This chapter is dedicated to Grace_Solo_Rogers who made the amazing cover, thank you so much you're a sweetheart! And I hope you like this chapter!!!!!
WARNING!!!: It's very long + mentions of mature content!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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"There she is!" Comes the slurred voice the moment you turn the corner. You sigh, but you can't help the tug at your cheeks when you see your boyfriend's happy, drunk face smiling at you. You'd been in the bathroom for maybe five minutes, reapplying makeup and such, but Chris's face looked as though he hadn't seen you in months.
You put your arm around his waist. "Hi, babe," you say. He's leaned up against the bartender's counter, trying to look casual but just looking drunk more than anything else. You look at the bartender, who is watching the two of you with an amused look. "What's going on here?" you ask.
The man nods towards Chris. "This boy here says that you're the love of his life."
You raise your eyebrows. "Does he? Well, how very sweet. He's mine, too."
Chris beams at you like he never wants to stop and you smile, looking over at the bartender again. "Sorry about him. I think-" You're cut off when you feel Chris's lips against yours. You don't even have time to close your eyes before he pulls away from the kiss. "Chris!" You giggle.
"Just wanted to kiss ya," Chris slurs. "You're so pretty.
Your face goes a deep shade of red and you shake your head. Chris had never really been one for PDA unless he was drunk. And here you were, just trying to have a normal conversation with the bartender. You give the man an apologetic look, but he only laughs.
"I think your boyfriend is a little bit drunk."
"I think so, too," you say, brushing Chris's hair off of his forehead.
Chris furrows his eyebrows, like he wants to be offended by that statement, but instead he turns back to the bartender. "Two shots, please. I'll take fireball and... what do you want, babe?"
Your eyes go wide. "Chris, I'm not sure you need another shot."
"Eh, just let him" the bartender cuts in. "He's not that bad."
"Yeah, I'm not that bad!" Chris says proudly, like a little child who just got saved from getting in trouble. He turns back to the man. "Give her Malibu. She likes that. Oh! But not the pineapple kind. She's allergic to pineapple." He grins down at you. Despite the roll of your eyes, you can't help but smile. Chris is always so caring, even if he is belligerent.
Chris turns to face you. "Just gotta get a little loose, babe. That's all."
"Fine. But just know that if you get sick tonight, I'll be satisfied knowing I was right."
A cheeky grin spreads across his face. "That won't be the only part of you that'll be satisfied tonight. Can't wait to get back to the hotel with you." He takes your small hand in his own large one and presses his lips against your knuckles.
You giggle. "You're drunk, my love."
"Maybe," he says, pressing one more kiss to your hand as if it were the period at the end of his sentence. "But you're so pretty."
The bartender places two shot glasses on the counter. "There we are. This ones fireball and this ones the Malibu."
Chris picks his shot glass up. "Thank you so much, sir." He turns to you. "What shall we toast to?"
"Me," you joke, raising your glass as well.
He clinks his glass against yours. "Fine. A toast to my girl. Also known as y/n. Also known as my lovely, beautiful girlfriend."
The two of you simultaneously tilt your heads back to take your shots, and you can't help the squint of your eyes as the alcohol slides down your throat. Chris was right. You did like Malibu because it didn't have as much of a sharp burn as some other things you'd tasted. But still, it was there. You wish you'd ordered a chaser.
Chris gulps down his shot and grins triumphantly at you, blowing out all the air he'd been holding in. You let out a little cough to try and ease the burn and he laughs, leaning closer to you. "I love you so much," he says, his face merely a few inches away from yours now. You purse your lips together, trying not to completely laugh in his face at how cute he was being. Drunk Chris was very sensitive. He could always tell when you were upset with him, or making fun of him. And even if you weren't, one simple, thoughtless comment could have him pouting for the rest of the night.
His lips are slightly parted and wet, and you can smell the cinnamon on his breath. With your thumb, you reach up to wipe away a tiny drop of alcohol from the corner of his mouth. You bring it up to your own tongue to taste, and his eyes brighten. "You like it?"
