"The 'focus group' line was worse."
"The 'beautiful math that doesn't account for stupid people' was—"
"Okay, we're both assholes," Sam interrupts. But he's almost smiling. "We're both assholes who just tried to destroy each other in front of a panel that controls our futures."
"Yes," I agree.
"I didn't know you had it in you," Sam says. "The whole time we've been together, you've been so... careful. Protective. I was scared you were going to deflect. Spin my weaknesses into strengths."
"I almost did," I admit.
"What stopped you?"
"You did," I say. "The way you looked at me after your critique. Like you were daring me to match you."
"I needed to know you could do it," he says. "That when it mattered, you'd treat me like an equal. Not like something fragile."
"You're not fragile. You're the most terrifying person I've ever argued with."
"Good." He steps closer. "Because that was the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me, and I'm having complicated feelings about it."
A laugh escapes me. "You're turned on? I just called your life's work a painting with no foundation."
"I know." His eyes are dark. "And you were right. And you said it to my face. And then you told them I was asking the right questions anyway."
He grabs the front of my shirt.
"Do you have any idea how attractive that is? Beingseenlike that? Being taken seriously?"
He kisses me.
Hard and desperate and tasting like relief. His hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I grab his hips to steady us both.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"We can't do this here," Sam pants, even as his hands are already working at my belt.
"Bathroom," I manage. "End of the hall."
We half-walk, half-stumble toward it. I shove the door open, check that it's empty, and pull him inside. The lock clicks behind us. I press Sam against the door and kiss him.
"Fuck," Sam gasps against my mouth. "I can't believe we just did that. I can't believe you—"
"Shut up," I growl, and drop to my knees.
Sam makes a choked sound. I yank his belt open, shove his pants down just enough, and take him into my mouth.
He's already hard. We've been running on adrenaline and tension for an hour, and apparently mutual destruction is foreplay for us. Good to know.
"Oh fuck," Sam breathes, his head thunking back against the door. His hands find my hair. "Devan, we're in a—anyone could—"
I swallow him deeper. He stops talking.
It's fast. It's messy. This is desperate, me on my knees on a bathroom floor, still in my interview suit, sucking off my mate like my life depends on it.
Sam's thighs are shaking. He's babbling now—my name, curses, broken fragments.
"Devan, I'm gonna—I can't—"
