Sweet Tooth [HS]

TWENTY THREE

Harry disappeared into the bathroom once they were back in the studio, and Max's head felt clearer now there was some space between them.

She hurried over to her station, busying herself by throwing out unwanted sketches and print-outs of moths and any other inspiration she'd used over the past few hours. She sort of imagined herself binning her sinful thoughts along with all the trash, too, although they ultimately seemed harder to get rid of. Instead, it seemed like this newfound desire of hers that had started clogging her throat and snagging at her insides, her outsides- it was sticking. She couldn't remove the image of his lips just now, just from minutes ago. She couldn't seem to dislodge the sizzling sensation in her fingertips or a singeing regret that she hadn't stepped forward earlier, just now, just minutes ago, and leaned fucking forwards and fucking kissed him.

What was this feeling?

What was this buzzing, burning desire to touch him?

Max had never felt anything so big before, for anyone. Had never felt this sort of all-consuming need to be near someone, to talk to someone, to simply exist beside someone. And it was so sudden. She had never met this boy before today, and now here she was, pathetically unable to let him go.

It was ridiculous. She told herself it was ridiculous.

And so she righted herself, took a long, deep breath that didn't smell like his slutty cologne but ink and chemicals and she shook her goddamn head because what the fuck was she thinking? Who the fuck was she?

And who the fuck was this boy, who had so suddenly, so extraordinarily bewitched her like this?

"You packing up?" Came a voice, his voice, and Max spun around to face him.

Harry was staring at her and it was so hard and all dark green beneath lowered eyebrows, and she couldn't quite breathe as he sat down casually on the tattoo bench. He looked so at ease, so confident in the way he held himself, so sure.

It made her embarrassed to be so nervous. To be fighting this constant battle to not look at his lips and lean in closer to him and grab him between her two little hands and hold his head there forever.

Forever, Max? What the fuck is wrong with you?

She shook her head, looked away.

"Um, yeah," she stuttered after a shamefully long pause. "We're done, are we not?" She nodded to the final stencil of her moth left on her empty work table.

"Not yet," he said, his voice as hard as a rock.

Not yet, Max repeated in her head, and hated how she felt so relieved. Hated that she sort of wanted to burst out in a grin and run towards this boy like they'd known each other for a lifetime.

"How so?" She asked, disposing of the rest of the scrap paper in the recycling and trying to maintain some sort of composure.

"Well you've drawn it, aren't you gonna put it on me now?" He questioned playfully, raising an eyebrow. 

It was almost like he was daring her to say yes. It was nearly 11pm, and any sane person would have said no, another day; but Max couldn't resist. She was under a spell. Under a curse.

And it was her body, her tingling fingertips and the sweetness on her tongue and the vibrating of her own fucking teeth that made her look up, smiling, completely knowing she wanted to stay with him for as long as she could.

And that glint in his eye, that secret, devilish look he was giving her, sort of like he knew exactly what he was doing to her- God, she couldn't say no even if she wanted to.