Page 64 of Running With Lions

“I won’t,” Sebastian promises.

They don’t move much. Emir curls his arms around Sebastian’s neck. His chin is lowered, giving Sebastian a good view of Emir’s chewed-red bottom lip and his unshaven jaw.

Sebastian’s fingers absently rub the tension from the small of Emir’s back. A hum escapes Emir. It’s Sebastian’s cue to start talking. “What’s your favorite band?” and, “Do you like museums?” and, “How are your sisters?” fly out of his mouth.

“You ask a lot of questions.” Emir’s head tips back in laughter, exposing a very enticing landscape of neck. His hand drags through Sebastian’s hair.

Sebastian swallows and asks another question. “Is that bad?”

“Sometimes.”

“Really?” Sebastian’s trying hard not to sound disappointed.

“No.” Emir traces the water descending from Sebastian’s hairline to his nose with a thumb. “Kendrick Lamar is my favorite. Museums are cool. My sisters are annoying, but too bloody loveable to hate.”

“Can I ask some more?”

Emir nods.

They end up in a directionless conversation, ending in how they’ve never visited New York City, but want to go. “And Sheffield,” Sebastian says, squinting against the water dripping from his hair. “To see my dad’s family.”

“I miss England, a little bit.” More softly, Emir adds, “But I like it here.”

“Here?” Sebastian’s fishing and hopeful.

Emir wrinkles his nose, then says, “The States, Bastian, nothere.”

Sebastian can live with that. Besides, it’s obvious to him that Emir secretly loves Camp Haven.

Their haphazard conversation continues. Emir wants to study graphic design. He’s considering schools overseas. He hasn’t found anywhere stateside yet.

“What about New York?” Sebastian offers.

“Thought about it.”

“And…” Sebastian isn’t trying to hide his smile.

Emir sniffs, shrugging. As much as Sebastian wants to ask him more questions, it’s incredibly nice to be around someone else who hasn’t mapped out their entire future. He’s close to opening up about his own lack of direction.

At the bonfire, “Uptown Funk” breaks out. Sebastian snakes a hand up to curve around the back of Emir’s neck. Gradually, their foreheads meet.

Emir’s eyes dance. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

Sebastian’s fingers tap out the percussion of the song along Emir’s neck. “Um,” he says, unable to wrap his head around their dynamic and all the loops, turns, and undefined gray areas where “yes” and “no” never quite mean anything. But Emir’s lips part.Screw it. Sebastian finally says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Emir repeats.

The discomfort in his belly dissolves when Emir tilts his head. Sebastian, trying not to jostle them too much, meets him halfway.

The kiss isn’t frantic, but it’s feverish. Emir’s hands are on his shoulders. Sebastian’s mouth parts, gasping, teased by Emir’s tongue. It’s thrilling and purposeful, and Sebastian’s heart is erratic. Emir’s lips could convince someone to kill dragons. They’re leaning into it, so, sowilling. His fingers rub the nape of Emir’s neck, constant and sure.

Emir sighs; Sebastian’s eyes flutter open. Their noses bump as they wade between kissing and breathing. And then Sebastian says, “More,” and Emir complies. His choppy breaths are smothered by Sebastian’s mouth.

It should be terrifying, drifting in a dark lake with their teammates not that far away. Sebastian can’t imagine a time when he was more comfortable.

After an hour of floatingand epic kisses, they rush to pull on their clothes. Skinny-dipping is great until it’s time to put clothes back on, Sebastian learns. He nearly falls off the dock yanking stiff denim up his wet legs. The night breeze skims their backs.

When they’re mostly finished, Sebastian takes Emir’s hand, loosely, in case Emir jerks away now that they’re out of the water.

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