You and Violet were walking through the maze of rooms in the Victoria and Albert museum, pointing out interesting works of art and fun ornaments every now and then. You were enjoying your time with your boyfriend but... You were getting a little bored of all the old stuff. With a small private smile, you decided to entertain yourself.
'Hey, Gregory.' You waited for his reaction, he had wandered off to stick his nose as close as the museum security would let him to a charcoal sketch.
He turned, curious. 'Yeah?'
'I got a new perfume, did you notice?' A look of guilt washed liver his features, it almost made you regret your trick. Almost.
'Yeah come smell it, see if you like it.'
He hurried over, his long coat swishing in his wake. You angled your face up, seemingly to give him space. Gregory leaned in, close, right where you wanted him, and inhaled. Before he had the time to even look confused because you were wearing your usual perfume, you enacted your trick: quickly, you dipped your head down and pressed a kiss to his forehead — well, partly to his hair, partly to his forehead.
He reeled away, blushing so hard he almost blended in with the red of a depiction of The Great Fire Of London.
'What? Why? Huh?' He stuttered as you laughed, trying to stay quiet to still be respectful of the museum space. 'You're so red sweetheart!' You wheezed, wrapping an arm around him for a half-hug.
Working on valentine's day has its perks — like being paid double the usual rate and making use of the lovely unlimited free drinks package the Café offers its employees to drink so many cherry blossom hot chocolates it makes me sick — and its disadvantages — people out on dates seem to lack even more braincells than the average customer.
I circle back to the couple in the corner booth by the window where a loud-looking blonde guy and a tired purple haired guy sit awkwardly across from each-other again. The silence around their table is thick enough to cut with one of the bar's garnish knives, neither of them is even looking at the other. I sigh quietly and put on my well practiced peppy customer-service voice.
'Hey, have we made our choice?'
They both flinch. I grin as bright as I can.
'If you're having a hard time, may I give you some suggestions?'
The blonde nods.
'Well, we have a lovely selection of valentine's specials. I've really been enjoying the Sakura hot chocolate which is even better when you pair it with the cinnamon rolls! But if you're looking for something cold to drink, we have our limited edition Persephone juice which is made of juiced strawberries, cherries and pomegranates of course.'
For all my trouble, I don't even get a reaction. They both look at me like dead fish and frustration starts to build in my stomach.
'Should I give you a little more time to consider your options?'
The purple one seemed to wake up from his trance. 'No, we'll take what you said, hot chocolate, juice and was it bread?'
'You mean the cinnamon roll?' I ask with a placating smile. He nods. 'I'll get that started right away.'
I have to take a breath as I leave their table behind before tapping their order into my company-issued IPod. It prints immediately and the barista — Dabi — who also happens to be my friend, rolls his eyes at the order.
The barista is another of the perks of working on valentine's day. Dabi is truly a work of art. And he's such a brilliant barista and barman the hiring manager had been wiling to look past the fact he was literally covered in tattoos. The intricate inkwork spirals up his neck and over his jawline, stopping at the limit of his lips only to pick back up under his eyes where I know they hide dark circles from the ludicrous amount of shifts he picks up. His tattoos don't end there though, they curl over his upper chest and down his arms where they end in graceful points on the back of his hands like gloves. I'm pretty sure he has more ink hidden under his clothes but every time I ask he brushes me off with a "wouldn't you like to know". Yes, I would like to know, that's why I'm asking!! But Dabi couldn't just leave it at tattoos, could he? Of course not. According to himself, his body is pierced with 21 pieces of titanium, although I've only managed to count 15. Four helixes on each ear, one lobe on one side and two on the other, three in his nostril and a flash of metal on his tongue.
'Stop making me make these stupid hot chocolates.' Dabi grumbles as you reach past him behind the bar to grab the juice and the cinnamon roll.
I gently bump his shoulder with mine. 'Hey it's not my fault the customers keep ordering them.'
