Charles presses his mouth against Loris’ lips. He has to check before he bets his pendant.
‘Charles…’
Loris sinks his nails into the nape of Charles’ neck, sending a surge of electricity down his spine.
His breath isn’t grenadine. It’s nutty, like a hot caffeinated drink on a winter day. And no, Charles had never tasted Loris before. Every touch of their lips is a learning experience. There’s nothing familiar about the flavours and sensations going to his head, about the warm shivers coursing through his body. They’re warm, they’re increasingly warm and, all of a sudden, they’re searing, because his tongue is brushing Loris’ tongue.
Charles grips his waist and hauls him up onto his knees on the sofa, their hips pressed together.
He can’t process what he’s learning anymore, it’s too complex. It’s an exhilarating assault on all his senses. It’s fast and messy, and when Loris’ hand finds the skin above his belt, Charles moans and kisses him deeper.
His moan ricochets on the surface of the bubble and comes back to resonate in Charland like a thunderclap.
He’s kissing Loris.
Charles snatches himself from his clasp and falls backwards against the armrest. ‘Fuck. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘But it’s okay that you did.’
‘No.’ Charles cowers further away when Loris caresses his knee. ‘Ididn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.’
‘Okay... I’m sorry I let you, then.’
Loris drops his arm and sits on his heels as a flash of bruising confusion streaks the myriad of blues glistening behind his eyelashes. His lips are wet and now cherry red. His t-shirt is pulled down, hugging the muscles of his shoulders, revealing those on his torso. He’s so breathtakingly attractive, Charles brings his fist against his mouth not to scream. He’s out of his mind. He’s not attracted to Loris. He’s not, except his entire body is aching to be touched by Loris’ hands, resting on his thighs.
‘I need to go.’ Charles jumps to his feet. ‘I need to be— I have to meet—’
‘That’s not true. You don’t need to be anywhere.’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘Let’s just take a minute to—’
‘I don’t want to be here!’
The silence that follows is so heavy, Charles wishes he had shouted even louder, so his own echo would deaden the certainty that he’s being hurtful. He picks up his pen and teeters around the sofa to gather his clothes.
‘Fine…’
Loris sounds anything but fine. Nothing is fine. Nothing is safe anymore. The bubble is on the brink of bursting.
‘But where are you going? Charles?’
Why isn’t it bursting?
‘Don’t leave, you’re panicking again.’
‘I’m not, I— Home. I’m going home. I’m sorry.’
Charles rushes out of the flat and hurtles down the stairs. The steps creak, loud and ominous, and what the hell happened? How the hell didhe—
He’s forced to come to a stop outside when he ploughs into a teenage girl who almost drops her phone.
‘Watch out, moron!’
