Desire

Part 7 - mint n' sugar

**NOTE** This chapter DOES contain smut 

WC: 1786

Summary: Tamaki is mad at you but you're not having ANY of it. Things ensue

Includes: smut/angst/banter

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crumpled up in the wad of bills the red-head gave you is a tiny slip of paper. It's his phone number, signed "Kirishima" in cursive.

"What the fuck", you whisper under your breath, the other dancers around you continuing to mind their own business as you freak out. This has never happened before. Clients are satisfied but never smitten. Although something tells you that this Kirishima guy isn't trying to take you out to dinner.

–

"Hey y/n what's this"? It's the end of the day and Vicky is helping you clean up your vanity when she comes across the slip.

"Oh- one of the clients gave me their number". You reach out to take it.

"Was it that guy with the red hair"? She hands it over reluctantly and you nod suspiciously.

"How'd you know"?

"I dunno. I saw you dancing and he just looked- y'know into it". She nudges your shoulder with a wink.

"He's just competing. He's Tamaki's friend".

"Hmm", she muses, "loverboy number two. Very interesting".

You glare at her. "I'm not gonna use the number obviously". You put the slip into your bag.

"Yeah 'obviously'". She mocks you, a mischievous look on her face. You ignore her.

Stepping outside the club into the dark night, you see Tamaki standing near his car. He's leaning against it in his usual outfit just kind of staring into the darkness. And then he's staring at you.

Tamaki is here.

You walk up to him hesitantly. "What're you doing here"? Your tone is blunt, making it abundantly clear that you expect him to answer you and not tease. He does neither.

"What're you doing giving dances to my friends"? His voice is accusatory as if he's caught you in the wrong. You step back slightly, offended.

"You mean doing my job"? You're incredulous. What right does he have to be pissy at you about doing your fucking job? You guys aren't even dating!

"I mean taking his fucking number". Tamaki is no longer leaning against the car, instead standing up straight as his eyes bore into yours. Gone is the flustered boy in the club. Apparently when he's not aroused, he's very intense.

"I didn't even know he gave it to me"! You're almost yelling, in near disbelief at his accusatory gaze. "I'm not going to use it. And even if I did it's none of your damn business Tamaki"! You jam your finger at him.

"Fine y/n". He scoffs, looking like he's about to give up and leave. But that's not good enough for you.

"No Tamaki. Not fine! I didn't even do anything except my fucking job and you have the fucking nerve to show up here and tell me off like you own me or something?!- Jesus Chri-"

He slams his lips into yours, effectively cutting you off when you melt into the contact. You don't really understand his thought process but you understand basic human instinct. And your instinct is telling you to kiss this man senseless.

His mouth tastes like mint and sugar and something else that you can't place and his hand is grabbing onto your waist and you feel a little bit like you're floating. You press him into the car, your bodies flush against each other as you nibble at his bottom lip. Your mind goes hazy when he slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan. It's getting harder and harder to remind yourself that you're in public. Your hips roll against his and to no one's surprise, he's hard. You need to breathe.