'It is. You're the one who keeps pushing them.' Dabi scoffs but smiles, putting on a silly voice to say: "Oh it's my faaaavourite drink we make here, I can't get enough of them."
Laughter comes easily, especially when I'm looking into Dabi's khol-lined teal eyes as they glitter with mirth. 'Well, while you're at it, make me one.'
'Another one? How many have you had today?'
I pause to count them up, I had one when I got to work but it wasn't as nice since I had made it because Dabi hadn't started his shift yet, one after that one table got angry at me for not reading their minds, two others before lunch, one with lunch and two more since.
'Seven.' I quip, putting a little extra edible pink glitter on the cinnamon roll.
'Have you no shame? You will run this fine establishment into the ground with your excessive hot chocolate consumption.' Dabi says, waving his arms theatrically.
'We only carry that drink for a week! I have to drink as much as I can while it's available!'
Dabi laughs and shakes his head. 'Sure, but seven in one shift is a lot and Manager Rumi will get mad if I drain the sakura sirup just for you.'
I cross my arms and pout for added drama. 'Come onnnn.'
'Nope, pick something else. Anything.' A look of regret crosses his face the second after that last word leaves his lips.
'Anything?' What feels like an evil smile appears on my face.
Dabi sighs and rolls his eyes. 'Yeah.'
'Tell me where your other piercings are. And I want a matcha latte with extra agave sirup.'
He shakes his head, his spiky hair not moving a millimetre. 'Fine. Get this to those customers first, they look like they're about to die of discomfort.'
I hadn't even noticed he'd put the whipped-cream topped hot chocolate onto a platter with my cinnamon roll and juice as well as a glass for the juice. 'Thanks Dabs! I'll be right back!'
I was not right back. The 4pm rush hit the second I put the blonde and his boyfriend's order on their table and it had speed-walking around the café like a pinball for the next hour and a half feeling progressively more tired and more annoyed. How dare these people giving me tips make me wait for the Dabi Piercings Reveal. Ugh.
The easy listening playlist manager Rumi insists on having on in the café loops back to Nicky Youre's Sunroof for what has to be the dozenth time that day is starting to grind on my nerves but I'm not going to be free any time soon. No, I'm on the schedule until closing, because we're severely understaffed since two thirds of my coworkers took the day off to go out on dates with their partners. Dabi gives me a look of pity as yet another couple walks into the café looking confused but happy. I have to resist the urge to make a very rude gesture in his general direction.
Think about the piercings and the cold matcha latte you'll get after this. I tell myself, trying to ignore how my body is shaking from standing too long. I feel like I've run three marathons and am being forced to run two more, my feet ache with every step, my arms tremble as I precariously balance plate after plate after plate on them so I don't have to do more than one trip to the food lift. When Rumi taps me on the shoulder and with the brightest smile I've ever seen, tells me to take a break before she leaves to meet with her girlfriend, all I can do is stop myself from slapping her.
There's no one at the bar, which is rare but welcome. I sit, angry but grateful for the respite on my poor feet, on one of the tall stools there.
'I believe it's impolite to put your elbows on tables.' Dabi drawls as he stacks glasses in neat pyramids on their drying racks.
'Oh fuck you this is not a table.'
He gasps and clutches invisible pearls. 'Language, Y/N, you might give that elderly couple a heart attack!'
I laugh, chest feeling lighter. 'So, about those piercings…'
'I'd hoped you'd forgotten, to be honest.'
'I haven't. Where are the others.' I prod.
Dabi sighs, resigned. 'I have some here.' He pats his chest over where his nipples must be, hidden under his black café-logo-printed t-shirt. I blink. He's still talking but I'm not listening.
'Oh… Now I want to see…' I mumble, just loud enough for him to hear me.
'I mean, we're not that busy right now and I do want to get back at Rumi for understaffing us today…'
That's how we end up in the basement storage room under the pretext that Dabi needed to go and get extra bottles of wine for the last rush that was quickly approaching and I wanted to help him. My heart racing faster than it ever has, I turned the key to lock it from the inside, just to be sure no one would bother us as Dabi prepared our cover story (the wine).
