stolen glances ; fingers brushing against palms as paths cross ; escalating into hidden meetings and exploring touches , until neil’s touch is the only thing that makes him exhale ------- a continuous pattern of holding his breath until they can see each other , hold each other . how desperate he becomes when neil stands on the other side of the room , body yearning for his touch .
the beating of a cigarette package against steady palm , locking eyes from across the room . he raises one to his lips , a signal of his exit , meant only for neil . he hopes knows that neil will follow , away from the prying eyes of the guests . it’s been too long ; andrew feels as if a part of himself has withered / died -------- though now it has life breathed into it , his heart beating so hard it might break the walls of his r i b s .
@runawyes because this isn’t about gay cowboys .
