Just a Taste… of Coming Down

Just a Taste… of Coming Down


The campus is dark and mostly deserted. People are either home, in halls, or cozied up in one of the many bars dotted around the university. We pass the occasional runner and a few groups of students walking home from the pub, but for the most part it’s just the two of us.

We keep stopping to kiss and touch, which turns the ten-minute walk to the art building into a twenty minute one. My head is still buzzing, but the tab of ecstasy we shared before leaving my room is washing away the worst of my hangover, blanketing me with a sense of sweet euphoria. Whenever he touches my chest it makes me giggle.

When we finally reach the building it’s all too easy to break in. He jimmies up a sash window with a metal rod, then pushes it up until we can climb inside. My feet land on the classroom floor, and my heart races, pounding against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape. Suddenly the lyrics from Bat out of Hell start coming out of my mouth, and Niall muffles them with his palm, hushing me as he leads me toward the studios.

“But it’s Meatloaf,” I try to tell him. “Did you know he changed his name by deed poll? Imagine having to sign your cheques Mr Loaf. He must get really funny looks when he does the weekly shopping.”

“You weren’t this chatty an hour ago.”

I hadn’t taken ecstasy an hour ago, either. Now I want to tell him everything. There’s so much in my brain that’s itching to get out, I barely even know where to start.

This time, he muffles my words with his mouth. Hard, rough kisses that send my pulse soaring. He cups the back of my head with his hand and presses the other against my bum. His tongue is soft, though, almost gentle compared with the rest of him. I let him stroke it against my own.

“You need to be quiet while I paint you, okay?” he says after I break free to take in some air. His words are punctuated by soft pants.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“At least try and lie still. I can’t do the first sketch if you keep moving and speaking.” He kisses me again, and this time I feel his hardness digging into my hip. “We should never have taken that bloody E.”

“It feels good, though.”

Niall pushes me against a table and it rocks precariously against the tiled floor. There’s a crash as a pile of books fall to the ground. He laughs and pushes me again, this time until I’m sitting on the edge, my legs wrapped around his hips. He grinds into me, kissing me feverishly until we fall back onto the scratched wooden table top.

“I thought you were going to paint me,” I say.

He pulls my t-shirt up over my head. “Later.”


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Carrie Pink

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