Page 56 of Running With Lions

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 dosomethingto me.”

Sebastian’s reflexes work faster than his brain. He wants something, wantsthis. 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 donethat. 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 allridiculous.

“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.”

“Arewe 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.

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