That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

I Could Hear You Giving Her Head

/ / I  C O U L D  H E A R  Y O U  G I V I N G  H E R  H E A D / /

"Shit," He mumbles, "I'm sorry Mars, I had no idea..." Matty's hand at my lower back seems to press harder into me, somehow securing me despite that what I'm telling him has already happened. "Hey," he says suddenly, shifting until he's in a sitting positions and my head has moved down to his lap, "Do you wanna go swimming?"

I turn so I'm on my back, looking up at him, his face obscuring the view of the sun. My eyebrows crinkle at his sudden change in topic. A small smile tilts the edges of my lips, understanding that he doesn't want me to tell him if I'm not ready. I shake my head at him, his earlier words from yesterday, telling me it was too early to start hiding things from one another.

I know there's so many people surrounding us, I think Katy Perry is singing somewhere close because all I hear is a soft chant over a solid voice; the crowd she was performing in front of singing along to a song that definitely wasn't fitting my mood at all, but it did have me thinking. I sit up, pushing Matty back, my fingers lifting the material of his shirt until its bunched just under his arms. He doesn't question when I toss a leg over and settle myself just above his belt line. My fingers curiously trace the tattoo over his chest, curving along the letters of the name he's got there. "When is your birthday?"

"Make it like your birthday everyday..." he sings along with the chorus, grinning. "For being my number one fan and all, you quite suck at being a fan."

I trail my finger to one of his nipples and I can feel him tense when he knows what's to come, but he doesn't stop me as I flick at his peck. I scowl, "I don't remember actually ever saying I was your number one fan. You just sprung that on me. I said I liked your music or something."

His hands that had been laid by his sides moves to grip at my backside, squeezing lightly. There's a cheeky look on his face when my breathing hitches and my eyes widen just a bit. "You said you really loved my music and my album was the best album you've ever bought."

I roll my eyes, my hands reaching behind me and patting along his thighs until I fit them through his pockets and pull out these ridiculous looking glasses he had been wearing the day before. Circular lenses in a white frame. Very retro. I place them on his face then lean down and press a chaste kiss to his lips. "I must have been really drunk," I murmur, "Your album is quite shit."

"Oh?!" He asks, shocked and aghast at my sudden revelation. He grabs my wrists and I squeal, causing a few stares as he flips us over and pins me down to the grass. "Is that so?" He's hovered above me, his weight nearly crushing me. My legs are buckled around him, trapping him in, refusing to let him intimidate me. I nod, a smile mounting onto my face. His fingers jab at my sides and I screech and laugh at the sudden evasion, squirming beneath him as his fingers begin to tackle my sides while he's forcing me to take it back.

I'm laughing so hard, its almost embarrassing. I'm snorting probably, trying so hard to catch a breath, but my lungs feel like they're collapsing. Matty is grinning and laughing along, I almost don't mind. Almost. "Matty! Stop it!" I beg and plead, "Please, Matty..."

He stops suddenly, letting his body fall on top of mine. He chuckles, his breath fanning into my neck, "I like it when you beg," its soft and its got me panting for a whole other reason. "Eighth of April," he says, rolling off of me, taking my heart with him. He lays beside me now and I finally catch my breath.

"I don't hate your album."

"I know."

I sigh, staring up at the sky, eyes following people walking by in my peripheral. "I was sixteen," I say.

"Marcy, don't. I –"

"No, shut up, you asked, so I'm telling you. You're telling me not to shut you out, but you're pushing me away, Matty." I sit up and turn to face him, finger coming to trace the stubble on his chin.