The thin sliver of light spilling through the blinds catches his face as the clouds shift again outside. It cuts across his cheekbone and lights up his eyes… and for a second, he looks like he belongs in that sunlight. For just one second, he almost lets himself burn.
And I wonder why that spark keeps dying.
“Is it the gay thing?” I ask.
His brows pull together, and he just stares back at me, waiting for me to explain.
I gesture at him. “Why you’re sad.”
And that tiny spark instantly vanishes.
“No,” he says flatly.
I nod as I inhale my cigarette again, then slowly exhale to let the smoke drift between us.
He breathes it in, almost automatically and with purpose, like he’s chasing the heat and hungry for it.
“You sure?” I ask, poking the bear to get him to wake the fuck up.
“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he snaps, and I smile. His eyes flare as he glares at me. “I’m not fucking depressed because I’m gay.”
“Ah.” I lift the cigarette back to my lips. “So youaredepressed.”
He rolls his eyes and turns away, taking a step towards the door.
Oh, fuck no, baby.
I step forward and slam the door shut with my hand before he can open it enough to leave, and twist him around so hisback hits the wood with a thud. His breath catches, and his body tenses against mine.
“Don’t you fucking walk away from me,” I say in a low, warning voice, my face close enough to his to feel the heat rolling off him.
His expression hardens as he glares back at me. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”
We hold each other’s gaze, and the longer I look into his eyes, the more I see. There’s something swelling under the surface, pushing hard against the small cracks, and threatening to spill over. His wide eyes glisten, and it looks like he’s barely hanging on.
But he doesn’t say a word. He just reaches for my hand and drags it up to his throat, keeping his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
And in his glassy eyes, I see his beg.
Slowly, I curl my fingers around his throat. His eyes fill with need and hunger, and I let him feel it, and let it build, as my grip on him tightens.
His eyes close, and the tension leaks out of his body like I’m wringing it from his veins. I squeeze harder, dragging it out of him, and watching as his control slips away.
Then a single tear slips free and slides down his cheek.
I lean in, dragging my tongue along the salty path it left behind, and hold him until his breath turns raspy and his hands clutch at my wrist.
“Tell me when, baby,” I whisper, letting my lips brush his ear.
But he doesn’t.
I continue to hold him, squeezing until his cheeks flush and his breaths turn ragged, and his eyes snap open, shining with desperation and caught somewhere between begging me for more and begging me to stop.
Finally, he softly taps my arm, and I release him.
I stay in his space as he coughs through the burn, his throat marked white and red from my hand. His chest heaves, and my pulse picks up, as I feel his desperation bleed into me like it’s contagious.
“Something big is coming,” I say.
