a/n:
oof.
. . .
and it feels like the end of a movie i've seen before...
Liam gently extricates himself from where he's nestled warm into Theo's collarbones, even if he doesn't want to, even if he'd rather live there, spread across his skin, fastened to him.
The room is cast in coal black silkness, but their eyes keep finding their way to each other...and, if he was honest with himself, Liam could finally admit that he's tired of clinging so tightly to somebody that's not even his to hold.
Theo starts slowly walking him backwards, he leads and Liam follows, step by step, until his back comes into gradual collision with the uncomfortably icy wall.
There are words glued to his throat, but Liam doesn't dare to speak as loud as his heart already is.
Theo is soft edges cut around the bend of a mudded moonlight, knifing him with his crisp gaze, and Liam is tearing apart at the seams because it's so dark he can't even tell the exact shade of his eyes.
But Theo's scent is a heady whisper permeating through his senses, inexorable and ravishing and intoxicating, and Liam can taste him, beneath his tongue, across the roof of his mouth, tickling his palate down to his esophagus like warm honey; and he keeps hopinghopinghoping he'll never be able to get him out ever again.
Liam wants his hands to bruise him tender, wants to burn inside the shape of them.
Theo noses an oblique path up his neck, the caress of his lips wreaking havoc on his flesh, sensitive to a hyper extent, and when he breathes him in, Liam feels it ricochet inside the walls of his own throat.
He's been longing after the weight of his touch, so starved for it it's been softly killing him.
Theo mouths heat into his skin, and Liam's warm behind his eyes, melting like snow between his hands.
Giving in to his cravings has him feeling so light, the heaviness he's been cloaked in floating somewhere beyond his reach.
He shudders beneath the smooth fingertips pressing into his nape, insistent with intent, locking him in place while Theo takes care to carve a space into the shrinking distance between them, meeting his lips—
.
.
.
Liam jerks awake.
The darkness surrounding him slowly shaping itself out, his own heartbeat hammering away at his temples gives ground to a lurching clarity.
He's alone.
Theo left, very faint traces of his scent still linger in the air and Liam is lying above his made bed—courtesy of Theo, most probably—and he's shaking, suitably mortified and abysmally disappointed, and unable to even recall the last time he was kissed.
"Shit."
This is a whole 'nother level of nightmare.
Liam stifles the quaking rumble of an embarrassed groan into his tattered pillow, shredded from the claws that he struggles to force back into his nailbeds, mouth punctured from the beginnings of fangs that now recede into his gums, hopes the overwarm fabric he's smothering his burning and sweat-soaked face into will swallow him whole, and he seriously needs to Get a grip, Dunbar.
But try as he may, he can't shake off the counterfeit memory—Theo holding him by the neck, fingertips digging into his nape and keeping him in place while a hot mouth closes over his own—
"...shit."
He's so screwed.
. . .
a/n:
:,)