You take a few seconds to answer, licking your lip. "It's not bad. I used to drink this a lot. But honestly, Chris, I can't really taste it."
"Well that's because you barely had any, silly. I can get you a shot of it, if ya want!" He stands up straighter, turning to get the bartender's attention once more, but you stop him.
"No, no. That's okay. I think I've had enough for the night. And you have, too."
He grins, putting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. "Nuh uh," he whines, pushing your foreheads together. It's obvious that he's really feeling the alcohol at this point. He would never be this touchy-feely in public if he were sober. Of course, you weren't complaining. You loved when Chris was this way. Drunk, cuddly, clingy Chris was one of your most favourite versions of your boyfriend. In fact, it could get annoying how cuddly he could be sometimes. But you never minded. Nor could you ever stay annoyed for long when you saw the dopey grin on his face and felt his long fingers tangle in your hair or touch every visible inch of your skin just because he wanted to be touching you in any way he could. Normally you would be all for this, using every last bit of it to your advantage. But, as it is, it's late and you're getting sleepy. You'd both had a long day, and no matter how many times you'd flown out to London to see him, you would never quite get used to this time difference thing.
You let out a contented sigh; pulling away and tilting your head back to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I think we should head back to the hotel soon," you say, running your fingers through his once combed hair, now a bit messy and sweaty and deflated.
A cheeky grin spreads across his face once again. "Yeah? What should we do once we're there?" He wiggles his eyebrows-or at least attempts to wiggle them, leaning even closer to your face.
You giggle, leaning away from him. "We should go to sleep, Chris. It's late and I'm tired."
"Well, that's okay. You don't even have to do any of the work. Tonight can be all about making you feel good." He presses a sloppy kiss to your ear, which you can only assume was supposed to be your neck.
You giggle. "Well, we'll see how you're feeling once we get back, yeah?" You interlace your fingers with his and he smiles down at you.
"I see what you're doing here," he slurs. "You think just because I'm drunk I'm gonna be tired and forget. But I'm not. I'm not gonna forget. Gonna make you feel good." He leans towards you again to try and kiss your neck one more time.
You laugh, shaking your head and pushing him away with your other hand. "Come on, Casanova. Lets go get the car."
You pull him through the room, practically dragging him behind you. Chris, being the personable little shit he is, is saying his goodbyes to nearly everyone he passes; promising to get coffee with one person, wishing someone else the best of luck with God only knew what, and mumbling something incoherent which must've been the funniest thing on the whole damn planet because he and the guy he said it to are laughing hysterically.
"Y/n," he slurs, turning back to you and practically choking on the laughs bubbling out of his mouth. "Did'ya hear that?"
You sigh, trying desperately not to smile but dammit he's just so cute. "Yes, Chris. You are one funny dude."
He frowns as you push open the doors to the outside. You're immediately hit with the slight breeze and the chill of the air. That was something else you would never quite get used to. Although it was summer, it was still almost always colder than where you came from. You grip Chris's hand tighter as his slurred voice brings you out of your thoughts. "Liar. You didn't even hear any of that."
You roll your eyes. Chris could be such a child sometimes. "It sounded like an inside joke, babe. I didn't want to intrude."
You walk up to the man in charge of valet standing at his little podium and pray that Chris lets you handle this. His drunk self seems fascinated by the cars passing by on the street, however, so you take this as your opportunity. "Hi, can you call Chris's driver, please?"
The man smiles at you. He was incredibly friendly and had greeted you so politely when you'd first arrived. Before Chris had had one shot to many and was able to hold a coherent conversation with the man. He seemed to understand instantly. "Ready to go home?"
Chris suddenly turns to the man, proving you wrong. He's always paying attention. You should've known. "Well, not really. But Ms. y/n here thinks it's a good idea to go home and go to bed."
Theman laughs, as your cheeks burn crimson "That might not be a bad idea. I would if I could."