I can't believe this is happening. Dabi's hot and funny to bounce sarcastic quips off of but ending up purposefully locked in the storage room with him is not something I thought I'd ever be doing.
'Wasn't there a rule against workplace romance?' I say, just to fill the silence.
'I don't think this counts as romance, Y/N. Lust though… Maybe.' Dabi shrugs and holds the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. 'You can still back out, if you want.'
I shake my head so vigorously I get a little dizzy.
Dabi smiles, sorter than I've ever seen it. 'Come over here then, you won't see shit from where you are.'
I take a few steps, until I'm standing so close to him I can smell whatever hair-spray he uses to keep his hair spiked like that. The dim golden glow of the single incandescent light that always struggles to illuminate the whole storage room makes the moment strangely intimate. I know nothing about Dabi, not really, only how he likes his coffee (not at all) and that his younger brother is in high school and living with him. I know that he can skateboard and prefers to skate to work rather than use the underground and that he watches Naruto but only because his younger brother watches it. All in all, we're strangers to each-other. And yet, when Dabi puts his hand on my hip to pull me a touch closer to him, my heart flutters.
It has to be the coworker effect, one can only spend so much time with someone they find attractive before their brains starts producing "fuck them" chemicals, right? Even with a dating ban in place. Especially with a dating ban in place. We always want what we can't have.
'You can touch me, Y/N.'
Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. He says it like a wish, like a prayer. His hair paints a choppy shadow over his cheeks but it's not enough to hide the fact that Dabi is blushing. Dabi is blushing.
I pull his shirt up to his chin, revealing — as I guessed — more tattoos, as well as a lovely pair of very shiny bright blue barbells.
'Can I…' I inch my free hand towards the newly revealed jewellery. Dabi doesn't answer, instead he wraps his stupidly long fingers around my wrist and guides my fingers to his skin.
He's warm, the ink etched into his chest gives it a little extra texture when I pass my fingers over it, light as a feather. His piercings are hard but just as warm as the rest of him. I allow myself to catch one of the balls and turn it a little, it goes easily and the whole barbell spins. Dabi shivers.
'Your fingers are cold.' He whispers, a chuckle carrying his words.
'I think you're just warm, Dabi.' I look up, big mistake.
I forgot how close we are standing, so close I can feel it when he breathes. He smells like the coffee he spilled on his t-shirt earlier and hair-spray, which isn't the best combination really. But as established, he's warm, like a space heater. It makes me want to fall into his chest and wrap myself in him like putting on a feather-down coat in winter.
'Something something… Workplace romance…' Dabi mumbles, looking like he's half way through drowning in air.
I stroke over Dabi's nipple, marveling at the unusual feeling of skin and metal in such close proximity. It's weird, now that I think of it, I've always been pulled towards Dabi for reasons unknown, as if he's a magnet and I'm made of iron or something. Sure, he's strange and intimidating at first but really, once you've gotten used to the sarcasm and the tattoos, he's alright. Better than alright, considering how hard my heart's beating. Why the fuck is it trying to escape from the confines of my chest?
'You know what, I don't think I care.' I'm not even sure who said it but a second later our lips are crashing together.
It's a relief, actually, to finally stop dancing around each other, to give in. Dabi's lips are chapped and he tastes of stale chewing gum, he tells me not to touch his hair "'cause it'll take forever to fix" but he happily pulls on mine when I ask him to. We laugh together at how frustrating it is to unbuckle his three different belts.
The last few piercings, those Dabi hadn't yet shared the location of glitter in the low light of the storage room when I take him into my hand. He's warm there too, and inked.
We exit the storage room looking a little too ruffled to be inconspicuous but Rumi will have left by now so it doesn't matter. Toga — another server — starts to complain that we left her with Tomura (who has arrived to help Dabi behind the bar) but takes one look at Dabi's kiss-bruised lips and my poorly concealed love-bite and changes her mind.
