He's Not My Type

6

"Here." Elijah hands Christian an orange. At Christian's quizzical expression, he adds, "You looked like you needed it."

"Do I?"

Christian looks down at it, his long lashes almost brushing his cheekbones. His hair swept across his forehead but with less gel than usual and it looks like it would be soft to touch. It's not a hot day but it's warm in the shop and the sleeves of his white Leeds Festival t-shirt are rolled up his lean biceps. Elijah watches the play of muscles of his tattooed forearms as he turns the orange around in his hands.

"I look like I'm about to succumb to scurvy then?" Christian asks. "Knew I should've eaten that orange me mum gave me at Christmas."
Elijah barks out a laugh despite himself and claps a hand over his mouth. The corners of Christian's mouth lift, looking strangely proud of himself for getting Elijah to make such an unattractive sound.

"No, no, your fridge," Elijah protests. "Your fridge looked like you needed some fruits and vegetables."

"Ah," Christian says. "Did it now?"

"I mean, obviously, you don't look like you need..." Elijah's distracted by Christian's eyes, blue and sparkling back at him. He bits his lip. "Um. You look really good."

Christian's lips part on a silent 'oh', as if that was not what he was expecting Elijah to say. To be fair, it wasn't what Elijah had been expecting to say either.

"Christi—" Elijah starts, but then he catches Christian's eyes darting down to look at his lips. He suddenly realizes: Christian wants to kiss him.

Elijah licks his lips involuntarily. He needs to tell him they can't. He just can't remember why. Not when his lips are right there, so close and soft-looking and Elijah is so curious what he might taste like—

It's a brief, soft kiss. Just a bare brush of lips. Elijah doesn't even get much of a taste before Christian pulls back, staring at him, mouth still parted.

"Is that alright? I—" Elijah starts, unsure.

But then Christian curves his hand over Elijah's cheek, guiding him closer to press their mouths together again. His lips are gentle, and his touch is light and Elijah's heart won't stop pounding.

When he pulls back, Christian's eyes are a light, tender blue in the sunlight from the shop window, creased in crinkles at the edges.
It's the sweetest kiss Elijah's ever had. He wants another one right away.

He reaches out for Christian again, not caring that his rucksack jostles against the register or that the edge of the counter digs into his hips. Christian's lips are so much softer than they look, and he tastes like tea and cigarettes and all Elijah wants is more and more and more.

Christian keeps the kiss gentler, slower than Elijah would and that's — that's doing things to him.

He pulls back from across the counter, straightening up.

"I, um. I should go," he says.

"Should you?"

"I need to—" Elijah tries to think. "I need to revise."

Christian's eyes go to Elijah's rucksack, heavy over his shoulder with his laptop and course readings. "Right. It's revision week."

"Yeah. I." But Elijah can't think. His heart is still pounding. How can it be possible that Christian is so beautiful.

"Where are you going?"

"Where?" Elijah blinks at Christian. He pushes away from where the edge of the counter still digging into his hip and tries to focus on a reply. "Um, the library was a bit crowded and it's kind of hard to focus there anyways." There was a spot he'd used to like behind the Russian Literature section, but it's probably taken by now. "I don't know. My flatmates will be home so it'll be a bit distracting there, too. I might find a cafe."

"You could work here," Christian says.

"Here?"

Christian gestures to the stairs behind him. "Got the basement if you like. Pieter hasn't got lessons today."

Elijah bites his lip. "Yeah. That would be... really nice, Christian."

Christian gives him a soft smile and Elijah takes the invitation to walk around the counter. And he knows he's meant to be following him downstairs but now that's he's here, stood so much closer to Christian with the counter no longer separating them, he finds his eyes drifting down to his lips again.

"Was that—" Elijah starts hesitantly. "Was that okay?"

"Yeah, E." Christian says.

Elijah looks at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Christian giggles. His eyes are sparkling and he looks amused and happy. He slides his hand under Elijah's peacoat and squeezes his hip. "Not quite in the habit of turning down kisses from pretty boys, am I?"

And Elijah knows that it's just a joke, knows that someone like Christian wouldn't think of someone like Elijah as being pretty, but his stomach still swoops with hearing him say it.