Being kissed by you was, truly, not one of the wildest things he’d expected in his night, but was perhaps one of the most tame. Still, even then, a kiss was a dangerous thing.

You tasted like the milkshake you must’ve had, sweet, mouth cold and warming up from the hesitant slot of his mouth as you’d leaned over the edge of the table and had practically stolen his thoughts through his tongue. He figures—you don’t do this sort of thing. Play it risky, do things that would make your grandma cry, you don’t step outside of your comfort zone, he can tell just by how you kissed. All tentative, quick, a mash of mouths that is untrained and untaught in the anxiousness to get it done. A fumble of the finer experiences. He’d felt your fingers splay over his cheek, a strange sensation he hadn’t felt in ages, a jolt of tingles down his shoulder from the softness of skin, physical touch wasn’t new to him—wasn’t old, either, but estranged. It was a drug he wasn’t ever sure he’d relapse on.

Fuck’s sake. He thinks, and it would be anyone’s reaction to push a stranger off, but he hardly gets the chance, a vibration to his own phone that makes his eyes dart to the phone frozen in his half-lifted hand.

Steal their wallet. $700.

“Nice night, ain’t it?” He murmurs against your mouth, feels you stiffen, probably the realization kicking in after the rumble of his voice, feels you pull back, cold all over from the loss of your closeness.

The adrenaline rush feels like cotton in his head, makes his heart pound all fast and sweet, something he’s been searching for ever since he’d been discharged. He’s not the type of guy you should get tangled up with. He’s the kind of guy your father tells you is probably a car crash two seconds from impact, and the airbags haven’t ever worked, But his fingers grasp your wrist, pull you back gently, free fingers at the nape of your neck, steady, firm, coaxing. “Don’t mind this, yeah? Will jus’ be a quick one, swear it.”

And he brings you in again.

You know what they say; a dare’s a dare.