Harrison Avenue // H.S.

Tattooed

[Harry]

She's etched into my mind in every way possible, her name constantly repeating in my head.

Ellison, Ellison... Elle, baby... Ellison.

The way her hips sway when she's walking in front of me on the street, looking over her shoulder with a sly smile and a heavy stare that she's mastered so well, coaxing me closer to her. How bright her smile is when we race up the stairs to her flat and she'll look behind her just to make sure she's still winning. Her legs, her long legs that lie across my lap as we read on the sofa... how she moves them back and forth slowly and my hands can't stay away from her smooth skin.

When she rocks on top of me like she is now... with the lighting dim and her chest heaving, sweaty where I can't help but lean in closer. The etchings feel deeper with this. The look on her face is one that I've memorized by now. The scrunch of her eyebrows, the breathy version of my name, how her eyes stay locked on mine... It feels like too much, yet all I can say is "C'mon, Ellison... doing so well." She gives me a smirk back, only gaining more movement and knowing exactly what she's doing. Elle doesn't go easy on me... in any version of that line.

I fight through the blur, watching her face, feeling her lips crash into mine and her chest collides too. There's a moment of slow kisses with me mumbling out probably incoherent words, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this girl is with me... and then she's gone. The weight of her isn't there anymore, my back is still relying on the wall to keep me upright and I feel like I'm in a haze of Ellison and the real world, trying to decide whether or not this is all a dream.

Struggling to keep my fluttering eyes open, my focus still stays on her, feeling like gelatin on her bed, and watching as she covers her body that's warm with sweat with a t-shirt that was earlier thrown to the ground in our haste. She pushes her hair to the side, my shirt on her rising with her arms to give me a quick flash of her rear end and then she's turning back to me, a classic devilish Elle grin stamped on her face.

Sometimes it feels like I have her all figured out... but then I realize I could spend every day with her for the rest of my life and would still have to sort everything that makes up the person she is.

She struts over to the bed where I'm still recovering, straddling my hips that result in a very similar position to how we just spent the last hour of the warm summer night, and then she leans in to whisper in my ear, her breath hot and her slow movements making me feel drunk.

"I want you to give me a tattoo, Harry," she says softly but with a voice filled with mischief.

"Hmm?" I hum back to her, not expecting this to be what was whispered into my ear, especially considering her dislike of the idea that I bought a tattoo gun in the first place.

She's always expressed interest in the ones on my body, asking questions about the meaning and wondering if they hurt... but from everything we've ever talked about she's never acted like she had much interest in them herself. 

And of course I was scolded for buying the thing in the first place. Elle asked "Harry, what the hell are you even going to do with that?" and because I didn't really have an answer that would give her any satisfaction I mumbled "I don't know," so she rolled her eyes at me and told me I was dumb. It was an impulsive purchase, and I thought it could develop into a new hobby... but for some reason telling her that when she asked didn't run through my head.

"A tattoo, Harry," she says softly, her voice smooth and calming as she pushes my hair back with her fingers, looking at me intently. "Nothing big... or intricate. Just something simple and small."