Page 46 of We Are Just Us

Kieran’s grip tightened on the edge of the door until his knuckles turned white. Rory’s fists stayed buried deep in his pockets. The air between them in the doorway went pressurized, heavy and thick, the way it does right before a summer storm breaks.

Rory’s jaw worked. He pulled his fists from his pockets slowly, reluctantly, as if he were forcing himself to give up his last chance to walk away.

Kieran took a step back into the hallway.

Rory took a step forward.

The front door closed behind him, a soft, heavy click that sounded incredibly final.

They stood in the narrow entryway, close enough that Kieran could smell him—the cold night air, his warm skin, and the faint, clean trace of fabric softener. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavily charged. Kieran could hear the rapid rush of his own breathing and hated how loud it sounded in the quiet house.

Rory’s gaze dropped, heavy and deliberate, to Kieran’s mouth.

Kieran stopped breathing altogether.

Rory reached out, his thumb grazing the line of Kieran’s jaw. It was barely there, a featherlight touch, a question asked with skin instead of words.

Kieran didn’t move away. He leaned into it, just a fraction.

Rory closed the remaining distance.

The kiss was immediate and desperate—no testing the waters, no easing in. Rory’s fingers slid sharply into Kieran’s hair, his other arm hooking around Kieran’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest.

Kieran made a low sound against Rory’s mouth, soft and wet. Rory tasted like nothing Kieran would ever be able to describe and everything he’d ever remember.

Rory broke away long enough to draw a ragged breath, his forehead resting against Kieran’s. “Tell me this is okay.”

“Yes,” Kieran breathed, his fingers clawing into Rory’s shoulders. “Fuck. Yes.”

Rory kissed him again.

The urgency was still there—in the iron grip of the arm locked around his waist, pulling him closer, as though the remaining inch of fabric between them was unbearable. But the kiss itself slowed, deepening, as if now that he had explicit permission, Rory wanted to memorize him.

Kieran gripped the front of Rory’s shirt, his knuckles digging into his sternum, steadying himself as the heat between them surged unmistakably. Their bodies lined up without instruction, without apology.

Kieran made a sound he didn’t recognize as his own. Rory smiled into the kiss, the low hum vibrating against his lips. Rory deepened it, pressing into Kieran more, crowding him back.

That was the thing that undid Kieran fastest—the way Rory didn’t rush it. The kiss stayed deep but entirely controlled, Rory’s mouth moving like he was learning Kieran’s language instead of consuming him. His grip on Kieran’s hip turned possessive, a wordless stay right here, and Kieran’s knees went entirely unreliable.

Kieran’s hands slid up Rory’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging without meaning to. The solid heat radiated through the cotton, the unmistakable press of Rory’s body against his, and his brain supplied a useless, dizzying thought: This is actually happening.

“Oh,” Rory murmured against his mouth, the sound barely audible. “Yeah.”

The rough cadence of his voice shot straight through Kieran like voltage.

Rory shifted his stance, crowding him more fully against the entryway wall. One thigh nudged firmly between Kieran’s legs, and the hard contact sent a sharp, undeniable reaction through his body, immediate and thrilling all at once.

He gasped into Rory’s mouth. Rory felt it. Of course he did.

He pulled back to look at Kieran, his pupils completely blown, his mouth flushed, his chest rising and falling fast. His gaze dropped briefly down the length of Kieran’s body, then lifted again, dark with open, unashamed want.

“Jesus,” Rory said quietly, his voice rough.

Kieran laughed, a breathless, embarrassed, and absolutely unrepentant sound. “Don’t…don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re…pleased with yourself.”