* ARMAND SAID : somewhere inside you, when you see me, a part of you says ‘mine’… doesn’t it?
. 𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙷𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙰𝙽, 𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚁𝙺. 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟻.
with alcohol on his breath and stumbling out of the restroom, the boy was easy prey for the youthful stranger he had been eyeing all night. the wall dug uncomfortably onto his back but he barely felt it, intoxicated by the warm body against his own. it was wrong, of course. sirens were blaring in his head and heart. he had a wife and a newborn daughter waiting for him, a whole home and a fucking dog too. and they thought he was working late tonight, not enraptured by youth and what he could no longer have. with a hitch in his breath, it became obvious that daniel shouldn't have been drinking on a wednesday. he should have pulled away.
a banded hand gripped lithe hips tight, an unspoken claim that was also written on wild eyes. mine. without a name, the man in his arms was nothing but that. daniel's. and it shouldn't have felt right. there was no way to explain how tender felt the compromised heart at the sight of doe eyes so full of malice and yet so kind, no way to understand the familiarity in his touch. if they had known each other, daniel would remember it no matter how drunk. he was sure.
how frail would his mind have to be to forget a face like that? a voice like that? no, he would know.
then what could explain the unearthly pull he felt toward him? when was the last time he had even looked at another man like that? at least ten years. though he wouldn't consider himself repressed, it had simply happened that way. between work, managing his addictions, and a somewhat work-centered social life, there wasn't any time for anything on the side. he had only met his wife because their lives collided, a co-worker in the newspaper where he had been re-hired. it seemed like a good idea at the time. now it left a bitter taste in his mouth. he should have been allowed these stolen moments with strangers in a dim-lit bar, he should have given himself more time.
and how terrible he felt for wanting more than fighting urges, dirty diapers, and close deadlines. after all, he chose that life. it had been his own fucking choice.
" that's. . . " true. fingertips played with the expensive fabric of the strange man's outfit, word swallowed by the black hole in those dark eyes. as if looking away wasn't allowed, for if he did, he would end up looking at his mouth. " a weird ass pick-up line. " but it works, leaving a tingling trail down his spine. and the boy fought the pull of those lips, yet a short-lived affair. leaning in, he kissed him even after thinking twice. it wasn't as if they would ever see each other again, right? so why did that send a pang through his heart?
