ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

003

We did it three times, each more electrocuting than the last.

Electrocuting. It was his hands pulling my hair, his powerful prowess on top with his head in the crook of my neck, sweating, gasping for air. Me, clawing at the sheets, clawing at his back, yelping each time he so perfectly hit the spot, his silent whispers of "fuck," "putain" "oh, god, fuck" each time. Arching my back under him, one of his hands gripping my chest and the other holding my arm down, giving in to his overwhelming erotic force.

Him, flipping me over and sliding under me, his hands gripping my ass, our tongues dancing in each others' mouths. Pushing his chest down and taking over him, riding him hard, unable to look away from him, his brown curly hair now wild and bouncing, biting down on his bottom lip between exasperated breaths. Oh god, he was hot. His hands on my ass and hips, controlling my movement. "Putain." Sweat, body heat, electricity, oh the things he could do with his body, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me gasping for breath.

After the third time we'd both finished, when our bodies were drained of energy, he rolled off the top of me and collapsed next to me. "Fuck," he whispered, his voice tired and raspy. I laid staring at the ceiling, my breath extinct.

I saw his head turn to me from the corner of my eye, and he didn't say anything for a moment, both our chests rising and falling, the adrenaline coming to a close. I turned my head to look at him, the beads of sweat on his forehead, his mouth hanging open as he breathed.

Finally, his face broke into the most delicate of chuckles, and in response to the lingering erotic tension, my body released a rampage of giggles, hand slapping over my mouth. "Holy shit," I panted. He laughed with his whole chest, mouth gaping open, the laughter coming out in adorable coughing spurts.

What a contrast this was. Timothèe, out of breath, hot and heavy, mouth on my neck, making my body his; Timothèe, laughing with his whole chest, his eyes changing shape, mouth gaping open like a dork.

Through the innocent giggles, he leaned over and kissed me once more before getting up to walk to the bathroom. The tender gesture made my gut clench, and the giggles melted away. Red flags went up in my head.

"You warm enough?" he asked upon returning. "Yeah," I only knew to say. He lends me one of his t-shirts.

He fell asleep before I did. I looked over at his sleeping figure a couple times before realizing I was staring, while trying to find sleep of my own. I'd only known him for a few hours, and yet I was already convinced that his entire being was work of art.

He laid on his side, hands so gently resting next to his pillow, his body facing me. City lights through the window gave a gentle blue glow to his shoulders, his arms, his wild hair. The wild curls that I'd pulled and run my fingers through were strewn about his pillow, some covering his face.

Outside the window, a car horn here and there, the yelling and city noise of all the inebriated folks leaving the clubs at this time. Listening to his peaceful, heavy breaths. The mere existence of him lying next to me, emitting a feeling of protection that I could not explain.

I stared at the ceiling, pulling the sheets up to my chin, a cold breeze wafting through the apartment. My body was exhausted, my thoughts were not.

Was it because I hadn't done this in so long? Did a committed relationship actually make me forget what casual sex was like? I guess Luke really did it for me the two years we were together before everything went to shit. But had I really forgotten how good the sex could be - for example, whatever the fuck this was tonight? Whoever the fuck's bed I was in.

Perhaps this was the release, forcing myself back to the one-night stand world, hoping a handsome stranger at a bar would agree to us providing a fun night for one another, without them asking for my number the next morning, texting me repeatedly about a "second date", visiting me at work. (That did happen to me twice in the past. Not fun.)

I pondered these things over in my head, staring at the dark ceiling, wrapped in a stranger's sheets, sleeping next to someone I'd only just met hours ago. A very handsome, hot, sensual someone, who somehow knew every right button to press, every right move to make, every place to kiss and grab me. Who had caramel-green eyes and laughed like his soul was the sun. I didn't want to think it, but the thought came anyway; if there was ever a bar, he'd most certainly raised it.

I turned on my side to face him, imagining him enveloping my small frame into his scrawny but muscular chest, craving his heavy breath in my hair, recalling that I somehow fit perfectly into the crook of his neck. Reminding myself to catch a glimpse of his rosy lips and brown curls strewn across his porcelain face before leaving in the morning.

Gently, quietly, attempting to move closer to him to fill the lingering space between his presence and mine. What's left of my self-control telling me to cut it out, the leftover buzz finally pulling me into a deep sleep.