white hot forever
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“I want to punch you,” Ragnvindr grits out, and there is something strange to his voice as he saying this, as though the admission pains him, “but Vassilev will kill me if I do.”
Ajax wets his bottom lip, and the corners of his mouth twitch when Ragnvindr’s gaze tracks the movement.
“You know,” he starts, now hungering for all things brilliant, and short-lived, and ruinous, “there are always other ways to get a man on his knees.”
Hearing this, Ragnvindr’s face makes a beautifully complicated expression. His thick brows draw together, and his mouth parts. He draws closer, sucked into this black hole, mistaking its gravity as the orbital of something grander, perhaps.
Ajax breathes in the lingering trace of Ragnvindr’s aftershave, the light scent of sandalwood, and lets out a breath of a laugh, despite himself.
“What?” He taunts, desperate to know if Ragnvindr would give in, if Ajax had it within himself to lasso a blazing sun. “Scared?”
It would be a tired sentiment if Ajax said that volleyball was the love of his life. After all, he wasn't quite in the business of sharing first loves.
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- Part 1 of white hot forever