Snow

15 | i'm fucking him

❝all the things we're taking,
'cause we are young, and we're ashamed.
send us to perfect places.❞

❘❘

HAZY AIR FLUTTERS BETWEEN LASHES, cascades over sprawling ink, dresses bare skin into the aftermath of an endless night—still hanging on the last moments of lust. It's not fragmented; it's soft memories that bleed into a stealthy, saturated sunrise.

When will time start to make sense? When will I stop losing myself a million times over in the lies that make up seconds, minutes, hours, years?

I breathe deeply, desperate to find a way to the surface, but I'm anchored—swimming in stranger's sheets. An arm around my waist, a hand on my thigh, wisps of hair grazing my neck, hot breath in my ear.

Those faint fringes steal time, steal thoughts, steal breath. Light spills through a thin, beige curtain, leaving strokes of tinted warmth along fresh nail marks. On backs, on arms, on shades of skin I can barely remember touching last night.

I feel like I'm sinking.

"Neva?" Fingers reach up into the sheets of hazy light; they graze my bare arm, pulling at every nerve until I'm wide awake and on fire. "Are you okay?"

The soft murmur lulls me to my side.

With eyes closed and a sleepy smile on his lips, Rio looks surreal in la luz de Septiembre. As I gently trace my nails along his unshaven jaw, he hums contentedly and sinks with me.

If I'm going down, I'm bringing him with me. If I sink, he'll drown.

"I'm better than okay," I admit. "I had a lot of fun."

"You are fun," Rio drawls teasingly, capturing my hand and dragging it to his lips. A soft, lingering kiss into my palm brings my heart to my throat. "Muy divertida, Neva."

"Is he...is he just your friend?" I ask quietly, sneaking a glimpse at the man behind me. Mickey. "Or are you..."

Those lip twitch in amusement; those dark eyes flutter open to meet mine. I still, stuck between the two stirring strangers and loving every fucking second of it.

"We hook up sometimes," Rio says softly. "It's casual."

My throat runs dry with the fantasies that attack, and my cheeks warm when he laughs faintly. Caught. "Oh, okay."

We're slowly edging into dangerous territory; with every inch I take, Rio steals a mile. With that throaty voz, that sleepy susurro, the sated sonrisa.

Tengo que irme.

"Mick," Rio whispers before I can run like hell. "¿Estás despierto?"

Mickey growls something under his breath, but simply clings to my waist.

"Mickey," I drawl as I twist to face him. I brush the short, dark curls from his forehead, my gaze straying to the tattoos snaking over his shoulder: a Dalí-like melting of clocks and words and things I worshipped last night.

"You tired him out, Neva," Rio snickers, his lips meeting my bare shoulder.

"Fuck off," Mickey grumbles without opening his eyes. "It's my apartment. I don't have to wake up and go home."

I smile when Rio presses up against my back with warm skin, freshly kissed by the sun, and a hard cock, freshly kissed by...me.

There is a perk to waking up like this; beside him or beneath him, or—