novacane | griezmann

13 // ANTOINE

"You'll need more than I'll ever give;
I can't lie to you."

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She gave in.

Like always.

The two of us had to be at the airport early the following week, meaning I had to wake up at four in the morning to go and pick her up from her house. She'd suggested that we spend the night before together, but the moment I agreed, she quickly took back the idea.

Now we both sat on the plane, next to one another; Elliott was reading a book and I was repeatedly scrolling down my Instagram and judging the photos that the people I followed posted, not liking any of them.

Eventually I pulled out my MacBook and plugged in my headphones, deciding that my only refuge from this boring flight was Netflix. I settled on watching Pretty Little Liars, which I knew Elliott noticed; her cheeks turned pink as she glanced at my screen and then back at her book.

"What are you reading?" I spoke, quietly.

"The same book I've been reading." She responded, just as quiet.

"For someone who likes to read, you certainly are slow."

Elliott shot me a glare and I realized that my words had sounded much better in my head. This is what happens when I try to act like I care, I thought.

Sighing out, I turned back to my computer. Unfortunately, all there was to be seen was Aria having some kind of argument with Ezra; I really couldn't care much for their relationship, so I didn't feel like paying attention as I looked back at Elliott's book, deciding to read along the page.

My eyes widened as I read—"His arms are wrapped around me, and he's pulling me to him, hard, fast, gripping my ponytail to tilt my head up, kissing me like his life depends on it ... He drags the hair tie painfully out of my hair, but I don't care. He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time, and I have never felt so desired and coveted."

Elliott lets out a dreamy sigh and turns the page, but not before slowly folding the top corner of the aforementioned one. (I noticed that she's folded the corners of plenty of pages before this one, and made a mental note to sneak the book away so that I could read those, too). Then she froze and looked up at me, probably feeling my breath on her ear, and blushed the hardest I'd ever seen her blush before opening her mouth, probably to speak.

I didn't care about what she had to say—I rarely ever did. "Oh my god, Antoine, you weren't supposed to be—" I interrupted the Englishwoman by placing my lips on hers and kissing her, passionately—I highly doubted I could live up to the expectations set in place by Christian Grey, but that was fine—I was Antoine Griezmann, probably the closest she would ever get to him, anyways. And she knew so, for she kissed me back with a fervent equality in passion plus desire.

I pulled away and spoke against her lips. "You talk too much."

But, due to the smile on mine, I knew that she knew I wasn't attempting to get at what little confidence was left from what I'd decimated thus far.

"You make me feel as though I'm Icarus and you're the sun." She responded, softly. I wondered if that was a quote from the book, or if it was her own mind speaking. When I opened my mouth to respond, however, the two flight attendants rolled the cart of beverages over to Elliott and I's seats.

They were both attractive, probably somewhere in their mid-twenties. I eyed the blonde one, who showed a generous amount of cleavage. Only then did I realize I haven't slept with anyone in days, thanks to Elliott and her stubbornness; I could've but I guess I just didn't have the energy to find someone as good in bed as her, seeing as now I'd set my expectations as high as the ones Elliott introduced me to the moment we first had sex.