Quest mindlessly hums as he's supposed to be teaching you how to play guitar. He has you placed in between his legs, snuggled up nicely to his chest. You can feel his thighs rubbing against your hips, and you almost think you're dreaming.
His guitar strap is wrapped around your neck and his arms are over yours, mocking the movements yours are making. You can see his hands so clearly, so vividly. They're almost like a painting, his tattoo, bones, and veins sticking out perfectly, like a picture perfect memory.
He keeps whispering in your ear. Try this cord. You're doing so well. Now, place your index finger on this one. A little flatter. Bend your fingers more. Stay focused, angel. But how can you focus?
How can you focus when you can feel his lips against your ear? How can you focus when you can still feel his piercing gaze, burning through your skin? How can you focus when his chuckle is so light and airy, like something you would hear in your darkest fantasies? How can you focus when his body around you tightens, and brings you closer?
How can you focus with him around?
You feel the vibrations from his chest against his back, and you’re trying so desperately to block out all noise other than his instructions. You're trying not to listen to his husky whispers and his chuckles that make your heart flutter.
Quest’s rough pads of his thumb and index finger find their way to your chin, eyes looking down upon you with mischievous and teasing eyes. “My, we’re getting quite distracted there, aren't we?”
“Not- not at all, Quest. I’m focused. just like you asked me to.” You cleared your throat and forced your hesitant fingers to focus back on the cords you were playing, remembering his previous instructions.
“So obedient,” He chuckles once more, a deep noise resounding from the depths of his chest, eyes swirling with danger and scrunched up like he’s having the time of his life.Â
(He probably is.)
“You seem rather nervous though.” His grip on you tightens and faux sympathy on his face completely disappeared, replaced with a cruel smirk. His thumb rubs on the corner of your bottom lip and he leans in closer, teasing you. "Do I make you nervous, angel?”
Your breath stopped completely, and your heart was beating so loudly you were sure he could hear you. Your eyes tore away from his sight and paid close attention to his lips, slightly dry and still pulled into a grin that only the devil would wear.
“You’re awfully desperate today, aren’t you?” His warm breath fans over your lips, spearmint and strawberries being your only source of air at the moment. He outright laughs at the way you shrink away from him and bite your cheek in embarrassment.Â
His hand lets go of you chin, wrapping around the back of your head and pulling you closer. “That’s alright, though. You look absolutely stunning like this, wrapped around my finger.”
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Note: I was listening to Kiss Me and it reminded me of Quest a LOT so here we go!!
Quest held your hand as you dangled on the tire hanging from the tree. You swayed gently whenever the wind blew by. He sat on a plaid blanket with an eco bag of snacks, a bottle of cold soda soaking its spot with moisture.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” you say as autumn leaves rustled and the birds sang symphonies as they flew—something from a children’s book. “This was what I imagined whenever I hear that song—what was it called again?”
Quest asks, “How does it go?”
“Like, uhm, kiss me, out of the bearded barley,” you sang lazily, the same tune coming afterwards but with no lyrics.
“Kiss Me, angel,” your boyfriend said, rubbing circles on your palm.
“Geez, I know I’m a good singer, baby; didn’t know I was that good!” This made him chuckle, bringing your heart to life once more. If Quest calls you an angel, then he must be a god. The sun seemed to glow around him like a halo, bright and blinding. There were no words to describe how much you love this man. Overwhelming? Abundant? Whatever it was, you were happy.
“That’s the title of the song, Y/N. Although,” he spun your swing so you could face him, his hands tracing the shape of your thighs. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss right now.”
You leaned closer to him, holding his face, holding the world. Then before your lips drew to his, both your heartbeats trembling with anticipation, you said, “I bought some kisses earlier, it’s in the bag.”
“Angel,” he whined, pulling away from your closeness.
“I’m joking! C’mere, kiss me.”
You pulled him back to your forehead, breath upon breath. It was him who finally initiated his tender lips on yours, and it made your heart smile. Fireworks sparked in your chest and at the bottom of your stomach as the corners of your mouth grew to your ears.
“Did you use mouthwash?”
“Oh, come on, angel!” You both burst out laughing after this. “Ruined a perfectly cute moment there,” he chuckles.
Quest likes to think he met you where the soul had met the bone, where your smiles and touches made his heart ache. His arms envelop you, calloused finger tips drawing sleepy circles into your waist. He sits and breathes you in, breathes you out.
Compared to him, you're little in his arms, really. You lay there with your head resting on one arm, and connecting little freckles of his like you're creating constellations with the other. The two of you just sit in serenity, not wanting to break the silence and tenderness that floats in the air quite yet. Part of you doesn't want to leave because, well you're comfortable, but if you'd turn around you would meet his pretty blue eyes that are like an ocean that threatened to swallow you whole. Or, willingly, you’d drown. And you weren't so sure if you’d want to be saved.Â
Quest dips down to kiss the nape of your neck, relishing in the soft chuckles you make as you tighten your grip on his forearm. He doesn't budge a bit, and decides to bite softly as to not hurt you but to raise a few gasps out of you. His smirk grows when you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, and you can practically feel your faux melting at the sight of his face.Â
You're drowning.
And you really, really don't want to be saved.
He presses a firm kiss on your jaw, waking you up further. As you sit up, he inches his one arm to your face again to bring you closer to him. He places gentle kisses on your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth, wherever he can reach. He hums against your skin, "Good morning."
