#ariesisms

bestie what are you saying

73. In My Head — Jason Derulo

In my head, I see you all over me In my head, you fulfill my fantasy

He yawns, arms sweeping up like he’s making a quilt angel on the bed, and Lardo leans forward and touches his elbows. The soft part of her stomach brushes against the soft part of his. “Keep them there.” 

Shitty freezes. “Here?” He’d been drawing circles on her knees just before. Somewhere in that single syllable is a question she doesn’t have an answer for. 

She’s straddling him with her sketchpad open on his ribcage. And she does have an assignment due, she does, it’s not all excuses to touch him like this, not all just a way to see him shirtless and feel him warm underneath her, not just intentionally blurring the lines between them until there’s nothing left to do but each other. There’s no reason this drawing can’t be done from a chair across the room. Shitty had been the one to suggest she get on top of him. Touchstarved, brah, he’d said.

“Right there,” Lardo says.

The Haus creaks and settles as she adjusts her position in his lap. And now, this — sketches the flood of his hair splashed over his bare shoulders, his chest; those strong lines of muscle in his biceps; his nose. Shitty thinks the most distinguished thing on his face is his mustache but he’s wrong. She kinda maybe really loves his nose.

The truth: she wants his arms over his head because it’s safer. The truth: she wants his arms over his head because she kinda maybe really likes how he looks underneath her. The truth: she wants his arms over his head because if he kept touching her knees like that — deliberately like that, intentionally like that — she would’ve said something stupid, like would it ruin this, if I kissed you? 

Probably it would. Probably best to — she shades in his lips, lines loose and generous — best to keep it as it is. The way they’re sitting is precarious already. She leans forward.

Shitty says something softly. He clears his throat, says her name again, stronger this time. “Lards.”

“Yeah?” She glances up and immediately back down, flushing; that question from before, the one embedded in here? is emblazoned on every inch of his face. 

“Can I—” He moves like he’s about to lower his hands. “Are you done drawing my arms?”

Lardo says, “You can move them,” vaguely disappointed. She draws a quick star in the corner of her page to stop herself from poking too hard at the feeling. It sounded for a moment like he was going to ask something else.

He clears his throat again. “Can I—” and his hands teasing the hem of her shirt, his hands warm on her waist, his hands ever so gently insistent before relaxing, saying, can we? Do you want to? “—is this okay?”

Oh, the lines are blurring even more now. Oh, Lardo can picture exactly how this should happen, she should set her sketchbook aside and brush his hair out of his face and kiss him, one hand supporting her and the other holding the back of his neck, kiss him like finally finally finally, give in for once and kiss him, draw new lines and laugh the whole time. 

“Shitty,” she whispers. She sets her sketchbook to the side.

In his voice, her name sounds a little like wonder. “Lards,” and he’s smiling, he’s pulling her closer and he’s smiling, she’s laughing breathlessly and it’s a bad first kiss because they’re both smiling too much to do it properly, and it’s a good first kiss because it’s finally finally finally.

She ends up underneath him. She likes how he looks on top of her. She tells him so, and when he smiles, she kisses the tip of his nose.