𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿ ¹

029

029. 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴.

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒, Lori Philbin would have never imagined herself sitting on the back steps of a stranger's house kissing Steve The Hair Harrington, in the dead middle of the night. But there they were, intertwining themselves between strings of confusion, hatred and shattered hearts— catastrophically tangling their invisible strings while the world practically burned on the other side of their closed eyelids. There was something so enrapturing about kissing in a time like this, pretending like there was nothing wrong for a few long, blissful moments. A few moments where nothing mattered but the feeling of his lips on hers.

She felt the warmth of his hand on the side of her cheek, as he pulled her closer on the back steps. Her body was pressed to his in the cold November air, his other hand keeping a firm grip on her back— their body heat radiating off of one another. He moved his lips against her own, smoothing between the delicate creases and savoring every little bit of every little movement. She tasted like cheap alcohol, but as the minutes went on, and as he pulled away to place a kiss on her jaw— a small hint of cherry lingered on his tongue.

She let out a heavy breath as his mouth tore from hers, moving towards the line of her jaw for just a moment. His lips pressed to the skin of her jawline, fast but delicate, wanting but careful. He made it to the space between her ear and her neck when she pulled him back— softly bringing her lips to his once again. It was not lust; it was nothing near lust. The lingering feeling of his kisses on her jaw did not leave the impression of lust in any way— and the more he kissed her, the more that realization tore up her stomach.

She'd been kissed before. She'd kissed people before. It had only ever happened at parties, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober. She had kissed people just for the fun of it, occasionally. She'd never really felt lust before, but somehow, deep down— she knew that this, kissing Steve Harrington, was not just lust.

It was not just for fun. It was not because she was a little bit tipsy.

She'd been kissed before, but never like this.

Her fingertips bathed in the softness of his hair, and her other hand held onto the collar of his jacket as if he were going to dissipate at any moment. His lips tasted of a faint sweetness, subtle and soft. She thought of all the times she'd thrown insults at him, all the times hurtful words fell past her lips— and now those lips were on his and she couldn't think of anything harmful at all.

He let out a quiet groan. The sides of her lips trickled up in a smile from the vibration of it. He kissed her through the smile, smoothing together repeatedly— in a slow motion, but with urge. It was so quiet, nothing could be heard but their breathing and the howling wind in the distance— the wind that ruffled her hair and caused them to latch onto one another for more warmth. His hands were warm on her body as they traveled, the heat of their kisses warmed their faces, and the burning fire inside her stomach kept her cozy all around.

Every time their lips parted and reattached, something foreign crackled in the pit of her stomach. She was too consumed, too enamored, too completely and utterly whelmed in the feelings Steve Harrington was causing her that she couldn't even think about anything but him. Her stomach was fluttering uncontrollably, turning upside down, practically exploding with fireworks every second. She couldn't get enough of it. She'd never felt anything like it before and she knew that she didn't want the feeling to go away. She wanted to feel like this forever.

Steve's hand cupped her jaw with delicate desire, and his hand settled on the curve of her waist. They were both in the blanket now, huddled close to one another with it wrapped around their shoulders. Truly, they didn't know how much time had passed since they started.