Totally inspired by Death Cab’s Tiny Vessels.
I hope you all enjoy :D
He ran his fingers through her hair, slowly. Her fingers playing on the back of his neck, their lips dancing together in a slow choreography they had rehearsed for so long.
“I love you”
She bit on his lower lip, sinking her nails on his flesh with a cocky smirk on her face. Camille had been the first one to say it, so she wanted to make it clear that she was still in control. Not that Logan cared about control right now. Not that he cared about anything right now.
He closed his eyes, unable to look into hers any longer. And once he did it, a storm of images started going through his brain. He could see better with his eyes closed.
He could see the perfect smile he loved so much, the hands he wanted to hold for the rest of his life, the green eyes he could spend hours looking at, the blonde hair that was like a mirage. He could see everything he’d always wanted, everything he loved the most. He could see Kendall, the Kendall. The one that would never be his Kendall.
He changed the rhythm, trusting harder against the girl underneath him. Her voice echoing on his brain as she whispered dirty talk against his ear, doing nothing to him when compared to the sound of Kendall’s laughs. Or the way the blonde would say his name. Or the simple touch of their skin, at innocent moments. That was all he could get. Moments. Small, stolen moments. And nothing more than that.
He shut his eyes tighter, until the darkness turned into some kind of light. His trusts out of rhythm now, as well as his breathing. Beyond his closed eyes he’d dream of happiness. He’d dream of love, and care, and everything that he would never have with Kendall. Everything Camille was willing to offer. Everything he didn’t felt back for her. He came in a whimper, a weak cry for happiness he would never truly feel. And so he collapsed on top of the girl, breathing heavy against the crook of her neck, running his trembling fingers through her hair.
“I love you too” he whispered against her skin, the words empty and free of any meaning, other than the knowledge that the one person he’d mean it to, belonged to someone else.