Legally Blonde | Lashton AU

7.5 ; punch drunk kiss

edit: i typed everything below at like 2am(??? cant remember) so thats why its all over the place. it was kind of a mess so i edited it. BUT anyway i made this mini chap so that you buds have something to hold on to while im working on the next one. soz v much again for the delay lil buds ily all💕

P.S. im not actually gonna cure cancer woops im just going to hypothetically treat it via a plant model bc no money and no time lmao wish me luck

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Eyes closed. He feels butterflies being pressed onto his skin, in the dip of his collarbone and the bob of his throat. Long limbs caress his face, trace his neck, and draw patterns like stars and constellations on the pale canvas of his skin. There is no noise.

He feels something shift— the butterflies leave his neck. As quick as they disappear, there is yet another butterfly, light and small and soft, being pressed onto his forehead. He sighs in content and tries to give a butterfly as well, but the other person is too far away.

Again, he feels long limbs trace his sides, going dangerously low. The fingers pause—as if waiting for permission. He grabs the other's hands and moves them down, himself. "Touch me," he whispers in velvet.

And touch, they did.

The other's hands are everywhere— they're all over him. They run over his pale milky thighs, his hipbones, his chest; they run over him. He releases a lyrical sound: a soft, "ah, ah, ah," that makes the other melt.

He sighs, savoring the large, calloused hands on his skin, and places his own smaller hands over them. He brings the hands to his face, merely enjoying the feeling of being held. It feels safe. Familiar.

The other bites at his throat, painting it with marks of red, violet— purple. The color of possession. Lust. Desire. The other's creation stands out against the pale canvas of his skin, not unlike a single spot of color on an unfinished illustration. The other feels accomplished, proud of the temporary mark of possession on his pale neck. The other glosses it over with a kiss. A soft, light butterfly.

"I want a butterfly on my lips," he said, sounding like an innocent child asking for a treat. The other can't resist; who is he to deny this beautiful creature of what he wants?

The other leans in; their breaths mingle. Half an inch closer, and their eyelashes are touching. The butterflies are on his lips and to him, there is no better feeling. The kiss is sweet and leaves him in a sort of high. He feels as if he's up in the clouds— like he could run his fingers through the pale blue and really feel it. It's intoxicating, like a drink of wine.

He swipes his tongue over the other's lower lip, and whines when the other moves away. Mildly offended, he opens his eyes and then his jaw drops.

Curly hair. Hazel eyes, dimples.

Ashton.