“This is so wrong.”
That was the understatement of the century, truth be told. But coherent thought was a limited resource, and there was less and less of it to go around the more time went on and the more buttons of his shirt came undone.
“Tell me what’s so wrong about it,” the dark-haired man with the wild eyes purred. He slipped his hand up his soon-to-be paramour’s undershirt without a trace of hesitation.
Not that there was any resistance, and therefore any hesitation to be had. “Well, I’m not even into guys, for starters,” the blonde answered shakily.
“Mmmm… Yes, I can tell,” came the husky, sarcastic response, hot breath and condescending words in his ear.
“W-well I’m certainly not into you, of all people!” Stubborn. He was always so stubborn, wasn’t he?
“Again…all evidence points to the contrary.”
Dark, onyx eyes stared unflinchingly into his own. Black and blue, irises the colors of bruised skin and empty skies. They’d been enemies since day one. Since before they were born, really, considering who their fathers were.
This was the last thing that should be happening. There could be nothing worse.
“Couldn’t there be?”
Had he said that out loud? The blonde swallowed thickly, head swimming as agile fingers on his collar bone obliterated whatever remained of his lucidity.
“I can think of a few…worse things we could be doing.”
He knew it was over the second those full lips, which were curled into the smallest but haughtiest of smiles, came crashing down over his own. Everything – the political scandals, the precipitous war, the delicate balance of passive-aggressive animosity that crackled around both of their families like loose firecrackers – all of it ceased to matter. It was just this nefarious man, that Cheshire cat grin, and those damn, agile fingers.
“No one can know,” the man with the empty-sky eyes managed to breathe, a last, desperate attempt for some kind of control.
A laugh. It sounded anything but happy. “Of course not,” the wild one whispered. His own eyes were like two coals. Black and bottomless but undeniably smoldering, just waiting to ignite, to burn, to consume.
“I won’t say a word…”
It was wrong and it was beautiful.
It would end up consuming them both.