Movin' on Up

For the hundredth time in eight months, Margaret Simmons and Damian Laporte found themselves shoulder to shoulder on a tiny bench in an equally tiny alcove. The nook was nestled between the astronomy tower they’d yet to explore, and the stationary room Margaret stole her favorite pencils from.

The best architects have good ideas and good graphite.

“So, what do you think?”

Margaret quirked an eyebrow at her boyfriend and pretended to try and speak around the chunk of bread weighing her tongue down.

Damian rolled his eyes with a grin.

“Obviously, you should swallow first.”

After an exaggerated gulping motion followed by an even more dramatic gulp of water, Margaret responded.

“I think you might get kicked out of the culinary program, if you keep using the kitchen supplies to make me sandwiches.”

She gestured to the platter across Damian’s knees and nearly knocked over a candlestick.

Damian steadied the ridiculously ornate candelabrum with a smirk.

“What Chef doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and I’m getting your feedback on these so it counts towards my end-of-semester project. We’re supposed to use ‘critique and imagination’ to pitch the perfect dish to add to the lunch menu.”

Margaret didn’t respond verbally and instead stared intently at the pile of pomegranates resting in a fancy soup bowl.

Damian raised his stained hands in faux innocence, “Every deli has fruit.”

“So are you imitating the serving practices of delis, or are you working on your final?”

“Are you gonna give me a review, or are you gonna keep questioning free food?” Damian retorted.

Margaret resisted a smile and rolled her eyes.

She picked up the other half of the over-engineered sandwich Damian placed on her lap and placed a finger on her opposite hand under her nose–like a mustache.

“The bread is deliciously crispy,” she adopted an Italian accent that was far from authentic, “The way you…baked it is exquisite."

Margaret doesn’t let Damian’s mocking scoff put off her analysis.

“The spicy mustard is perfectly spicy and the ham? Tastes like you just killed the pig.”

Damian let out a sharp bark of laughter, “You are the most ridiculous person I know.”

“I’m not ridiculous” Margaret continued, “I’m just so distinguished and educated that you can’t understand me.

“Mhm,” Damian indulgently agreed.

“Yup,” Margaret popped, pressing her lips to his for just a second.

In the confined space they were in, there was nowhere for Damian to retreat under the full weight of her affection.

He willed himself not to lean back too far when she pulled away, but the pleased grin on her face forced him to redirect his gaze.

“You haven’t tried the pomegranates,” He commented, when his eyes fell upon the full bowl.

“I’m full off of your Count of Amontillado sandwich,” Margaret replied with a groan.

Damian brought his gaze back up to her face and blinked at her stupidly.

Margaret frowned at his dumb founded look.

“What?” She asked.

“It’s a Monte Cristo sandwich,” Damian replied incredulously, ““The Cask of Amontillado,” is a short story.”

They blinked at each other for a long moment, and in the next they were crumpled over each other gasping for breath in between loud bouts of laughter.

Margaret threw her head back and thrust a hand towards Damian, he caught it and pressed a kiss to her palm, thoroughly enjoying the grin she bit down on in response.

“You don’t think I’m dumb now do you?” Margaret pouted in faux shame.

Damian snorted and used his grip on her hand to pull her closer to him.

The space between them was restricted to none, and Margaret had to replace the food platter on Damian’s lap with her legs to keep their knees from knocking together uncomfortably.

Damian swallowed, pretending this new closeness wasn’t making it hard for him to breathe. Margaret’s signature vanilla perfume was so intoxicating Damian felt he was high.

His next words came out slightly slurred.

“I don’t think there’s anything that could convince me you’re not extremely intelligent.”

Margaret pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and Damian used his free hand to brush his thumb across it.

The effect his words had on her…

“Do you know why I made this for you?” Damian asked her, trusting she’d understand what he was referencing without him having to look away from her to indicate the platter with his eyes.

Margaret removed her hand from Damian’s grip to drape her arm across his shoulder and bring her head even closer to his.

They were closer than they’d ever been in the eight months they’d been dating. Margaret’s blown out curls were brushing up against the braids curling against Damian’s collar.

