Emir is perched on the edge of the bed in the dark when Sebastian walks through the door. For once, it was slightly ajar, as if Emir was waiting for Sebastian. He’s not expecting candles and a killer Ed Sheeran love anthem when he closes the door. Things like that happen in Anne Hathaway movies. But he doesn’t know what to do because the shadows hide Emir’s expression.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
Maybe its Sebastian’s voice breaking the silence or being soaked to the bone in the aftermath of the scrimmage, but Emir says, “Now you know what I’m thinking?” with an accusatory tone.
“Possibly.” Sebastian flails his arms. “If you’d give me a chance to, I dunno, get to know you more.”
“You knew me once.”
Sebastian grinds his teeth. He gets it. He messed up a long time ago, but Emir did, too. This isn’t all on him. Sebastian was—Sebastian is a good friend, but Emir won’t give him a bloody chance…
Now the damn voices in his head have replicated Emir’s accent!
“I was just coming to tell you,” Sebastian sighs and runs a twitchy hand through his damp hair, “that you did great, Em.”
“Is that all?”
No. Sebastian doesn’t say it. He just doesn’t understand when simply talking to a friend, or whatever Emir is, became an exercise in ripping open his stitched-up heart to let his emotions bleed all over the place.
“I’m not the enemy,” he says, stepping forward. “I’m not.”
“No.” Emir’s mouth gradually twitches downward. “You’re just the guy who won’t leave me alone.”
Sebastian winces. Fury bubbles in his throat. Emir’s being an absolute asshole. So, no, Sebastian isn’t going to leave until he figures out what the hell’s going on inside him that draws him to someone who seems to hate his guts.
“So that’s it?” He’s shouting, but whatever. “You want me to back off?” Sebastian stalks over to Emir. “Just say something!”
Emir doesn’t, but he stands and closes the distance between them.
Sebastian’s ready for whatever Emir’s got. He is so exhausted, trying to fix busted-up relationships while other friendships circle the drain. He’s tired of trying to be this amazing version of a guy that everyone else sees but Sebastian can’t find when he stares in the mirror. If Emir punches him, he’ll knock Sebastian off this damn pedestal he never asked to be on in the first place.
“Just do it.” Emir grabs the front of Sebastian’s drenched hoodie and pulls at the fabric. “Do something,” he growls. Gray eyes dance in the dark, but Emir’s cheeks are red and his nose is scrunched.
“What?”
“Stop…” Emir’s voice dies off. Sebastian gazes at the wet corners of his eyes. Emir’s breath catches before he says, exasperated, “Stop, and do something to me.”
Sebastian’s reflexes work faster than his brain. He wants something, wants this. So he nuzzles Emir’s throat. He drops kisses under Emir’s jaw. Sebastian waits. Emir chokes back a gasp, and then Sebastian’s fingers dig roughly into Emir’s hips, lifting him up in one quick motion. He pushes Emir against the closest wall. His lips are near Emir’s, but never close the gap.
“Bloody pain in the arse.”
Emir shoves his mouth over Sebastian’s. He trembles. His legs curl around Sebastian’s hips.
Sebastian’s strong enough to support him. “Is this good?” he asks, a little too happy, but also nervous.
Emir nods, still kissing.
A hand in Sebastian’s hair pulls sharply. Sebastian follows; tension seeps from his muscles. His fingers dig into Emir’s thighs. This will undoubtedly end in fire and desperation and—well, he’s not sure what else, or if he’s prepared for it.
Then again, Sebastian’s never prepared for Emir Shah.
A gasp turns into a chuckle. Emir nips at his jaw, then lower, toward sensitive skin along his neck. No one has ever done that. Sebastian’s high, breathing as if he’s run five miles.
“Holy shit.”
Nothing more creative comes out of Sebastian’s mouth. That’s mainly because his mind is on how he was certain Emir wanted to murder him five minutes ago. Maybe he will—after they’re through kissing, of course.
Their foreheads knock. Emir’s tongue meets the seam of Sebastian’s lips. “Shut up.”