"You could come over if you'd like!" Chris offers, bright eyed and completely genuine.
Your eyes close as your hand finds its way up to your face in embarrassment. "Chris," you mumble.
The man only laughs again. "A kind offer, Mr. Evans. But I have to stay here and make sure everyone makes it home safe, ya know?"
You let out a sigh, leaning closer to the man with an apologetic smile. "I'm really sorry, he's... highly intoxicated right now."
The man puts up his hand to stop you. "No worries. I've seen worse. I'll call up his driver."
"Thank you." The man picks up a phone lying on the podium and dials a number as you pull Chris over to a nearby bench.
He plops down beside you with a sigh, squeezing your hand tighter and running his free hand up and down your arm. After a moment of silence, he speaks again. "Are you embarrassed of me?"
You giggle. "No. Of course not. I just think you're a little drunk and we should go before you do anything to embarrass yourself."
"You look embarrassed."
You turn to look at him and his eyes seem sad suddenly. He's watching your face intensely, looking for any sign of annoyance or embarrassment. You sigh. It always amazed you how much you loved this boy. "No, Chris. I'm not. I could never be. I'm lucky to have you as my date tonight. I don't deserve you."
Chris lets out the most ungraceful of yawns and you can't help but laugh while he speaks. "S'not true. I don't deserve you. You put up with me and you... take care of me.... And you love me... even when I'm drunk." He leans down to rest his head on your shoulder.
You smile, turning to press your lips to the top of his head. "Especially when you're drunk," you tease, earning a soft chuckle from him.
For a while, you just sit together, enjoying the silence and being close to one another. You didn't get to do this very often when he was on tour. So whenever he had a few days off and both of you were available, you jumped at any chance to be together. Needless to say, you were ecstatic when he'd invited you to be his date to the Gucci Guilty Fragrance release party. You just hadn't known there would be alcohol involved. Still, you were happy to be the one Chris chose to spend his day with. To be the one on his arm all night. And to be the one to take care of him in his cuddly, drunk state.
"M'sleepy," he mumbles suddenly, not removing his head from your shoulder. You smirk. You knew it was only a matter of time before he admitted his defeat.
"I know, love. The car will be here soon and we can go right to sleep when we get back to the hotel."
He picks his head up and looks at you. "Nuh uh. Don't think I've forgotten my promise, y'n."
You smile, shaking your head at his stubbornness. "Okay. I believe you."
He nuzzles his curly head back into your neck and wraps both arms around you, bringing you as close to him as you can possibly be without sitting on his lap. "You're soft. And warm. Like a.... warm, soft blanket."
You can't stop the giggle from bubbling out of your mouth. "Thank you. What a good way to describe what warm and soft means."
"You're laughing at me!" he pouts. "You know what I mean. It's like... when you do the laundry and there's a blanket right out of the dryer. And it's warm and soft. And it smells nice." He takes a big deep breath through his nose. "You smell nice, y/n."
"Thank you. You don't smell so bad yourself."
"I'm serious. I love the way you smell. Like vanilla and... shampoo. Vanilla shampoo." You can feel your cheeks burning red because of how cute he's being. You never want him to stop. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Your fingers reach up and find themselves tangled in one of his curls. You absentmindedly twirl it between your thumb and forefinger. "Of course."
"I love you."
Your chest might actually burst if he doesn't stop being so damn adorable. You can practically feel the cavities beginning in your teeth from how sweet and mushy he's being. Not to say he wasn't always sweet and mushy, but this was a bit excessive. But again, you were by no means complaining. "That's not a secret, Chris."
"You haven't said it back to me in a while."
You bite at your lip and wiggle around a bit in his arms to get a good look at his face. "I love you so much. So much more than you even know."
"Prove it."
You giggle once more. "How?"
"Let's have sex back there behind the building."
"What?!" You speak through astonished laughter. "Oh my god, no."
"Why not?"
