(no subject)
I.
At first, you are just too shattered to do anything but stay put. Your muscles go rigid with shock, eyes unable to close even trough the haze of drunkenness and so you just stare at him and ohfuckwhatsthis.
It’s confusing and awkward, his carelessness pushing him forward so that your noses bump and he ends up sucking your upper lip and it’s horrible and it shouldn’t happen and you’re positive it’s the best kiss you have ever gotten.
A scattered lump of seconds later it’s all over, his laugh filling your ears and your mouth feels cold now that his is gone.
“Mate, I’m drunk.”
II.
Those eyes of his are one of the thing you lov---hate most in the whole world. The deal is, this ability to reduce you in a whimpering mess of half sentences and impulsiveness in such a fast way astonish you.
But now you know for sure that his mouth is going right on the top of the list 10 things I hate about Adam Barton. Especially when it’s on yours and it’s moving and it’s warm and moist and--- you push him off you.
“Fuck mate, what’s wrong with you?”
“Like you don’t want this. I see it, the way you look at me.” There are glints of cockiness and laugh and you just can’t stand it anymore. Shoving him on the nearest wall, raising your hand closed in an angry fist until he begs you to stop, tells you he’s sorry about everything and anything.
You don’t do any of those things, just curl your hand around the nape of his neck, feeling light hair and shivers running down his spine.
III.
It’s been weeks now, but insecurity still makes both of you shy away, awkwardly trying to deal with something you don’t even want to give a name to.
He tastes of guilt and coffee and you’re standing near a bloody tractor in the middle of a field. Still, he presses you against the cold metal, hesitatingly breathing on your lips, waiting for you to fill the huge and infinitesimal space in between once again.
You do. You always do.
IV.
The kiss is desperate and needy and wet and unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He skims his hands all over your swollen face, like trying to memorize every detail of every wound, burnt like fire in his mind as he covers your eyes with warm palms.
His fingers linger on a cut on your cheekbone and a strangled hiss escape you, his solid body against yours soothing you more than all the words your mom and Paddy showered you with or the bandages hugging you.
He breathes in your mouth don’t ever do that to me again you twat.
Something warm and terrifying stirs inside your chest and you know that you two have crossed the line. You did a long time ago.
V.
You want him in a way that grounds you, gravity almost taking you down while you angrily force his mouth open, time still like ice in the cold winter.
When you realize he’s tugging at your t-shirt a wave of anxiety and excitement hits you, and the look of terror in his eyes must be mirroring yours, so you close them and curl your hands around his neck, dragging him nearer.
Then it all blurs together in a frenzy of breaths and rough touches, burning hot on your skin, ‘till you’re lying together, cramped in the little bed in a position anyone would call cuddling. You feel like there’s not enough air in your lungs, but then he grazes your cheek with warm knuckles , turning your head so that it rests on his. You kiss him, soft and long, and the air he shares with you seems the only one that can really keep you alive.