“I can’t help it.”
The kisses, their hands scrambling for new areas to touch, Sebastian pinning Emir to a wall—it’s all ridiculous.
“Shut your bloody mouth, Bastian.”
Sebastian can’t take him seriously, not with the crinkled nose and the corners of his mouth quirked. He says, breath slowing, “Do you have something to shut me up with, Emi?”
Emir trembles; his pupils are blown into silver-lined black holes.
Sebastian wants to touch Emir’s swollen, red lower lip. He also wants to smooth that wrinkle between Emir’s eyebrows. “Stop thinking.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
Sebastian’s hips meet Emir’s. He worries Emir might not want that, but the soft hitch in Emir’s voice counters those concerns.
“This is a bad idea.” Emir’s fingers curl in Sebastian’s hair. His thumb rubs the skin behind Sebastian’s earlobe. “Whatever we’re about to do.”
“Are we about to do anything?”
They crack up together. It’s so obvious. Every taut muscle in Sebastian’s shoulders relaxes. The skin around Emir’s eyes is crinkly-soft. It’s awfully hard not to appreciate all the friction going on below their navels.
“So?”
Sebastian asks, “Am I supposed to make a decision on where this is going?”
Emir’s fingers are at his jaw, rubbing at a smudge of dirt from a dive he made during the scrimmage. “Where is it going?” he whispers.
Sebastian has no clue. What will life be like thirty seconds from now? In twenty minutes? A week? Where’s his life going and how long does he have to decide?
Arousal beats out analytical thinking. Sebastian just wants to kiss Emir again.
Being a wicked mind reader, Emir angles his head up, then leans forward. The kiss is imperfect, noses bumping, teeth clicking, but it works.
“Let’s just,” Sebastian pauses to kiss words away from Emir’s lips, “see what happens.”
Sebastian’s weightless; his head is in the clouds. He doesn’t know if that’s how fooling around with another guy is supposed to be, but it’s a good start.
He’s staring at the ceiling from Emir’s bed. They’re breathless and rank. The fuzziness in his head keeps him squinting at shadow puppets created by the darkening sky. Should he leave? This was a one-time thing, right?
Emir drapes an arm around Sebastian’s naked torso, pulling him closer. Sebastian doesn’t resist. He’ll admit it: He’s desperate for the attention.
“Hey.”
He turns, raising an eyebrow at Emir. Sebastian’s waiting for this sappy moment to end, because he’s two seconds from burying his face into the side of Emir’s neck. Emir’s crinkly eyes are all Sebastian needs.
This is a scene out of a horribly clichéd romance movie, starring a guy who’s hotter than Sebastian. He tells Emir as much, then shivers when Emir cracks up. “It’s not that funny,” Sebastian says, but it actually is.
Outside, rain falls in a steady drip-drop-plop on the roof. It makes their silence eerie. Their breathing is still heavy. Sebastian should say something. “Should I go?” he asks while Emir’s finger drags figure-eights along the nape of his neck. It’s not his brightest moment. His brain is still frozen on what just happened, so he flounders.
Emir’s silence is an indication of his own confusion.
Sebastian pulls the sheets away and starts to move until Emir says, “Wait.” Emir’s mouth is open with nothing coming out, but his eyes say every little word he’s too stubborn to utter.
“Okay.”
Emir’s chest makes for a pretty flat pillow, but Sebastian rests his head on it. He’s enjoying the murmur of Emir’s heartbeat. It’s mellow, like that bit in “Bohemian Rhapsody” when everything goes from awesome guitar solo to melancholy Freddie Mercury ending. Emir’s fingers moving over his scalp help, too. Sebastian’s head is clear of all the gunk clogging it up.
“Maybe we should—”
“Shut up.”
Emir’s tone is betrayed by a stray smile. It confirms one thing for Sebastian: If Emir isn’t going to kick him out, Sebastian doesn’t plan to say a damn thing about it.
The rest, well, he doesn’t care right now.