"You just said you were sleepy!"
"So?"
"Chris you... you aren't serious."
"Very serious!" He stands up suddenly, spreading his arms out wide. "The most serious!"
Your hands fly up to cover your face and muffle your loud laughter. You stare at him from between your fingers. "Oh my God, Chris."
"Come onnnnn," he whines, swaying his hips in a way that's probably supposed to be seductive, but you and he both know just looks silly.
You roll your eyes and thank God in heaven that there are no fans or paparazzi around to see this right now. "If this is what it takes for me to prove my love to you then I'm sorry but-"
"I want yooooooou!" You're cut off by his loud voice singing the classic Beatles song. Complete with little head bobs in place of the drumbeat. "I want you so baaaaaaaaad! BUM BUM BUM BUM."
You stand up, grabbing for him to try and shush him. You speak through your laughter. "Chris, shut up."
"I want yooooooooooou! BUM BUM BUM. I want you soo baaaaad it's drivin' me mad, it's drivin' me madddd."
You reach up and try to cover his mouth but its no use. "Chris pleeeeease."
He takes your wrists in his hands and holds them captive as he speaks. "I can keep singing. There are more Beatles songs about sex you know."
"Shhhhh!" You giggle.
"Isn't there that one song that talks about like, doing it in the road or something?"
"Chris."
"We could do it in the road?"
"Chris!"
The car pulls up shortly after, just in time to find Chris awkwardly slow-dancing/waltzing around the sidewalk with you singing Why Don't We Do It In The Road. Through laughter you reach into your purse to pay the valet. Chris tries to straighten up, but it's no use. He's a stumbling, giggling mess. When you try to pull him to the car, he waves at the man. "Goodbye, sir! Have a nice night!"
The man tips his hat. "You, too, Mr. Styles. You be nice to that poor girl."
"She loves meeee!" He says, just as you're stepping into the car. "G'night!"
When the gangly bundle of uncoordinated arms and legs that is your boyfriend has finally plopped down in the leather seat beside you, the driver closes the door behind him. Chris turns to you. "That poor valet man. Has'ta just sit there and watch people have fun all night."
"I'm sure he has his own fun," you say, adjusting in your seat to pull your dress further down on your thighs.
The movement does not go unnoticed by Chris, and he grins instantly. He reaches down without a word and places his fingers just where the fabric of your dress meets the skin of your thighs. He turns to the front of the car. . "Hello, Gary."
The driver looks in the rearview mirror up at the two of you and smirks, knowing damn well the current state that your boyfriend is in-having seen it even more times than you had. "Hello, Chris. Y/n."
"And what have you been up to all night?" Chris's hand slowly and innocently glides a bit higher up on your thigh and you giggle.
Gary clears his throat as he pulls out onto the road. "Well, I went back to the hotel for a bit. Got some dinner. Watched the game."
"Did we win?" you blurt out, though you don't know why. You realize that perhaps that final shot of Malibu had hit you a bit harder than you'd expected. Not to mention that was on top of a few other drinks you'd had throughout the night. You'd been careful and spaced them all out. Though you were nowhere near where Chris was, you'd be lying if you said things weren't glowing a bit right now.
"Win what?" Chris asks.
"The game!" You answer, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Harry mentioned a game."
Gary chuckles. "No. Lost by four points."
You click your tongue. "Darn."
Chris is not impressed. "Do you even know what type of game he's referring to?"
You shrug. "Football?"
Chris snorts. "Babe-"
Gary holds up his hand. "Not important. Where am I taking you?"
You speak up. "Home. Please. Well, I guess not home. I meant to say the hotel. You knew what I meant." You can feel Chris's eyes on you and it's making you flustered. Damn him and those eyes.
His hand sneaks its way even further up your leg and you giggle again, this time reaching down to stop him. "Chris, no," you whisper. "Not now. Not in the car."
"At the hotel then?" He says back in a voice that could hardly count as a whisper. That was the one thing on God's green earth that Chris was bad at-whispering when it was needed.