You felt like death. Slow, tired, sticky unescapable death. What was worse was that your boyfriend had left you alone in the apartment. He had abandoned you in favour of whatever it was that was more interesting outside. You didn't really care, you were too busy trying not to choke on your own snot.
The front door opened again after what felt like an eternity and in walked Violet, resplendent in his usual black and purple everything. You glared at him.
'What?' He asked, having the audacity to look confused.
'You left me for dead.' You muttered and turned over to face the back of the couch you were laying on.
'Dearest, my love, I went out for ten minutes to the supermarket across the street to get you the snacks you asked for...' He half-laughed, taking a few steps towards your couch.
You grumbled, still annoyed but turned back around at the promise of snacks. Violet set the plastic bag he had been carrying on the coffee table and started pulling things out, bags of crisps, chocolate, sweets, fruit...
'I even got you this!' He smiled, holding up your favourite drink.
You looked at him for a moment, deciding whether or not to forgive him.
'Thank you.' You said eventually in a small voice.
'Here, you can take these with it.' Violet added, pulling out the last item: a small box of Paracetamol. He handed you the drink and fiddled with the box until he was holding two little pills in his palm.
Feeling childish and tired, you opened your mouth and said "ah" in an indication for him to put the pills there. Violet laughed but complied, his nimble fingers placing the two pills gently on your tongue.
'Do you need me to open that for you?' He gestured to the drink. You nodded.
After a while, maybe twenty minutes? the Paracetamol kicked in and your irritability tapered out. Violet had settled on the floor by the couch so he didn't have to bother you by making you move.
'Vi?' You mumbled, tugging on the hood of his black hoodie.
He hummed in response.
'Thank you..'
'Of course, Darling. I'm not going anywhere, especially when you need me.' He said in his sweet honey voice, lifting a hand to gently stroke your hair. You smiled back.
All was well. Except the fact you had the flu.
Modern/uni au, semi-public sexual activity, they don't get caught, libraries, fingering, Reader orgasm, reader has a pussy, Vi's longass fingers, reader wears a skirt, hickie (one), exhibitionism...
You were trying very hard to stay quiet. Violet had assured you you didn't have to, there was only the two of you left in the library since it was so close to closing. That and he wanted to hear the pretty way your voice cracked when he pressed his fingertips into that one spot inside.
You had given up reading the study guide Violet, as an older student who had already taken the class you were revising for, had given you. Instead opting for pressing your forehead into the plastic-covered particleboard desk in front of you. It was best if Violet couldn't see your face. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire you were blushing so much. Though he didn't need to see your face to know you were enjoying yourself; the excess slick that was dripping over the back of his hand was proof enough.
If someone walked into the back corner of your university's library, between the art and psychology sections, they would come upon an... Interesting scene. Gregory Violet, soon-to-be Valedictorian, one arm wrapped around you — an average student in the year below him — the other positioned in a way that made it /very/ obvious what he was doing. Not to mention the sounds. Little "shlk shlk" noises disturbed the silence of the surrounding tomes, Violet would giggle every now and then and you.. Well you were trying to breathe calmly enough to stop yourself from moaning.
The pin-drop silence only made it worse, you had nothing to focus on other than Gregory's lithe fingers moving inside you, slow and focused. The heel of his palm kept pressure on your clit as he curled his fingers up and forwards to press into that sweet spot that had you whining out little "ah, /ah/"s.
'Feel good?' He whispered, leaning in close so his lips ghosted against the shell of your ear.
You tried to say "mhm" and failed, only moaning quietly into the graffitied surface of the desk.
He laughed. /He fucking laughed/. 'Gonna cum for me?' Violet murmured. He sucked a stinging kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear. Sounding only slightly awkward, he said: 'Gonna cum for me in the library like this where everyone can see you with your skirt all pushed up?'
The tight knot in your lower stomach gave a throb. Violet pressed the heel of his palm harder against your clit and all of a sudden you were careening off the edge.
Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, leaving you panting and twitching in your chair as Violet watched with what you imagined was a soft smile. He kept moving his fingers, milking your high for all it was worth until you were jolting and pushing at his forearm and whining for him to stop.
Gregory then did something unexpected, he brought his hand up to his mouth and — if you were blushing before, now your face might as well be on fire — wrapped his black-adorned lips around his fingers. The fingers that were /in you/ seconds ago.
'You're going to be the death of me Vi...' You muttered.
'You'll be fine, I'm sure.' He laughed, fixing your skirt and gesturing to the study guide you had pushed to the opposite side of the desk. 'Let's focus a little longer, yeah?'
Cheslock forgot how much he loved to be alone. He was always sociable, he picked up friends wherever he went like collecting interesting shells on a beach. He never realised how exhausting friends could be. Or perhaps he forgot. These friends, the newer ones, those he spent the most time with, he loved them, certainly. With his entire heart and soul. Yet. They were exhausting. Every other minute one needed emotional support, the other wanted to meet for food, the next had a question about planning yet another's birthday.
He had to admit it. Although he loathed to even consider the idea.
Cheslock needed a break. He needed to be left alone by these new friends so he could pull himself back together: they had worn him so thin that the fabric of what made Cheslock Cheslock had unravelled.
He needed time to himself, time for his older friends, those who had been by his side for years rather than mere months. Those who were consistent, unchanging for they had already gone through all their changes. They had grown alongside Cheslock, consistent in their friendship and simple presence. These new friends, fun as they were, were erratic, unpredictable and fleeting in their fancies.
Instability such as this was familiar to Cheslock, of course, considering everything that happened in his life. So when he met these new friends, he was drawn in by their rollercoaster pattern. How, now, could he explain to these people who had come to rely on him, that he needed space and needed it painfully.
Cheslock missed his old self, the self who — although bored — was capable of sitting and reading research papers for hours on end. The self who could go to the library in the morning and exit only in the late evening, having eaten a packed lunch at his usual desk on the third floor next to the window. But most of all, most of all Chelsock missed being calm.
Perhaps, unintentionally, these new friends had been what an irritated parent may call "bad influences". They had certainly made his life more difficult than it had been prior to them entering his life. He felt a sort of responsibility towards them, as the oldest, that he should take care of these children — for they were really barely old enough to be adults. Perhaps it was his "teacher instincts" kicking in, or his saviour complex. Cheslock couldn't explain it.
All he knew is that looking after these new friends, supporting them, making sure everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds, was nothing short of exhausting. Oh, how they span in circles, rotating like a corpse in a grave when it is insulted: so fast they could have powered a small town in their indecision. Each of them criticising the next for something they themselves also did. Each of them turning to Cheslock for answers to their situations. Sometimes, he wished he could turn back the clock and make sure he never met them.
Cheslock loved them, these new friends, deeply. But they were tearing him appart.
Someone let Violock babysit... Why??????
This was @livingsspecter's idea, all the credit to her
'Cheslock?' Elio looked up from what the man in question was pretty sure was a Five Nights At Freddy's theory video.
Wondering if she really should be allowed to watch that kind of thing, he put down the spatula he had been using to prod at his attempt at a pancake a,d turned to look at the small blonde girl.
'Yeah?'
'You're weird.' She said before focusing her attention back on the laptop screen.
Cheslock grinned and tried to slide the spatula under his pancake. 'So are you Elio.'
'Better than being boring.' Her statement held a finality that told Cheslock the discussion was over.
Violet chose that moment to stumble in through the front door, laden with a basket and a tote bag full of food from the market. He shot Cheslock a sharp glare as he set his cargo down on the dining table. A bubbly feeling that made him want to laugh built in Cheslock's chest.
'What?' He drawled, a new sharper grin tugging at his lips.
'What the fu—' Violet cut himself off and glanced at Elio who had shut the laptop and was watching the exchange intently.
'You can swear in front of me, I don't mind.' She said, gesturing for Violet to continue.
Cheslock snorted. 'Somehow I doubt your parents would agree.'
