subject 13 // h.s. au

chapter fourteen.

His hands on my face, on my waist, in my hair, on my arms, they moved so quickly the intense heat left in their wake was the only reminder of where they'd been. 

His lips pressed harshly against mine, the shadow on his face grazing my chin sharply. My lips moved on their own accord, an inexplicable instinct guiding my hands to his chest and collarbones.

 His lips tore away to press down on my neck, his teeth gently scraping under my jaw, and his hands twisted into my hair.

I opened my eyes, and immediately shoved him back. My thoughts that had disappeared suddenly returned.

"What the fuck was that, Harry," I asked shakily, my voice low and urgent.

I didn't understand what happened, or why it had felt like that. The drowning feeling had been in full force, but this time I had welcomed it, leaned into it.

He ran a hand through his hair, catching his breath. He looked at me with concern coupled with a look I didn't recognize.

"I shouldn't have done that," he sighed in agitation, turning his back to me with his hands locked behind his head.

My hands were shaking as I stepped backwards to sit on my bed.

"No, I mean, what was that," I emphasized, feeling dazed.

He turned around slowly, his hands still locked behind his head.

"What was what?" he mumbled, staring at me as his hands dropped to his sides.

I was becoming frustrated. I didn't have the words to explain to him what I meant.

"Like, the," I motioned to my lips, "what was that?" I groaned in frustration and hung my head.

I found myself cursing The Doctors. Why didn't they explain this?

His heavy boots scuffed across the floor as he crouched in front of me, lifting my chin with his knuckles.

"The kiss?" he tilted his head in confusion, his curls wild as they fell against his cheek.

I shrugged, and heat flooded my cheeks.

"No, you don't get to do that," he stated, clearly expressing his dissatisfaction for my vague answer, and his hand moved to seize my chin. 

His thumb rested just below the corner of my bottom lip,

"Try again."

"I-I don't have the words," I squeaked out, "I don't know what that means."

The anger I felt at myself for my vulnerability in revealing that I didn't know about something that apparently was normal, faded slightly as a look of worry crossed his face. He seemed to finally realize the extent of my confusion, and he sighed.

"What we just did, is called kissing," he murmured, seeming slightly on edge.

I nodded.

"What does it mean?" I questioned, already regretting saying anything in the first place.

His thumb brushed against my bottom lip as his grip on my chin softened.

"I don't know," he replied gently, looking disoriented.

I nodded again, confused by his answer, but I refused to probe any further. His grip on my chin tightened again as his thumb stopped moving. He brought his face closer to mine, his curls brushing against my cheeks. 

A serious look appeared on his face in the dim lighting,

"You are not leaving," he said softly, but his tone was harsh. This was not a suggestion, it was a command.