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“…I dare you to kiss me!”
Max blinks, looks into Chloe’s eyes. Waits for a punchline that doesn’t come. There’s only Chloe, that smug, cheeky grin on her lips that makes her look like a ghost from their childhood, contrasted with her short blue hair that keeps reminding her how much everything has changed and that glint in her eyes that’s never been there when they were kids. Well, Max is pretty sure it hasn’t. Chloe is the same in so many ways except in the ways she isn’t — and those are overwhelming , to say the least. Chloe used to hold her hand whenever they went and shyly kiss her on the cheek when she was in a really good mood. Not to be covered in beautiful tattoos or to illegally swim with her at midnight in the Blackwell pool while looking at her like she wants to devour her — and definitely not to ask her to kiss her on a random Wednesday morning.
“What?” she asks, can’t help herself, just to double-check, just to make sure. Because it’s probably a joke— it’s absolutely a joke, right? Chloe has been fake-flirting with her since Monday (emphasis on fake because it is fake. It is.) and it’s alright, it’s just teasing. Max doesn’t mind, doesn’t care, doesn’t feel anything. It’s teasing, she can take it with a smile and a quick change of the subject. Chloe’s most likely like this with everybody. Plus, there’s Rachel. Her clothes are next to Max — it feels like there’s always something Rachel-related next to Max, somehow — and she’s still on Chloe’s mind and that, too, is fine. Max has been back for barely three days, after five years of radio silence. It’s fine. Max doesn’t think about taking a step back but she feels herself doing just that anyway.
“I double-dare you,” Chloe repeats, without missing a beat. She shrugs, widely, kind of spreading her arms open, like an invitation. Max’s mouth goes dry. “Kiss me now.”
Max is extremely, painfully aware that she shouldn’t. Her eyes fall on Rachel’s clothes, again. This is bad, she thinks to herself. She looks back at Chloe. It would be so easy to just say no, to brush the comment off, to laugh and pretend this feels like a joke too, but she can’t. This is bad , she thinks again, when Chloe tilts her head lightly, her grin widening like she expects Max to come undone under her gaze. The worst thing is that it probably wouldn’t take much for Max to do exactly that. The glint in Chloe’s eyes is more than overwhelming. She doesn’t think the saying ‘butterflies in the stomach’ has ever been less accurate than it is now. It feels like fireworks.
This is bad, she thinks, one last time. But she’s already surging forward, one of her hands cupping the side of Chloe’s face and the other one presses on her shoulder, pulling her close and then their lips are touching. She’s never kissed anyone before, she’s never wanted to kiss anyone before, she’s never thought about how she would feel if she kissed anyone before — and nothing could’ve ever prepared her for this. Max’s head spins, for a second. A very split second, because then, Chloe is pulling away, with the most dumbfounded look on her face and Max is left here, arms still mid-air, feeling speechless and like her entire world has been rocked out of its axis.
“Wow…You’re hardcore, Max!” Chloe laughs. There’s something shaky in her voice that wasn’t here before. “Now I can text Warren and tell him he doesn’t stand a chance…” she winks over her shoulder before walking back to her bed. Max swallows. “…unless he’s into girl-on-girl action.”
Max doesn’t make a comment about how he probably is, or how that’s a really dorky thing to say or how Chloe’s voice is quivering, or how casual Chloe is acting when Max feels like something deep within her has shifted forever.
Instead, she takes a breath. She feels greedy, to an immense extent. She wants more. Thinking as little as she was when she spurted on Chloe, she lifts her hand, feels the familiar tug in her stomach, and—
“…dare you to kiss me!”
“I dare you to not pull away,” Max blurts out, barely letting Chloe finish her sentence.
It’s Chloe’s turn to blink. She’s not expecting her to actually do it, Max realizes. One of her eyebrows raises. She’s taking it seriously now. (Which means she wasn’t before. Max tries her best to not freak out). She’s still smiling, it’s less cheeky this time. Almost confused. Max presses her lips together.
“Well, that was quick,” Chloe snorts. She takes a step closer. It would be so much easier to kiss her now than it was before. Max just needs to tilt her head up. Just a little bit. God, she’s staring at Chloe’s lips, isn’t she? “I wasn’t gonna pull away, y’know,” she says, then pauses. Her smile is cheeky again. “Or was I? You tell me.”
“I don’t— what?” Max stutters, stupidly. Every single word from the English language has been wiped out of her brain, apparently.
“What?” Chloe echoes, smug, again. Jesus fucking Christ. “I dunno. You’re the time-traveler. You see your past, and my hypothetical futures. Is there possibly a future in which you kiss me and I pull away? Why would I pull away?”
Max clears her throat, doing her best to look anywhere but at Chloe’s lips — and failing. She doesn’t want to lie. She’s never used her powers on Chloe before, not the way she does with everyone else. She only uses them to keep her from dying, or that one time she had to convince her she did have them. But Chloe knows she’s using them every time. Max doesn’t want to remodel reality around her and make her follow without her knowing — she wants Chloe to be willingly a part of her world, whatever it’s like. Still, it’s hard to stick to it right now, when she’s caught red-handed taking Chloe’s teasing too seriously and wanting to do it again.
“I…don’t know,” she mumbles, weakly.
“Oh, so you did rewind this,” Chloe sniggers, looking absolutely pleased with herself. She reaches out without Max noticing, rests her hands on her waist. Of course she always wants to have the upper hand. She looks like a child on Christmas’ morning, except she’s way too fucking hot for this lame comparison (and also, Max is the gift). All she has to do is lift her chin… “To kiss me better? Longer? Sounds pretty fucking gay to me, Maxine.”
Max doesn’t think, she lifts her chin and cups Chloe’s jaw and crashes their lips together. Chloe breaks the kiss, again, but Max doesn’t let go this time. “Chloe,” she groans instead, against her mouth.
“Right, sorry,” Chloe mumbles, then smirks. “I was right. Pretty fucking gay.”And then she kisses her again without giving her the time to complain and every single nerve ending of Max’s body is on fire.