You sigh. "Yes, Chris. You've already made that promise like, seven times."
He smirks, once again leaning his head down to rest on your shoulder. "Good," he mumbles.
The rest of the car ride is mostly silent, save for a few little jokes from Chris and the radio buzzing quietly. When you pull up near the hotel, you find a few fans sitting outside on the steps. Though you were used to it by now, fans always made you nervous. No matter how many there were. Usually, you never had reason to worry. They were mostly nice to you, asking questions and telling you how pretty you were or even sometimes asking for a picture. But other times, they were awful. They used rude names, and said things about your relationship that you knew weren't true. It was to be expected, of course, but still. You never knew which type of fan you were going to encounter and it terrified you.
"Shit," you mumble, absentmindedly biting at your nails. A nervous habit of yours that Chris often tried to break you of, though without much luck.
"Hey," he says suddenly, reaching up to take your hand in his own. "No no no. None of that. It'll be fine."
You're almost instantly comforted by his smile, and you have to resist the urge to poke at the dimple in his cheek. Although he's drunk and probably doesn't have a clue about what's going on, he makes you feel a bit better. "Chris," you say, "You have to at least pretend to sober up. Okay?"
"Why?" he pouts. "Let 'em see me. I don't care."
You giggle as the car comes to a complete stop and Gary gets out. "Maybe not now, but I think you might care tomorrow. Just... act sober."
"Act sober," Chris says to himself, nodding his head. "I can act sober." Gary opens your car door and Chris grins again. "Hello, Gary!"
Gary chuckles. "Hi, Chris. You ready to go inside?"
Chris hops out of the car and holds his hand up to you, and you swear the number of fans just multiplied. "Yes, sir, I am. Y/n?"
You take a deep breath and swallow before taking Chris's hand and jumping out. The girls nearby gasp. "Hi y/n!" one of them yells.
You smile but keep your head down as you begin walking. Maybe they won't notice Chris is drunk. Maybe they'll leave you alone. By the way they're yelling that they love him AND you, they seem to be the nice type of fans. Such a relief.
Once you've entered the hotel through two automatic doors, the atmosphere changes immensely. It's late, so the only people around are the people at the front desk. Faint piano music plays through an invisible speaker somewhere above you, and the floor has just been mopped because you can clearly see your reflection in it. The fans seem to have elected to stay outside, thank God, and you know it'll only be about two minutes before you'll be safe in your bed.
Chris smirks down at you, and you suddenly feel nervous and fluttery under his gaze again. "Didn't suspect a thing," he mumbles, pushing the button for the elevator.
A man with a bright green tie stands behind the front desk and smiles. "Good evening, Mr. Evans."
Chris's head snaps up and it takes him longer than it should to find the source of the voice. When he sees the man, he smiles again. "Evening!" He nods. "You have a good night?" Dammit, Chris.
The man chuckles. "I have indeed. And yourselves?"
Chris nods seriously. "Oh yes. We just got back from a fragrance party!"
"A fragrance party? I can't say I've ever heard of one of those."
You roll your eyes. "He means a fragrance release party.
"Oh!" The man says as it clicks in his brain. "I see. Well that sounds wonderful!"
"Oh it was," Chris says just as the doors to the elevator open. He raises a hand to wave. "Have a good rest of your night!"
The man waves back. "You as well, Mr. Evans."
With a hand on your lower back, Chris gently ushers you into the elevator. As he steps in behind you, he looks over his shoulder with a cheeky grin and says, "Oh we will!" He winks awkwardly, causing the man to laugh and your face to burn red.
As soon as the doors close you slap him lightly in the stomach. "Chris!"
"What?!" He says, putting his hands up in surrender. "He doesn't care. And s'not a lie. We are gonna have a good night." He lets out an unmanly yawn, and you have to suppress your giggle.
"Yeah, a good night's sleep." You fold your hands and stretch your arms out in front of you, yawning as well.