Quest's lips find your neck once more, becoming more firm as they travel down to your collarbones. You gently run your hands through his hair, bringing him out of his sleep driven trance. "G'morning. It's way too early for this."
You yawn almost instantly after saying that making Quest's smile grow wider. Sarcasm drips from his voice as he kisses your cheek again, and again, and again. "Oh wow, I'm hurt," he gives you a playful pout to counter your rolling eyes. "Really, I just wanted to show you how much I adore my angel. Is that so wrong?"
He brings a hand of yours up to his lips and matches his smile with your own. Neither of you mention how his voice dipped a bit when he called you yours. Neither of you minded it. If it were up to you, you'd adore it all the more if he'd just call you that forevermore. Hearing him say "angel" was like he reinvented the word and gave it a new meaning, like it was his initial around your neck. As much as it was yours, it was his. Forget your name, you just wanted him.
You met his eyes again – sinking and drowning and dying – and you give him a little kiss on his lips. Then another one. Then you two are one. Like a set of gloves, you just go together, you're meant to be.
You pull away with a whine, doe eyes looking into ones of a Greek God. "I have to get ready for work."
"No you don't. Just call in sick."
You squint at him but there's no malice behind your stare. A smile refuses to leave your bruised lips. "I've done that one too many times for you, they're gonna start getting suspicious."
"Then fake it. Pretend you have a sore throat. Just stay with me a little while longer." Another kiss is pressed to your knuckles and you're dead. You've drowned in him completely. And you're totally okay with that.
"How can I just pretend to have a sore throat?"
A toothy smile graces his features, painted with mischief and cheekiness, sculpted from the finest hands. "I know a way or two."
Quest laughs when you slap his chest and he laughs a little harder when he hears your laughter, too.
He means it when he calls you angel. He hears God themselves whispering behind your voice like background vocals in a song when you speak and he sees the gates of Heaven when you smile. In the so called ugliness of your tears he sees himself and that itself makes him yearn for you all the more. He pulls you closer to his chest, his heart in sync with yours.Â
He knows he isn't a good person, but if he gets to stay here with you for just a second longer then he knows he did one thing right. You had become his home, a sacred oasis. If he was told he would die tomorrow, he'd be more than fine spending the time atoning for his sins in your arms.
Quest kisses your neck again. His lips travel, traced with electricity. He finds your  pulse point and lingers, kissing it softly. He attempts to kiss once more, but it's more smile than pursed lips when he hears your laughter again.
The ocean is not a home for angels. It's inhospitable, dark and unforgiving. But as long as you swear yourself to the tides and mutter its praises, it will hold onto you.
Everything in the kitchen was messier than anything you've ever seen before.
The counters were covered in something white and powdery, you couldn't tell what it was anymore. It was going to be hell to clean up. The only thing that was untouched by the tornado of flour and powdered sugar was Quest's glasses, sat delicately on top of the microwave.
You sighed and looked over to Quest, relishing in delight with a stupid smile in his pink frilly apron. "Dear?"
His grin grows from ear to ear, awaiting your next instruction like a dog.
Your smile matches his and you reach over to pour some more chocolate chips in your hand. "Could you please get me," you pause and look over to your recipe. "half a teaspoon of baking soda?"
"If you stop eating chocolate chips by the handful, then sure." You roll your eyes and continue to mix your wet ingredients together, occasionally flinging some of the mixture onto you and the counters. You pay little to no mind to it when Quest comes over with your dry ingredients, and you look up at him with a tight smile. He leans forward a bit to try and see what you were so focused on. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing. This is just a tablespoon. And also baking powder. But it's fine, what's the worst that can happen?"
Quest gives you a weird look and retracts his head a bit. "You can tell the difference between baking soda and baking powder?"
"You can't tell the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon?"
He throws his hand up like a sassy child and squints at you, something you do right back to him. "In my defense, I'm not wearing glasses."
"And what's in your defense for wearing a pink apron?"
He twirls around a bit and laughs as he picks up the frills and lifts it, bowing down a bit. "I'm a pretty princess. C'mon, I'm sure you'd agree."
You laugh and shake your head. "God, you're a dork." You go to scoop two cups of flour out of the bag when you feel him wrap his arms around you and begin kissing up, from your shoulder blades to your neck and coming around to your collarbones. You attempt to shrug him off but you're the man and he's the leech. "Hey, princess, not now. I'm doing super serious business."
You feel his kisses falter a bit as airy chuckle come out of him. He looks up at you for a brief moment before asking, "Making cookies is super serious business?"
"I don't think I stuttered."
Quest seems taken aback by your responses, but is still laughing up a storm as you try and hold your chuckles back too. "And what's gonna get that attitude out of you?"
You don't answer, instead you turn around and kiss him tenderly. Quest seemed very happy by this and grabbed the edge of the counter to stabilize himself, knocking downs cup or two before helping you on the counter without care. He kisses you again and runs his fingers through your hair, stopping when he hears a disgruntled whine from you. He pulls back and looks at you, examining all kinds of faux-disappointment on your face. "Are you okay?"
"No, yeah, I'm just," You cut yourself off and laugh a little bit, pulling him closer. "You just got flour in my hair."
He shrugs with a shit-eating grin and kisses the corners of your lips before actually kissing you, laughing against your lips. "It's fine, you always liked it a bit messy."
He laughs harder when you hit his shoulder and still lean into him for another kiss.
