i need you so much closer | robert
It wasn’t the first time in her life that Della simultaneously regretted and also loved the fact that she had been drinking. She liked it for the confidence and the buzz and the easiness of everything swirling and blurring together. But she regretted it because she couldn’t think straight and she couldn’t walk straight and she couldn’t speak straight. And she wanted to, once and for all, get things proper and straight with Robert.
(Thanks, okay? Fucking — thank you. Now stop being a twat and come back to the party. Please.)
Except those weren’t the words that came out of her mouth. The alcohol messed with her head and twisted at her insides and entwined the fuck yous with the I cares until she wasn’t sure which one was which any more. She stood in silent, frowning at her bare legs and his clothed ones, splashed with little droplets from the pool. Her hand was still on his shoulder and if her brain were working logically she would remove it and walk away and find the party and a drink and a guy that she can pretend she wants to sleep with.
Except she didn’t and she couldn’t and the fuck yous tangled with the I cares all over again when she opened her mouth. And then she was saying it and she didn’t mean to say it but she fucking said it and couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past her lips.
“I need — you to care. I want you to stay because you care ‘bout me. Jus’ fucking… fucking stop.”
Their legs and the ground ceased to be the focus of her gaze as she looked Robert in the eye, blinking rapidly to try and focus through her blurred vision. And then, before she even knew what she was doing or why she was doing or anything beyond drunken wishes and fuck yous and I cares and wanting to fucking win one over Robert Nott, she was pressing her lips against his. Tangled thoughts became tangled bodies as she stood on her toes and pressed herself closer to him, lacing an arm around his neck. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” she mutters against his lips, as if it’s his fault. But it’s all her. Della wins with her lips and her body and her loud parties with too much booze because it’s all she knows. The only way she’s ever been able to get people to stay. And it was the recklessness and stupidity that she chugged down from a bottle earlier, too.
It’s the alcohol she could taste against his lips; burning and tingling and reminding her how impulsive and rash her actions her. It was the alcohol that ignored that side of her mind, too, blurring her thoughts until she couldn’t possibly imagine them every making sense.
“Fuck you,” she whispered again, but it was aimed at herself.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
(Not in any other alternate universe, past life, future life, whatever - just never. Not even now.
Especially now, Robert thinks.)
For a moment there was silence between them, her hands resting on his shoulder, their bodies just barely a few inches apart. Until -
I need - you to care. I want you to stay because you care 'bout me. Jus' fucking… fucking stop, her voice was buzzing in his ear, and there was the pounding, distant and faint, coming from the prefects bathroom. The music that was drowning out his thoughts, the alcohol that clouded and tainted his judgements.
Because somewhere in between the I need you and fucking stop, the lines of what he knew he should do and what he couldn't help himself do - the right and the wrong - blurred.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Her lips pressed against his. His lips pressed against hers. She tasted like alcohol - burning, heated. Red. He feels her arms lace around his neck as his fingers barely and lightly brushes through the contours of her jawline, finally entangling in-between the loose strands of her hair. His other hand travelled the down to the small of her back as he pulled her in closer, until every inch of her was against him.
He pulls away slightly, his lips grazing over hers. "Fuck you too," he manages in between breathing. Fuck you because this wasn't supposed to happened. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you because of the alcohol. Fuck you. But fuck you, again, because once again, he finds his lips locked with hers and he is trying but the kiss was slowly tasting like guilt and temptation.