He frowns, turning his head slowly. "Heeeeeeeyyyy......"
You laugh, pushing his hair off his face and pressing a kiss to his lips. "I love you."
He's still trying to be pouty, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips and threatening to blow his cover. "Love you, too," he mumbles like a little child who didn't get their way.
The elevator slows to a stop shortly after and the doors roll open. He places a hand on your back and lets you lead the way through the hallway and down to your suite. Room 1217. He smiles as you dig through your wallet to retrieve the room key, and up close you can see how exhausted he is. There's no way he's going to be up much longer.
The light flashes green and you push the door open, revealing your large suite that looks more like an apartment than anything. He sighs instinctively, trudging through the door and into the room. You close the door behind you and walk towards the windows that look down over the city. Even from up here, you can see the girls still waiting around outside. In just the past five minutes, they seem to have multiplied again. "Look at them," you say quietly, mostly to yourself. "What are they expecting to happen?"
Chris doesn't answer you, and you suspect for a moment that he might be in the bathroom. But when you feel warms lips kiss right below your ear and graze down your neck moments later, you know you were mistaken. You smile. His fingers skim lightly up your arms, and you let out a happy sigh. Damn him.
"I love you so much," he mumbles into your hair. He takes your hand and spins you so you're facing him. "So, so much." He kisses your lips, and you eagerly kiss him back.
One of the many things you'd always loved about Chris was that he was a damn good kisser. He was good at everything else in the world, too, of course. But this was something completely different. You'd be lying if you said you didn't always enjoy just a plain old-fashioned make-out session with him. And Chris was not one to overlook the value of a kiss. He knew exactly what he could do to you with his lips and he often told you how much he loved kissing you. He believed that every kiss should be just as important as the first, and to him it was. He always took his time with it, too. And he had a different kiss for every occasion.
For instance, he had morning kisses that were lazy and slow and warm. There were quick goodbye kisses, and 'I'm going on tour and wont see you for a while' kisses. Reunion kisses, 'I want you right here, right now' kisses, 'you're the most adorable person on this planet' kisses, and, in tonight's case, 'I love you more than you will ever know' kisses.
Your hands wander up to tangle in his hair, and you can feel him smile into the kiss. He may be into this moment right now, but he's still drunk and giggly. He pulls away slowly and looks in your eyes with the dopiest grin on his face. "You make me so happy," he drawls out.
You can feel your chest burning, reminiscent of the way the alcohol sliding down your throat felt, and you smile. "You make me happier," you say. You want to slap yourself for the corniness. Truth be told, you and Chris did often have those "I love you more" arguments even though you'd made it clear that you thought they were cheesy and gross. But this was different for whatever reason, and you didn't mind the argument because it was Chris for God's sake. You wanted everyone to know you loved him. You could tell him a million times and it wouldn't be enough.
He smiles down at you, holding you as close as possible. You think he's just on the verge of kissing you again when he pokes his tongue out between his lips and licks the tip of your nose.
You shriek. "Ew Chrisyyy," you whine, reaching up to wipe your nose with the back of your hand. You can't help the giggle though. God only knows how Chris could do something like that and still manage to be the sexiest guy you knew. Though you'd never admit it to him, of course.
He chuckles. "You're cute."
"You're gross," you say, wrinkling your nose and leaning away from him.
He full on laughs this time, folding you into his body in a warm hug. He doesn't say anything; he just rests his cheek on the top of your head and sways a bit. You sigh, relaxing into the hug and wrapping your arms around him as well. Even if he did just lick your nose, you love him for the little shit that he is. You wish you could always stay here. He's warm and safe and smells like... well, Chris. His shirt has a faint smell of cigarette smoke and the outdoors, but his cologne overpowers it. Often times, when he went away on tour you would spray his cologne all over everything just so that you could feel close to him again. But being here now feels like home. Nothing compared to the scent when it came straight from the source.
