Does he think Charles’ lips are insane? He said so once, mentioningPavel’s paintbrush. Did he want to kiss Charles that day?
‘Don’t you want me?’ Charles cups Loris’ chin with his palm to stop him from turning away. ‘I think you do. But you also want to murder me. I’m sorry I gave you reason to. I’m— Oh, they’re still here!’ He caresses the three beauty spots below Loris’ nose. Of course they’re still here. Beauty spots wouldn’t leave such a face. ‘I’m truly sorry, you know?’
Loris is keeping is eyes squeezed shut and his fists clenched. It seems to require great effort not to touch Charles. He should spare himself the trouble.
‘Loris?’ Charles whispers against his mouth. ‘With one L?’
Loris breathes out and sends a blaze down Charles’ throat that no whisky could match. Dizzy, Charles staggers back, but Loris grips his waist to keep their lips locked and pushes his tongue in. Charles whimpers, sinking his fingers into Loris’ insane shoulders. No, they’re more than insane. Worthy of being screenshot and studied in depth. But he will do that later. Right now, he slides his hands down and inside Loris’ sweatpants.
Why is he wearing any? And why is Charles wearing these jeans, too tight for the surge of desire he’s experiencing? He needs to take off his clothes. They need to kiss and touch each other until all novels are written, all paintings painted, all symphonies—
‘No.’ Loris clasps Charles’ wrists to pull his hands out. ‘Sorry. Not happening.’
‘Very much happening.’
Charles twists his arms free and leans forwards again, but Loris pushes him back.
‘No, Charles.’
‘Why? Because you’re mad at me?’
‘Because whatever you think you want tonight, you might not wantit in the morning.’
‘I’m not drunk if that worries you.’
Loris rubs his lips together and scoffs. ‘You don’t taste sober.’
‘Alright, I had a drink or six, but I’m very sure I want you.’
‘After what happened last time, I’m gonna take your certainties with a pinch of salt.’
Loris steps aside, and Charles folds his arms, because if they’re not around him, they’re just in the way. What happened last time? They kissed. He enjoyed it. But he freaked out and acted like a dick.
‘That’s fair. You’re a fair guy. I like that.’ Charles nods, appreciative, but scrunches his nose when Loris shakes his head. ‘What?’
‘You’re more drunk than I thought.’
‘It’s not my fault, it’s my brain, it added alcohol to my whisky, so I wouldn’t… So I’d forget that… Because I learnt a shitload of— No.’
Charles knuckles his forehead. No. Not now. None of that here, in his safe place. He will deal with it at home. He will have to go home. That sucks. He would rather never kiss Loris again.
‘You learnt a shitload of what?’
‘I can’t go home. I mean, I could, it’s not far, but I’ll hate it if I go. Can I stay? Can I spend the night?’
‘Here?’ Loris scratches the back of his neck. ‘It’s a terrible idea on many levels, but if you need a—’
‘I’ll behave! I’ll try not to kiss you again. Hold on. No. I will not try to kiss you again. That’s better. I won’t, I swear.Croix de bois and croix de ferand… What is it again? That French childish pledge? I don’t remember. It’s odd, I remember the most random shit, like the map of the distilleries or— Hey! Are you aware there’s no number on your front door? What? There’s one?’
Loris is smiling behind his pinched lips. It’s confusing. Charles can’t think clearly when he looks so hot but also really soft.
‘Yeah, you can spend the night. But where—’
Charles squeals and kicks off his left shoe. ‘Sleepover, whoopee!’
‘But wait, where did you come from?’
‘London. England. Oops.’ Charles guffaws when his other shoe hits the easel. ‘We’ve never talked about where I’m from?’
