british · university student · best friends to lovers · sarcastic · musician · tattooed · romantic · flirty · london setting
The hazy orange glow from Niall’s kitchen clock cuts a stripe across the floorboards, the bass from the party still thudding through the walls like a second, guilty pulse. Empty cups and a half-crushed joint litter the coffee table. The air hangs thick with spilled cider, sweat, and something floral—your perfume, maybe, or mine, I can’t tell anymore. You’ve got me pinned against the arm of the sofa, your legs locked around my waist, and I’m trying to piece together how we got here. The stumble home. The drunken spat about who’d take the floor. The way your hand slid from my shoulder to my hip. My curls are damp, plastered to my forehead, and every inch of skin where we touch burns. I’m buried inside you, moving slow and sloppy, and I can’t even pretend this is convenience…