"I'm sleepy," Chris mumbles for the second time tonight, the words a bit muffled because his cheek is scrunched up on top of your head.
You nuzzle your head deeper into his chest and nod. "Me, too. Bedtime?"
"But I was supposed to-" He cuts his own self off with a huge yawn, and you wait for him to finish the sentence. When he doesn't, you pull away.
"It's okay. We have time to do that tomorrow." You watch his face, waiting for any sign of protest. But it doesn't come. You smile. "Come on, then," you say, taking his hand and leading him in the direction of the bed.
Upon seeing the enormous bed, Chris walks over and practically falls onto it face up. "I love this bed," he sighs.
You giggle, walking over to your side of the bed to begin changing. "Yeah? I bet it loves you, too."
"I would marry this bed if I could."
You know that your boyfriend has now reached the phase of his drunken stupor where he doesn't know what he's talking about. You love that phase. Nodding your head, you begin unzipping your dress. "That's nice."
"I wonder if anyone's ever tried to marry a bed."
You snort. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard of that happening. But what do I know?" You slip out of the dress quickly, folding it up and placing it on the chair nearby without even thinking. It isn't until you notice Chris hasn't said anything that you realize you're standing there in just your bra and underwear. He's smirking up at you.
Raising an eyebrow, you speak. "What are you looking at, sir? Go change you clothes."
"Caaaant," he whines, turning away and running a hand through his hair. "Too tireeeeeed. Help meeeee."
You roll your eyes. "Do I have to do everything for you?"
He smiles, closing his eyes. "It'd be nice if you did."
After a moment, you sigh. "Fine. Hold on." Just like that, Chris could get you to do anything. All it took was a stupid quirk of his eyebrow or flash of his smile and you were done for.
You don't even bother getting your own pajamas out of your suitcase. Instead, you reach into his bag and grab a t-shirt. You smile pulling it over your head and letting it hang loose and long on your body. It smells just like his cologne and makes your body miss his touch again even though he's right there.
You make your way over to the foot of the bed and look down at him, an amused smile on your face. He's smirking right back up at you, spreading his arms out wide. He closes his eyes and sighs, waiting for you to do whatever it is your going to do.
You huff out a sigh, getting down onto your knees and suddenly face-to-face with his crotch. Before you can do anything, you hear his mumbly voice above you. "At least buy me a dinner first, y/n. God."
You roll your eyes but giggle in spite of yourself. "Shut up," you mutter, going to work on his shoelaces.
"You know something?" Chris wonders out loud as you slip his shoe off of his foot. "Tonight was the best night ever."
"Good," you say as you begin working on his other shoe.
"I really liked that bartender guy. What was his name? Uhh... Phil?"
"I think so."
"Phil. Yeah. He was a cool dude." When you don't respond, he continues. "I also really liked the food tonight. It was delicious. AndI hope everyone likes the perfume. I think this is gonna be really,really good. I had a lot of fun. Did you have fun?"
You smile as your dorky boyfriend continues to just say any thought that pops into his head, with no connection between the thoughts. "Of course. I always have fun with you, Chris."
"Don't be cheesy," he says, earning a giggle from you. "I'm kidding. I always have fun with you, too. You're pretty special."
You stand up slowly, now hovering over him. His eyes are still closed. "Yeah? In a good way?" You take the button of his pants in your fingers.
"No, special in a terrible way," he jokes, scowling at you. "Yes, in a good way, y/n. In a very good way."
Slowly,you begin sliding his pants down his legs, revealing his vast expanse of abs you love so much. Youbite at your lip to try and suppress the urge to kiss them, but its no use.Before the pants are even completely off, you lean down and press several slowkisses to his left hip.
He cracks a lid open. "What are you doing?"
You press one more kiss to his hip for good measure. "Just loving you. Sorry."
"No no," he says, lifting his head from the mattress to smile down at you. "By all means, keep going."
