Love is a Laserquest - Alex Turner/Arctic Monkeys Fan Fiction

Save Me From What I Want

2014

The snow of winter has fully melted into a relentless rain when Matt and Breanna come to stay in London. A whole group of us plan to meet up for dinner and drinks in Mayfair– all of the boys and their significant others, as well as Miles and me.

Because it's closer, I go to Alex's straight from work to get ready– where I shower, change, and do my makeup in front of his bedroom mirror. He's in the middle of working in the living room when I get there, so I leave him undisturbed, but he appears in the doorway as I'm leaning into his dresser, inching towards the mirror to apply my mascara.

After a long beat, with St. Vincent playing softly from my phone on the dresser, I look up to see him watching me, a smile playing on his lips.

"What?" I laugh.

"You really are beautiful, Lils," he says, and it practically makes my knees go weak.

I give a playful roll of my eyes and finish my mascara with him watching.

I'm reaching for some blusher when he comes into the room, stepping behind me as his arms wrap slowly around my waist, pulling me against him. I lean into him instinctively as he buries his face into the crook of my neck, plunging his lips into my curls. It's the kind of thing he never did when we were teenagers fooling around, or just as my friend, and it makes my skin hum in appreciation. It feels so good and so right, and it's what makes me sure things are different between us this time.

I forget the blusher on the dresser when one of his hands reaches up to sweep my hair aside, his mouth connecting with the sensitive skin under my ear immediately.

"Alex," I whisper, only once his lips grow rough against my skin, bruising me with pressure, want, his teeth worrying at my earlobe. "We're going to be late."

"S'all right," he whispers, one hand slipping under the fabric of my shirt, sliding against the warm skin of my stomach.

My whole body feels electric, and if he doesn't stop now, neither of us will be able to stop at all.

"There will be traffic," I mutter, though I'm hardly thinking about dinner with the boys now.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks with a smirk, pressing his erection against my thigh, knowing full-well my answer.

"No," I sigh, and I turn around, catching his lips with mine, hands gripping at the back of his hair to pull him closer to me.

He presses me up against the dresser, so clumsily it knocks against the wall once, and his strong hands are clutching at my hips, mouth hungry against my own, tongue darting between my lips. I sigh into his mouth as he presses the length of his body to mine, my skin humming with electricity under my clothes. He nips at my upper lip, and I can feel how aroused he is, how desperately he wants this, and when he presses his erection against the front of my jeans, I'm practically aching for him in return.

"Been thinkin' about this all day,," he says in a sigh, as his hands slide their way down to my jeans, unbuttoning them, peeling them off.

I lose my breath when he hoists me up, legs wrapped around him to sit on the dresser, make-up shoved out of the way. He kneels before me, his eyes holding mine, as he hooks each one of my legs over his shoulders, smiling faintly as he sees me breathing heavily, watching him.

He dips forward, tongue hot against me, and I shudder against the wood of the dresser, hand trying to steady myself, grabbing his hair. His tongue and lips work up to a pressure and a rhythm that has me leaning back against the mirror, unable to contain myself.