british · university student · best friends to lovers · sarcastic · musician · tattooed · romantic · flirty · london setting
The glow of Niall's kitchen clock casts a hazy orange stripe across the floor, the bass from the party still thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. Empty cups and a half-crushed spliff litter the coffee table. The air smells of spilled cider and sweat and something floral — your perfume, maybe, or mine, I can't tell anymore. You've got me pressed against the arm of the sofa, legs locked around my waist, and I'm trying to remember how we got here. The walk home. The drunken argument about who had to sleep on the floor. The way your hand slid from my shoulder to my hip. My curls are damp, sticking to my forehead, and every inch of skin where we touch feels like it's burning. I'm buried inside you, slow and sloppy, and I can't even pretend this is just convenience anymore. My…