Arylie FF: I'm Happy Here With You

twenty one ~ moh moh ke dhaage

ke aisa beparwah maan pehle to na tha

tu din sa hai, main raat, aa na dono

mil jaye shaamon ki tarha

... ... ...

Imlie was trouble, in any circumstances, any situation. Aryan had known it for quite some time now, maybe he'd known it forever. The knowing intensified as he carried her back towards the bungalow where they were staying.

She was like a bundle of black net and lace and velvet in his arms. Her carefully done hair was a mess. She was a mess, and well, so was he.

He wanted to stop walking and go back to kissing her.

She had her arms looped around his neck in a tight grip. And as she didn't have to worry about walking or looking around, she kept kissing him. Anywhere she could reach, his face or neck or shoulders or hair - she kept placing soft, playful, loud smooches everywhere.

I deserve a medal for control. I deserve her, he thought.

"Trouble, you are trouble," he breathed out as she kissed his earlobe.

"I'm a trouble that you like," Imlie said in a whisper husky enough to rival his tone. "Admit it. You have always liked my trouble, Mr. I-keep-her-payal-in-my-wallet."

"I like your trouble," he admitted easily. She grinned widely at him, "This is why you are my favorite. Everyone else is like 'Imlie you are such a trouble' and then you are like 'Im, you are such a trouble!' Hah!" she hummed happily and snuggled closer to him, placing her head on the crook of his neck. "Bet your hobby is troubleshooting."

"Imlie, did you drink something that you should not have?"

"Yes! I did, lots of it!"

"What did you drink?!"

"Chlorine water! From the pool, why what did you think," she wiggled her eyebrows when he rolled his eyes.

"Brat," he said but chose to take a whiff around her mouth anyway. No alcohol. Imlie took the chance to kiss him. Short but intense. Then she giggled. "Silly ABP, now you are sniffing for alcohol. Wouldn't you know by now if I did? I mean you do remember what we've been doing, right?"

The urge was too much. The urge to just slam her against the nearest flat surface, horizontal or vertical, he can make it work both ways, whatever. Anything to make her shut up, or make her make better noises.

He didn't though, because she was staring at him with her doe eyes, her fake eyelashes fluttering. She held a whole world full of trust in those eyes. Trust in him to do this right.

So he hoisted her up higher, she kicked out her legs in glee, and called her a brat again as he carried her all the way back to their temporary residence.

His patience, however, had a limit. When he finally reached his room, he kicked the door shut with his leg and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed. She had a moment to look up at him with droopy eyes before he sat down on the floor next to the bed and kissed her thoroughly, his hand slipped into her hair. She kissed back with enough enthusiasm but he could feel her bravado diminishing.

He deliberately ran his bearded jaw down her throat and across her collarbones. She made a mixture of whimpering and purring noise. He had to move back and look at her face. She looked comfortable, cozy. She spread her arms and made a beckoning gesture, "why so far, come closer."