Leicester Square
Short fiction (appalling WiFi)
Her eyes are the colour of pitch, unreadably warm as she glances down at me. I feel ridiculously small, stretched up towards her in the lights of Leicester Square. “Are you on tiptoes?” She whispers, throwing her head back in a wild, decadent laugh.
She is white light and electric. Her voice burns at my skin and chokes my limbs. I shudder against the cold and her warmth brings me a childlike comfort. She is Artemis, stalking the streets with a fierceness that makes men divert their gaze
“You’re covered in my lipstick,” she says, grabbing my waist with a wide perfect palm. I look up at her again, jaw stretched to the moon as she kisses me. I lose my balance, the lanterns and stares blurred beneath her hair. I want nothing more than her kiss. She’s chloral hydrate, dopamine, distorting the dark and cold into slumber. “Kiss me,” I whisper again, and she does so, harder than before.
“Everyone’s looking.”
“I don’t care. Do you?”
“No.”
Laughter erupts from nowhere, sinking deep into the depths of our lungs. “We’re really, really gay.”
“Profoundly homosexual.”
“Unutterably so.”
I pout, fracturing the truth with my usual dose of melodrama.
“Render your lips to mine, sweet Sappho.”
She grins at me with a wide, wolf like hunger.
“You have no idea how much I want to talk Sappho with you, right now.”