Elio shrugged. 'They're not here.'
'You little demon.' Violet muttered, trying and failing to give her the sink eye.
'You love me.' Elio's grin was as toothless and cheeky as it was adorable.
Violet groaned and rolled his eyes. 'Anyway. Why did you send me out there.' He jabbed a finger at the front door.
Cheslock painted as deadpan an expression as he could onto his face. 'To get food.'
Violet groaned again and Elio giggled.
'You sent me. An introvert with sensory issues. To a farmer's market full of people. Someone was selling rabbits.'
Cheslock wrestled down a laugh and shrugged. 'Did you find Elio's blueberries?'
He had. And he had bought a truly excessive amount. Elio immediately started inhaling them like a hoover on crack.
Cheslock and Violet watched the little girl fondly. She was tall for an eight year old, with perpetually tangled shoulder-length blonde hair — which greatly saddened her father. Edgar was constantly fighting with her hair, trying to get it as glossy as his was. Elio had other matters to worry about; notably "badgering Greenhill into teaching her to play cricket" and "how to get out of doing tonight's homework".
'I think your pancake is burning.' Elio said, matter of fact.
Cheslock turned to the pancake. It was fully black and smoking.
'Fuck.'
— — —
Once they had managed to make an adequate number of non-charred pancakes and subsequently eaten them, the trio sat down to watch (and make fun of) the first twilight film. Elio was equally fascinated and repulsed by it. Though, no matter how many times they watched it, she always requested to see it again.
'Gregory?' Elio patted his arm during a particularly blue-filtered close up on Bella's face. 'You're good at painting.'
'Thanks.' Violet's voice was forcibly flat as he answered.
'And you always wear makeup.'
'Yeah.' Violet nodded, looking at her now.
'Can you make me look dead like her?' She pointed at the screen.
Cheslock could tell by the twitching in Violet's fingers that he was trying very hard to contain his excitement. 'Probably.' He gave Elio a small smile.
— — —
'You have to close your eyes Eli.'
Cheslock watched as Violet applied purple eyeshadow to her face as carefully and gently as possible. He had only ever seen Violet make that soft expression around Elio. Cheslock thought he probably carried an equally soft expression around the kid too. Elio was bursting with personality and adorable even though she was the daughter of the most irritating man in the world.
When Violet was done, Elio pulled a chair over to the empty fireplace and clambered onto it to peer at herself in the mirror.
'Wow!' She breathed. 'I look like a cadaver!'
Cheslock didn't have the time to wonder how she knew that word because he was too busy feeling queasy about Elio jumping off the chair. She landed safely and bounded over to him to show off her makeup.
'Look Cheslock!' She almost shouted, putting her face a little too close to his in her enthusiasm. He leaned away a little and surveyed her makeup.
Her skin was pastier and bluer than usual and Violet had done an incredible job at digging shadows into her cheeks and under her eyes that if she weren't bouncing off the walls, she'd make a very convincing corpse.
'Isn't it a bit scary?' He asked, speaking more for himself than anything else.
'No! I love it!' Elio was inspecting herself in the mirror again. Violet had moved to stand behind her chair so he could catch her if she stumbled.
— — —
It took a torturous thirty minutes to convince Elio to let Violet take her makeup off. She only allowed it when he swore he would do her make up again the next time they babysat her. Then, before she would accept to be put to bed, she required Cheslock to play her a tune on the sitting room piano.
'The music box song from Pirates 3, please Chessie!' Elio requested, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Cheslock played a few notes of what he thought she was asking for then looked at her for confirmation. She shook Violet's arm in her excitement.
'Yes!! Yes that one!'
Cheslock grinned and launched into a fully fledged, dramatic rendition of the melody as Elio squealed with delight.
