making-out-with-tao drabble - I feel like I should make this a 12-part mini series, one for each of them~ X3

The metal rivets on your jeans scrape audibly against the wall as he pushes you against the tile, tugging and shifting you until he has you positioned exactly as he wants you.

His solid body is keeping you pinned despite the over-eager arms you wind tightly around the back of his neck. His mouth is hot, so hot, and it’s latched onto your throat; suction coaxing deep reds and purples to the surface of your skin. His nails are raking the back of your head, buried deep in your hair, and he exhales with a groan when you throw your head back.

Dark eyes and dark hair and flashing lights envelop you and threaten to become the only things you know.

His tongue is wet and warm along the shell of your ear, and his teeth come into play as he gently on the lobe.

His hands are exploring the expanse of your back, fingertips pressing up along your spine, and you wonder if he’s keeping count of your vertebrae.

When his mouth finds yours, he claims it, lips slipping feverishly over one another as his tongue strives to conquer your mouth. He’s let go; the sound of his panting increases in volume and desirous whines and groans fill whatever gap is left between you.

A pause for breath. You ask him for his name.

Zitao is the answer that electrifies the air in a purr that you feel against your mouth, your chest and deep in the pit of your stomach.

You had a feeling the same name would soon be falling from your lips in the lewdest sort of mantra.