“Dana…” Lara let the small package of flour drop to the counter and put her arms around Dana’s neck so she could kiss her some more. She can count the instances that they had made out in the past using only one of her hands, and the little lip action between them seconds ago had awaken the longing to add to that. This subsequent kiss was forceful in the beginning but was relaxed in the following moments. Fluidity. That was all that’s left.  Dana had put her hands on the sides of Lara’s waist.

Knees weakened and they found themselves sitting behind the counter. Uncomfortable as the marble was, Dana and Lara didn’t even think of stopping for some breathing space and continued exploring their lips that were ravenous for each other. And it was egging them on to raise the heat up a degree. Even the flour was drawn to look at the two below. Temptation (and some vibrations at the bottom) led the container freefalling into their heads, producing a cloud of white and sudden laughter erupting inside the Fairbanks’ kitchen. Jokes were cracked. Dana and Lara played with the mess of white powder, swishing some onto their clothes, their skin, their faces. Then silence drifted by. And it wasn’t awkward at all. It was more like a subordinating conjunction. But this time, instead of connecting two unequal statements, it acted as a sign to cross the bridge from one emotion to another.

Their bodies crashed gently, Dana on top. Lara felt the cold floor penetrating her shirt but this uneasy feeling was rapidly enveloped by the heat resonating from Dana’s upper body. Just as quick as the rush of cold that avoided Lara was Dana’s pull. She knelt in front of Lara and held her hands, pulled them then led her to the little Japanese table not far from where they were.

“Table will do… Will it?” It came out in a tone not easily understandable – Dana could really be contemplating about the surface or she could be joking.

Lara laughed a bit and nodded in approval. “Yes, it’s fine. Uncomfortable, but all right.” She kissed Dana again. “Wait… Aren’t your folks at home? Your brother?” Asking Dana somehow worriedly, she sat on the Japanese table.