The rapidly burning candles surrounding them were generating more heat than light, and they were finally quiet enough to hear the gentle rain thumping against the old wall they were leaning against.

Damian felt Margaret’s hand run across the smooth stone before she rested it on his neck.

He shivered at the cool press of her fingertips and felt his nerves jump in his hands at the way her nails scratched up against his scalp.

Another long moment passed before Margaret finally spoke, sliding her arm back to rest on Damian’s shoulder as she did.

“Hmmm, maybe because I can’t fit a lunch period into my stupidly busy schedule and you feel bad for me?”

Damian stared at her sarcastic smile with a soft grin.

He cupped the side of her face more firmly and brushed his lips against hers.

“No, because I love you.”

Margaret inhaled sharply and a dense silence reigned over their little pocket.

Immediately self-conscious, Damian tried to pull out of her space, only for Margaret to halt his retreat with a strong grip on the neckline of his shirt.

With eyes so dark, they reflected the fire in her heart and on her candles, Margaret questioned the sudden revelation.

“You love me?”

She unconsciously tightened her grip as she spoke and Damian gave her straining hand an amused look.

When neither her grip or gaze lightened, a helpless smile spread across his lips.

“I love you Margaret Simmons-

Warm lips crashed into his and fell back against the curved wall behind him as Margaret pushed into him.

A sharp pain bloomed in his skull, but it was overpowered by the sheer pleasure he felt as Margaret’s lips moved against his.

Pleasure, passion…love.

Once again Margaret used her strong grip on her boyfriend to move him according to her will.

Her arm straightened to pull him away and then folded to bring him back in just as quickly.

Foreheads pressed together, lungs heaving, hearts thrashing against their chests, Margaret Simmons and Damian Laporte were connected in the deepest way their minds could conceive.

“I love you too,” Margaret finally responded.

Damian grinned, “I gathered that.”

Margaret rolled her eyes, “You’re infuriating.”

“You love me for it.”

“I do.”

Margaret went to rest her head on his chest but stopped her and sat up, struck by a sudden motivation to do something bold with the new emotions he was feeling.

“Let’s go see that planetarium.”

Margaret had never experienced medical whiplash but she was sure she came close at that moment.

“What?”

Damian wasn’t waiting for her to catch up, he started moving with more excitement than she’d ever seen in him and his chaotic movement forced her to scramble back.

“Damian, wait,” She pulled against his sudden hold on her wrist, “It’s restricted, we can’t”

“We haven't,” the infuriating man in front of her corrected, “we’re students, I’m pretty sure we can go anywhere on this campus.

He didn’t wait for her to protest again and simply used his strength to pull her up and drag her unwillingly behind him.

Margaret glanced helplessly back at their little hideaway, sandwich plate flipped over, and candles still flickering. Then her gaze shifted to the door at the end of the hallway that led to their usual hangout spot they fled to when the candles burned too hot and their legs got too cramped.

She followed Damian up the stairs more readily.

Damian glanced back at his girlfriend with a broad grin before he threw open the door she’d secretly wanted to open for so long.

Her reaction didn’t disappoint him, jaw dropped, and eyes wide she looked like the definition of enamored.

He let go of her hand, and stepped aside as she admired the curved beams guiding her eyes to the starry ceiling.

“The projection’s a little weak ‘cus of the rain,” she murmured.

“It’s beautiful,” Damian mumbled back.

Margaret stripped her gaze away from the framework of her dreams and down to the man of her dreams.

“You’re beautiful,” she replied.

Damian huffed and shook his head at her.

“I tell you I love you, so you start calling me beautiful?”

Margaret nodded with a sly grin.

“Close your eyes, have no fear~” she sang.

“Oh my gosh.”

“The monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your girlfriend’s here.”

“Mmm, adlib.”

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, boy~”

With every word sung, she stepped closer to him until she could wrap her arms around him and press a kiss to his reluctant smile.

Damian snickered and slid his arms around her waist as he began to sway them back and forth.

“I love you, Margaret Simmons.”

“I love you, Damian Laporte.”