MR STEVE HARRINGTON TAKING YOUR FIRST KISS WHEN YOU GO TAKE PHOTOBOOTH PICS IM MELTING

MR STEVE HARRINGTON TAKING YOUR FIRST KISS WHEN YOU GO TAKE PHOTOBOOTH PICS IM MELTING

cutest idea EVER as soon as you sent it i was like omg

"How many photos are there?" you ask, squishing in against the wall as Steve slides onto the bench beside you. 

"Four."

"How are we gonna pose for four photos?" you ask. 

Steve closes the curtain and clicks on the screen with only a mild frustration when it proves finicky. "Uh, don't worry about it. I'm sure something will come to us." 

The first photo begins. A feminine voice counts down, 3, 2, 1, and Steve has wrapped his hand around your elbow out of frame, leaning into your shoulder. You're both smiling wide, heads inclined, foreheads kissing. 

"That's boring," Steve says after it's done. "We should go Bond for the next one." 

He's already turning, his back pressed to your shoulder. You copy him though you're not sure what he means, spines pressed together. You crane over your shoulder to ask, "Bond?" 

"You know, the spy? Double oh seven?" 

You shake your head and laugh, the two of you with your shoulders digging in and guns upheld. Steve looks at the screen all cool and charming and you've got no clue what to do, looking up at the ceiling of the booth. 

"Not like that! You look like a nun!" Steve says urgently, laughing. You whip your head forward, embarrassment like the heat of a flame licking over your skin. 

3, 2, 1. The shutter clicks. 

You scramble up, heart racing with no clue what pose to pull next. Steve throws up a peace sign as you giggle and place your hands under your face like a cherub angel. He approves. 

"Perfect," he says. 

The time counting down for this one feels longer. Steve's thigh to your thigh becomes a heating pad, his naked arm brushing yours an explosion of firecrackers under the skin. This close he smells like cedarwood and bergamot, an intoxicating, heady scent that you can't help but drift towards. He throws his arm around your shoulders in response and again your faces draw close. You imagine the warmth irradiating off of his cheek and onto your own.

3, 2, 1. The shutter clicks. You blink, affronted by the flash, the bright white eating at the centre of your vision. Steve's arm slides back but his hand stays on your shoulder, lithe fingers squeezing tight flesh. 

You can't help laughing with nerves and a lot of happiness, pleased to be here with him taking silly couple's photos with a thousand contiguities between you, breathing the same air, hidden away from everyone in the world but each other. 

You turn to Steve. He's alarmingly handsome this close, his warm, soft eyes and their fluttering lashes peering at you with an emotion you could describe but don't, too afraid to admit what it is to yourself in case you're terribly wrong. 

A smile plays on his pretty mouth. 

"What?" he asks, having watched your staring. 

Get ready! 

"You just look really handsome today. Every day," you say, turning away from him with a big photo ready smile. 

You can feel his gaze, hear his smile. "You think so?" His hand slides over the back of your neck, skirting around to hold it in a hot, firm grip. 

"I'm gonna kiss your cheek for this one," he says. "Okay?" 

"Okay," you say weakly, sounding as nervous as you feel. 

He leans in towards you, his face bringing with it a wave of goosebumps. They start at the base of your neck and sweep your entire body, shivering as his lips touch your cheek. He shifts in his seat to get close, really truly kissing you and you go a little blind, worse as the lady counts. 

3. Steve brings his other hand up, firm but kind to the side of your face. 

2. Your eyes close on instinct as he turns your head towards him. 

His lips press to yours. Chaste, smooth, you find yourself forced back a half inch at the connection, a flower of warmth blossoming from the center of your chest outwards, all over your body, your tummy becoming a melted pool of heat. Your hands grab for his elbows. You don't return the kiss so much as let yourself be kissed. 

The shutter clicks. A bright white flash. 

Steve pulls away like he doesn't want to. You take in a big breath and open your eyes, find him staring at you with worry lining his expression. 

"Sorry," he says. "I thought you-" 

You nod and lean forward again, clumsily pressing your lips to his for a second kiss. Your enthusiasm gives him a confidence he didn't quite have the first time, his hands greedy where they rove over your neck and shoulders. What was chaste becomes less so, his lips slightly parted over yours, kissing you with an aching ardency. 

Please exit the booth.

Steve breaks the kiss and drops his forehead against yours as you giggle breathlessly, sucking in keenly missed air. 

"Sorry for freezing up the first time," you say, sounding even to yourself like a giddy, dizzied mess. "No one's ever kissed me before." 

"That was your first kiss?" he murmurs, though his surprise peeks through. 

You shudder as his hand rubs over your upper arm roughly. "Yeah. My second, too." 

He kisses the corner of your mouth with a brilliant grin and pulls away from you. "And your third." 

Steve throws open the curtain and you follow him out of the booth, bumping shoulders in a rush to see the photos as he pulls them out of the drop box. He takes your elbow into his hand, an unnecessary, irreplaceable closeness as he turns to show you the photos. 

Standing with your heads angled down together, you brush your fingertips over the captured moment of your first kiss. Your surprise. Steve's clear affection. 

Your eyes move up. In every photo he's looking at you. Even the Bond one, a lopsided smile as he corrects your position. 

You try to take it from him and he won't allow it. 

"I'm keeping it," he says. 

"How's that fair? It's my first kiss. You've had loads of kisses." 

"Not with you." 

You try to glare at him and fail, especially when he gets a mischievous look about him and says, "We'll just have to do it again." 

You let him push you back into the photo booth with little protest.