You smile up at him, crawling up to kneel beside him on the bed. You begin unbuttoning his shirt. "One of my favorite thing about you is all your tattoos, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Every single one." You finish up with the unbuttoning, revealing the bull tattoo on his left bicep.
"But especially this one." You lean down and press your lips to it, and you can feel him sigh under you.
"I bet it loves you back," he mumbles, and you can't help but laugh right onto his stomach. The vibrations make him squirm under you, and he chuckles as well. "Stop that," he pouts through a childish grin. "No laughing."
You playfully take some of his skin between your teeth and nibble lightly at it and he laughs again; fully laughs. Head falling back against the sheets, chest fluttering, and eyes squeezing shut. Your favorite kind of laugh.
You sit up and smile down at him, waiting for the laughing spell to pass. It slowly does, but not without aftershocks. He sits up and slides the shirt completely off of him while kicking the pants off his legs. When he's just in his boxers and you're clad only in his t-shirt, you sit there for a moment just looking at one another. Never wanting to look away. "I love you," he says quietly, reaching up and taking a wayward strand of your hair between his fingers.
"I love you, too," you say.
"We should've made this into a drinking game," he says. "Every time we confessed our love for one another, we should've taken a drink. Would've been great."
You laugh. "We would've been in far worse shape than we are now, I think."
He furrows his brows. "Speak for yourself, missy. I'm in great shape."
"Oh of course you are," you say, moving to stand up. You stop when you feel his hand lock around your wrist.
"Where are you going?" he pouts.
"I just need to run to the bathroom before bed."
"Don't goooo."
"Chris, I have to wash my face and brush my teeth."
"Skip it tonight."
"Eww."
"Please?"
You huff out a sigh. "No. It'll only take a second. You should be brushing your teeth too, you know."
He shakes his head like a little boy, and you roll your eyes. "You're gross. Give me like, five minutes," you say.
After a moment of staring, he sighs. "Fine. But I'll be counting."
You giggle, making your way through the room. "Fine."
"And if you take longer, you owe me."
"Owe you what?"
"You decide."
With one more roll of your eyes you disappear into the bathroom to begin your nightly routine. Not even five minutes later do you return with a tall glass of water for your boyfriend and find him sprawled out across the bed. His long limbs hang in each direction and his lips are parted. If you don't make any type of sound, you can actually hear soft little snores leaving his lips, and it's the most goddamned adorable thing you think you've ever heard.
You place the glass on the nightstand and crawl up beside him carefully, trying your best not to wake him. His chest gently rises and falls and you want to kiss it one more time. Instead, you just sit there watching him for a moment. You could honestly just sit there and watch him sleep for hours, and you'd told him that before. He always got blush-y and red when you mentioned it, and told you not to be a creep. But you knew he didn't mind it at all because he admitted to doing the same thing to you.
Although, part of you does wonder how you're going to sleep tonight. You don't want to wake him, of course, but the fact of the matter is he's lying out across the entire bed and didn't even bother to pull back the covers. You sigh, but the warm feeling in your tummy doesn't go away. Nevermind the covers. You could sleep on top of them tonight. To hell with normality.
You grab the blanket you'd brought in your carryon bag for the plane and crawl up beside him once again, covering both of you with it as quietly as possible. You glance down at him one more time, and he lets out a little sniff. God you love him.
Lying down beside him, you reach over and turn off the lamp beside the bed. You snuggle down, trying your best to get comfortable despite the fact that this boy is taking up almost the entire bed. On any other night, you would've woken him up and made him move. But tonight, he was drunk and cute and you were happy just to be next to him.
As soon as you stop moving, he wiggles around a bit. He rolls over onto his side and drapes his long, clumsy arm around your stomach, pulling you closer and tighter into his side like a little kid hugging a teddy bear. He nuzzles his nose into your hair and lets out a huge breath. Pushing your lips together to suppress the giggle threatening to bubble out of you, you sigh. And with one last kiss to his forehead, you fall asleep knowing that you want to spend every night for the rest of your life curled up into his side.
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