[ TXT ] : we didn’t even kiss
rozanov gazes down at the phone in hand longer than intended, longer than remotely necessary, thumb hovering across the keyboard, as if the pressure of shane's words could be felt profoundly through the glass screen. we didn’t even kiss. the phrase coils around his ribs tenaciously, twisting piercing weeds taut and tender inside of him. he can still feel the ghost of shane’s body beneath his own, the way heat clung to him like an undeclared secret, how shane's gaze had flickered — briefly, in a fuck induced haze — toward the grizzly bear stretching up ilya's chest. a small, almost imperceptible trigger that punched his pulse into a threatening cadence.
and yet… the urge to remain distant remains, to let shane stew in the echoes of their sex. desire, yes, raw and precise, but tempered by a detachment that is as much armor as it is appetite. he recalls the way shane had tensed in his clumsy departure, the faint flush of confusion in russet eyes, the way the silence between them had spoken louder than words ever could. he lets the heat of memory simmer silently, he let's it fucking hurt because surely he deserves it, it's sharp as steel in his marrow, and finally he types a single message :
( text ) : ❛ goodnight, hollander. ❜
