Beside

3 - touch

"Fox, I was thinking about shadows. I think the sun is hugging us, even when it's behind us. Does that make sense?"

"Umm...no."

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c  h  r  i  s

We stumble through the crowd and suddenly we're out of the noise, slipping into a hallway bathed in red light that makes everything feverish. And then it's just us.

He presses me against the wall, his fingers tracing the lines of my shoulders, up my neck, tilting my chin until I'm looking up at him. "You okay?"

"You don't know me," I say, voice thin and shaky.

"I know you're beautiful," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "And I know you're making me want to kiss you again."

I reach up and we're kissing again, messy and desperate, and god, he tastes like something I've always wanted but couldn't name.

He smiles against my mouth, his hand splaying across my lower back. This time, it's slower like he's trying to memorize every curve inside my mouth.

"Will you let me touch you?" He bites down on my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth.

I shiver. "I think so."

"You think so?" There's a teasing lilt in his voice. "That's not a yes."

"Yes. I'm here to break rules of propriety," I declare.

"Good girl." His hand slips under the hem of my dress, fingers gliding up my thigh. When his hand brushes over the fabric of my underwear, a shiver ripples through me, a wave crashing against the shore, and I dig my nails into his shoulders. He traces a line down the center, and the air leaves my lungs in a shaky rush.

"Oh god," I breathe. "Oh god oh god oh—"

"Shh," he chuckles, his fingers moving in circles now.

Soon, I'm unravelling. Sparks shoot through me, bursting fireworks behind my eyelids. "Faster. Just... Just a little faster."

"Yeah?"

With my trembling nod, he listens. Heat pools low in my belly, curling tighter. I bite down on my lip so hard I taste copper. "I'm... I'm really—" I can't finish as he kisses my jaw and a high-pitched moan slips from my mouth.

"Breathe," he whispers, his mouth trailing down my neck, kissing the skin there, and I can't, I can't, I can't. Every nerve ending is on fire.

And god, I never want it to end. 

Threads of myself slip away, heat crawling up my neck as I bury my face into his chest.

He nips at my earlobe, the sensation sharp, and his breath warms my skin as he whispers, "You gonna come for me, darling?"

The words send a hot lightning bolt through me.

My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears. 

My legs give out, but he's there, holding me up as my body convulses in his arms, wave after wave of red-hot pleasure rolling through me like the tide.

"Perfect," he murmurs, and the word wraps around me, soft and warm, like a blanket I want to crawl inside forever.

My forehead presses against his chest. "What... I think...I think I'm broken." I whimper, squeezing my thighs together. It's like he's rewired every inch of me.

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair off my damp forehead. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Whitney stumbles into the hall, her hair wild, cheeks flushed.

That guy in all black appears behind her, swaying like a tree caught in a breeze, the microphone in his hand dangling by a cord that's snapped, frayed wires sticking out like electric veins.

I step back and scramble to fix my dress.

Whit's mouth flops open.

The broody darkness guy behind her brings the dead mic to his lips, slurring, "Time to go."

Then he doubles over and pukes, wet and splattering. And orange. The stench hits immediately, sharp and sour, twisting the room.

Whitney makes a strangled noise and claps a hand over her own mouth. I reach out to steady her, but she jerks forward and pukes in some grotesque duet.

"Happy birthday, man," my mystery man mutters, walking around the mess to grab the tone-deaf one. "You really know how to celebrate."

Whitney finds me, leaning into my side, groaning. "I think...I think I'm dying," she mumbles, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Don't—" she hiccups "—tell Walker. He'll be mad."

I rub her shoulders, nodding.

Golden Guy and I lock eyes one last time, and then he's gone, guiding Black Mask out of the hall.

Despite everything, despite the vomit and the chaos, I feel... alive.

"Chris," Whitney groans, tugging on my arm, "swear to me you won't tell Walker."

I can't help but laugh. "I promise I won't tell your boyfriend."

"He doesn't like when I—" hiccup "—drink." She groans, stumbling over the hem of her flowy pants as we make out around the vomit. When we reach the exit, she gives me a lopsided grin. "You're my soulmate."

I guide her into the cool night air. I'm not just holding up my best friend, I'm carrying a little piece of myself that feels wild and free.

No one's ever made me feel like that.

I'm fairly sure no one else ever could.

_______________________
Noah.
omg get him to bed.
This poor man.
Where's Cam 😭

Thanks for reading Beside.
—Laurel Montaze—
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