Watching Cheslock put on makeup is... A whole experience. He prances around his room, blasting music so loud there's no way it doesn't bother his neighbors. Not that he cares. He doesn't have a vanity or a small mirror of any sort he can sit at to do this no, of course not. He stands or sits at the silver-framed full length mirror that leans against the wall at the end of his bed. He sings along to whatever song his phone pops up from his shuffled "liked songs" whether it be Motionless in White or Seb Lowe, he knows all of the lyrics. Sometimes he even fingers out the melody into the air, pretending to hold his violin with his left hand as his right buffs on more black eyeshadow.
Once he's done with the eyeshadow though, the real fun begins. He whips out his trusty eyeliner pen (NYX Epic Ink, obviously), leans in as close as possible to the mirror and oh so carefully drags the tip of the pen over his skin from the outside of his eye to just before the middle of his eyelid. He does the same for his lower lash line, careful, mediculous, quiet, for once, staring at his reflection open-mouthed with more focus than he has for anything else. Well, maybe one or two other things but pretty much anything else.
When he's managed to get his eyes to look like sisters (not twins), he moves on to accentuating his scar. The one on the left side of his face, light pink, indenting a three-ish inch (7cm) line over his eyebrow, eye and the top of his cheek. Honestly, he was lucky to make it out with the vision in his left eye intact... Whatever. He traces, less carefully now, over the line with his eyeliner, dragging the scar out all the way down to his jaw and making a fork at the bottom.
'Like one of those old Victorian dolls, see?' He had jocked a couple times, 'The porcelain ones that crack like that when you drop them.'
After doing a once-over of his outfit, little top-big bottom or big top little bottom, depending on his mood, he usually stacks on a miriad of necklaces and bracelets and rings and tightens the balls on his piercings, taking special care of his tongue ring. He swallowed it one time and it would not happen again. He moves on to his hair, making sure every spike is in place and sometimes complaining about how dry it is because of the bleach...
Next is your favourite part, when he gives you a little spin, the various chains on his clothes clinking together merrily. And even better, when he slinks over, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close with his usual confident cat-like grin. And he's so warm — a space heater, really — and even though his chains and the studs on his jackets dig into your skin, you don't mind, you want to wrap yourself up in him and never let go.
His lips are a little chapped, a little dry when he kisses you. But they're gentle, careful but still firm. He licks into your mouth, only for a moment, enough to let you feel the sleek hard metal of his piercing.
'Alright, you ready?' He checks.
You grin. 'Let's go, I'm starving.'
You're putting on lip balm. It's not an unusual occurence, you do it at least once an hour but Cheslock is always mesmerised for some reason. He loves watching you do it. Sometimes you're very concentrated, looking at yourself in the unlit screen of your phone or the wing-mirror of a car. Sometimes you're multitasking, lip balm in one hand, the other hand typing at your laptop. He likes those times best, when you get a little balm over the edge of your lips. Because he gets to lean on and wipe it off with a careful finger. It never fails to make you blush.
He loves how the balm makes your lips a little glossy, a little sticky, he loves that it makes them soft. He loves that when he kisses you, he gets a hint of its grapefruit flavour. And he loves teasing you with it.
'Y/N?' He'll ask, when you're applying your lip balm. 'Can I have some?'
You'll offer him the tube, once you're done with it and he'll take it. But he'll put it back into the back pocket of your pants with a sly grin.
'That's not what I meant.' He'll say, one hand finding your waist and the other tilting your face up to his with the tip of his middle finger. He'll take a moment to relish in the look on your face; you're blushing, your eyes unfocused with blown out pupils and your lips. Your lips... are glossy, shining in the bright summer sunlight, the corners pulled down just a little into the cutest pout he's ever seen.
He just has to kiss you, it wouldn't be fair otherwise. He presses his — chapped — lips into yours. He has to bite down a smile as your lips part, only a little, and your hands come up to grip the front of his shirt. You pull him closer, like your life depends on it. His hand on your waist slides to the small of your back, guiding your hips into his, his hand on your chin drags down to your neck, his fingers wrapping lightly around it...
He has to break the kiss before he does anything drastic, you are in public after all. His tongue glances out to taste the residue of grapefruit lip balm your lips left on his and he grins.
