Intoxicated
Drunk In Love
The flashing lights illuminated her face, burned into his retinas.
His hands were restless: shoulders, waist, hips, lower back, repeat. She was magnetic, drawing him in. He was her alcohol, burning through her and making her head spin, heating her skin wherever he touched.
The bass line of the club music reverberated in their chests, pressed together as they moved in time with the music, engulfed in each other.
Loud music and flashing lights made them feel wild, insane, carefree. No one existed but them.
Her hands gripped his arms as his lips barely brushed her own, and she shivered as they slid across her cheek, reaching her ear.
Her name on the tip of his tongue, “Billie.”
She pressed her face against his neck, breathing in his scent; lightheaded as his hands tightened around her hips, pulling her closer.
She pulled away, hands grabbing his and pulling him with her, out of the club. More flashing lights from cameras, someone shouting his name (“Brendon!”).
Billie laughed loudly as they stumbled into a waiting taxi, in love with the chaos, in love with Brendon. They sat close together in the backseat of the taxi, and she leaned her head back on the seat as Brendon stared down at her, grinning as his hand grazed her cheek, sliding down to rest against her neck. He leaned close, lips barely touching hers, taunting her.
She went to kiss him and he pulled away with a laugh. Billie slapped him playfully.
“Fucker,” she said. The taxi was stopping and they were paying, out on the sidewalk, in the elevator, in Brendon’s apartment.
As soon as the door was closed, Billie jumped onto Brendon, wrapping her legs around his hips, catching him off guard. They fell to the floor and Billie laughed as she fell on top of Brendon, who groaned in pain.
He rolled them over so that she was underneath him, and he finally kissed her. Her giggles faded and her head swam, heart pounding as she wrapped her arms around him. He was her addiction, and it was one she didn’t ever want to get over.
They were drunk on each other, and the hangover was worth it.
His hands were restless: shoulders, waist, hips, lower back, repeat. She was magnetic, drawing him in. He was her alcohol, burning through her and making her head spin, heating her skin wherever he touched.
The bass line of the club music reverberated in their chests, pressed together as they moved in time with the music, engulfed in each other.
Loud music and flashing lights made them feel wild, insane, carefree. No one existed but them.
Her hands gripped his arms as his lips barely brushed her own, and she shivered as they slid across her cheek, reaching her ear.
Her name on the tip of his tongue, “Billie.”
She pressed her face against his neck, breathing in his scent; lightheaded as his hands tightened around her hips, pulling her closer.
She pulled away, hands grabbing his and pulling him with her, out of the club. More flashing lights from cameras, someone shouting his name (“Brendon!”).
Billie laughed loudly as they stumbled into a waiting taxi, in love with the chaos, in love with Brendon. They sat close together in the backseat of the taxi, and she leaned her head back on the seat as Brendon stared down at her, grinning as his hand grazed her cheek, sliding down to rest against her neck. He leaned close, lips barely touching hers, taunting her.
She went to kiss him and he pulled away with a laugh. Billie slapped him playfully.
“Fucker,” she said. The taxi was stopping and they were paying, out on the sidewalk, in the elevator, in Brendon’s apartment.
As soon as the door was closed, Billie jumped onto Brendon, wrapping her legs around his hips, catching him off guard. They fell to the floor and Billie laughed as she fell on top of Brendon, who groaned in pain.
He rolled them over so that she was underneath him, and he finally kissed her. Her giggles faded and her head swam, heart pounding as she wrapped her arms around him. He was her addiction, and it was one she didn’t ever want to get over.
They were drunk on each other, and the hangover was worth it.