slightly back together. "I do know one thing with all my soul," he says, quite serious about the whole affair. "Come the stroke of midnight, I want you to be the one at my side to ring in the new year."

[madeofstories]

"There is absolutely nowhere else I'd rather be tonight," she tells him, and in an instant, Grace is up on her toes again to press a soft kiss to his cheek.