“I hate you,” he says, his voice husky and low and almost cracking, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “Keep kissing me,” he pleads, and you gladly oblige, tasting something strong in his mouth as your tongues collide, and he’s got you backed against a wall, his hands sliding down your back, your hands frantically tugging at the buttons of his shirt.
And you fucking hate him.
You hate his stupid smirk and dark humor, his stupid snapback you had tossed on the floor moments before, his eyes always staring at you, his mouth always spewing shit, his cocky attitude and this stupid shirt that’s taking forever to unbutton. You hate that you want him and you kind of hate that he wants you too.
You don’t remember how any of this started, how you and Calum had met and decided to make each other’s lives hell, how it started with snide comments to full on argument that have you steaming. How “loser” had turned into “frigid bitch” and “Jerk” turned into “Asshole”. How you both started to plan your livesaround each other, avoiding you, walking circles around him, How you two had been promptly tricked by your friends, ending up at the house party together, drinking in different rooms, bumping into one another. How he had a different girl on his arm and you came with a date.
How truth or dare is actually the shittiest game in any party ever and how he dares you to do something vulgar and repulsive, enough to have you storming off while mocks you and how when he begrudgingly is persuaded by his friends to go after you, following you into a room in which you promptly yell at him, you end up kissing.
“See, this is the shi-” You had gotten cut off when he grabs you by your cheeks, yanking you forward and pressing his lips to yours. It was hard and sloppy and it might have hurt when your teeth had clashed into your lips. You had sort of stood there in shock because Calum was kissing you, and his lips were soft against yours and for a moment, you had closed your eyes, almost embracing it. Until you realize what your doing and how no amount of alcohol should ever let you be in this position, you push him away, “What the fuck, Calum?”
“Do you ever get tired of your own fucking voice?” he had said. His lips were red and wet and.
And now his hands are tugging your legs up, your hands running over his shoulder blades before tugging on his shirt hard, the same moment his nails scrape down your thighs, ripping at your stockings, leaving angry raised red marks, pulling and tugging and ripping them off and you moan out his name while he smirks into your skin.
His hands trail back up to the back of your neck, unexpectedly tugging your hair back, exposing your neck to him. He laps his tongue from the base up as his hands span down your sides, “God, Calum,” you mumble and he likes the way you’re saying his name like you’re begging for more.
His tongue is flicking at your throat and your hips are stating a slow gyration against his hips and he groans, his pants getting tighter as he gets harder. He grips your thighs pulling you flush to his body, setting in a motion, “Fuck.”
“Off, off, off,” You beg almost incoherently, tugging at the stupid shirt he’s decided to wear and he grins because your so fucking eager and
“I knew it,” He states, moving away as your back leans against the wall, your legs tighten around him to keep you steady while he complies and gets rid of the shirt, popping the last few buttons off.
“Knew what?” You ask, eyes taking in his bare chest, fingers exploring the new area in awe, lip pulled between your teeth as you watch enticed at his muscles ripple beneath your fingertips.
