Cecil could not have pinpointed exactly the instant at which the kiss became inevitable. He could only have said that there was a point at which that happened - a point at which the air between them suddenly felt close, and Carlos' eyes turned to his with a purpose that he understood on a level below conscious thought. The slight movement of their bodies toward each other was both a signal of what was to come and an involuntary reaction to what had just happened; Cecil knew exactly what was coming, and was surprised by it all the same.
The cameras were there for the first few seconds, in which Cecil's eyes stayed wide open and his eyebrows flew up and his breath caught. They were there for the next few seconds, in which the feeling returned to all of his limbs at once, and he let his eyes fall closed. They remained there as he leaned in, cautiously, ruling out one by one the possibilities that this was a dream, that it was happening in some alternate (and therefore irrelevant) timeline, or that Carlos was acting under the influence of an outside force, such as a brain implant, or an as-yet-undiscovered symptom of one of the mysterious illnesses, or blackmail.
Cecil did not acknowledge the cameras, but they were there in the moment he decided that, even if this was not real, it felt sufficiently so that the difference hardly mattered. He sighed, and with a tug at Carlos' hand pulled him closer.
The kiss was lingering-- of a length perfectly appropriate for television, of course, but lingering enough that Cecil could, after the first breathless moment, shift a little closer, and bring up his free hand to the back of Carlos' head, to tangle his fingers in that perfect, perfect hair.
no subject
The cameras were there for the first few seconds, in which Cecil's eyes stayed wide open and his eyebrows flew up and his breath caught. They were there for the next few seconds, in which the feeling returned to all of his limbs at once, and he let his eyes fall closed. They remained there as he leaned in, cautiously, ruling out one by one the possibilities that this was a dream, that it was happening in some alternate (and therefore irrelevant) timeline, or that Carlos was acting under the influence of an outside force, such as a brain implant, or an as-yet-undiscovered symptom of one of the mysterious illnesses, or blackmail.
Cecil did not acknowledge the cameras, but they were there in the moment he decided that, even if this was not real, it felt sufficiently so that the difference hardly mattered. He sighed, and with a tug at Carlos' hand pulled him closer.
The kiss was lingering-- of a length perfectly appropriate for television, of course, but lingering enough that Cecil could, after the first breathless moment, shift a little closer, and bring up his free hand to the back of Carlos' head, to tangle his fingers in that perfect, perfect hair.