The Kissing Theory

Elphaba had made a terrible mistake.

A horrible, catastrophic, life-ruining mistake.

And that mistake was ever agreeing to this in the first place.

Because now, exactly two days after The Incident, Glinda was back in her room, standing at the foot of her bed, hands on her hips, an infuriatingly pleased look on her face.

“Elphie,” she cooed, in that dangerous tone—the one she used when she was about to ask for something completely ridiculous.

Elphaba didn’t even look up from her book. “No.”

Glinda pouted. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Elphaba turned a page. “Yes, I do.”

Glinda gasped. “Oh? Then, by all means, tell me.”

Elphaba sighed dramatically, snapping her book shut and looking up. “You want to ‘continue the experiment.’”

Glinda beamed. “Correct!”

“No.”

Glinda gasped again, this time clutching her heart. “Elphie, you wound me!”

“I should have wounded you last time, maybe you’d have learned your lesson.”

Glinda grinned, twirling a golden curl around her finger. “Oh, but I did learn something.”

Elphaba narrowed her eyes. “I doubt that.”

Glinda ignored her. “I learned that I’m very good at kissing.”

Elphaba blinked. Stared.

Then scoffed. “You would say that.”

“Well, it’s true! You admitted it yourself!” Glinda flipped her hair. “But I also realized something very important.”

Elphaba exhaled. “Oh, do tell.”

Glinda leaned forward, voice dropping slightly. “I have yet to master the art of it.”

Elphaba blinked. “The… art of it?”

Glinda nodded. “Yes. The advanced techniques. The finer details.”

Elphaba stared at her, waiting.

Glinda smiled sweetly.

Then, with a tiny, innocent shrug, she said—

“I need to practice using my tongue.”

Silence.

Complete.

And utter.

Silence.

Elphaba’s book slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a thud.

Glinda grinned.

“Elphabaaa,” she sing-songed, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t deny me the chance to perfect my skills, would you?”

Elphaba made a strangled noise. “Glinda, no.”

Glinda tilted her head, putting on her best doe-eyed look. “Elphie, yes.”

Elphaba shot to her feet. “I barely survived last time!”

Glinda giggled. “You slammed your head against the wall. That’s not my fault.”

“It was your fault!”

“I wasn’t the one who panicked!”

“I did not panic!”

Glinda smirked. “Oh? So you’re perfectly fine with doing it again?”

Elphaba hesitated.

Glinda beamed.

“I knew it.”

Elphaba groaned, pressing her palms against her face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Glinda flopped onto the bed, patting the space beside her. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Elphie. It’s just kissing.”

“That’s what you think,” Elphaba muttered, but she sat down anyway, because apparently, she had lost all sense of self-preservation.

Glinda turned toward her, sitting on her knees. “Alright. Shall we?”

Elphaba exhaled sharply. “Just—just get it over with.”

Glinda giggled. “Oh, Elphie. Where’s your enthusiasm?”

“Nowhere. Start.”

Glinda smirked.

And then—

She leaned in.

It started soft. Careful. Like last time.

But then—

Glinda deepened it.

Elphaba had no time to react before she felt the slowest brush of Glinda’s tongue against her lower lip.

She jumped.

Glinda let out a pleased hum, clearly thrilled by the reaction.

And then she did it again.

Elphaba froze.

Her brain was screaming. Every single nerve in her body was on high alert.

This was dangerous.

This was insane.

This was—

Her teeth accidentally grazed Glinda’s lip.

And—

Glinda let out the softest, most breathless little sound.

Then—

“Oh,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look at Elphaba with something almost mischievous in her expression.

Elphaba gulped.

Glinda’s lips curled into a smirk. “Elphie… was that a tease?”

Elphaba’s entire body locked up. “What—? No! It was an accident!”

Glinda giggled, pressing impossibly closer. “Are you sure?”

Elphaba’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Then—

Glinda’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, and—oh no—

She was moving.

Onto Elphaba’s lap.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like she belonged there.

And then—suddenly—she froze.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh,” she breathed, blinking down at Elphaba. “I—I think I—”

She trailed off.

Elphaba stared up at her, completely disoriented.

Then—

It hit her.

They had been doing this for too long.

Practicing for too long.

This wasn’t normal anymore.

Glinda was in her lap.

Their bodies were pressed together.

And—worst of all—

Elphaba wasn’t pushing her away.

Glinda’s face went pink. “Oh.”

Elphaba’s brain short-circuited.

Glinda scrambled off her lap, sitting beside her like she hadn’t just been straddling her like it was nothing.

Elphaba could barely breathe.

A long silence.

Glinda cleared her throat. “Um.”

Elphaba stared at the ceiling.

Glinda fidgeted. “So, uh…”

Elphaba was dying.

“…That was—um—helpful, I think?” Glinda said, voice too high-pitched.

Elphaba did not respond. She had left her body. She was a ghost now.

Glinda twirled a curl around her finger. “I—I mean, obviously, I have more to learn, but that was—um—”

Elphaba shot to her feet. “I HAVE TO GO.”

Glinda blinked. “Go—? Go where?”

Elphaba turned, grabbed the first thing she could find (her shoe), and marched toward the door.

Glinda tilted her head. “Elphie…?”

Elphaba threw the door open. “ANYWHERE BUT HERE.”

Then she slammed it behind her.

Leaving Glinda sitting on the bed, utterly perplexed.

And maybe—just maybe—slightly, disastrously, interested.