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It’s the late hours of Steve's leaving do and the party has died down. Only a few people are still standing around in corners, laughing too loudly, drunk on alcohol and lack of sleep. Rohan is carrying drinks for Steve and himself across the room from where someone is raiding what is left of the buffet. His shoes get tangled up in a mixture of shriveled balloon skins and streamers soggy with spilled liquids.
Steve doesn’t notice Rohan approaching. He is looking out of the giant window rather wistfully, his crossed arms pulling the fabric of his t-shirt tight against his back and deepening the V in the front. Rohan nudges Steve's shoulder with one of his elbows, careful not to let the drinks slop over the brim of the glasses.
Steve turns around and looks up at Rohan, whose hair seems somehow longer than Steve remembers it from half an hour ago, curlier, too, and looking much softer. Rohan holds out one of the glasses to Steve who closes his fingers around the stem and Rohan’s little finger in the process. There is a moment of hesitation from Rohan when the contact registers but he shakes it off quickly. Still, he refuses to let go and continues to hold onto the glass with a smile. Steve’s grateful look turns into a confused one, seeing the glint in Rohan’s eyes from under narrowed eyebrows.
“You shouldn’t just accept a glass like that,” Rohan chides Steve playfully. “I could’ve slipped you something in there.”
His smile is easy and not for the first time Steve thinks about the places Rohan will go, the worlds he could have at his feet.
“I suppose you are right,” Steve replies. “Now that I’m leaving, the assassination attempts ought to start.”
Rohan lets go of the glass and restrains himself enough to not roll his eyes dramatically. A strand of his hair that had been sticking up falls onto his forehead and he swiftly brushes it away, a gesture Steve has seen hundreds of times but still finds a bit mesmerising.
“Funny,” Rohan says without intonation. “I was thinking more along the lines of rohypnol, that kind of thing.”
Steve doesn’t dignify that remark with an answer; he just raises his eyebrows and leans back against the window, studying Rohan while taking a sip from his drink.
Rohan shrugs a bit helplessly while he feels a deep blush creeping up his neck. He starts to flail around with his arms in lieu of words before giving up and taking a big gulp of his own drink.
Taking a deep breath, Steve grins and decides to have mercy when Rohan cuts in “No, I mean-”
“What do you mean, Ro?” Steve asks back almost mockingly, eyes locked firmly on Rohan’s.
The taller man opens his mouth but then seems to change his mind and simply takes Steve’s glass out of his hands to put it on a nearby table. Rohan then places his hands on the window on either side of Steve’s head and leans down ever so slightly.
“That you should be careful,” he answers and Steve can feel Rohan’s sweetened breath on his skin. “There are all kinds of dangerous things out there.”
Steve laughs but doesn’t move. “There? You aren’t talking about America by any chance?” he searches Rohans’s eyes. “I see. But maybe,” Steve lifts his chin, deciding to play along, whatever game this is, and tries to force Rohan into action. “Maybe I like a bit of danger.”
Rohan recognises the statement, the dare but says nothing, does nothing, just looks at Steve’s mouth. It’s now perfectly angled towards his own and Rohan unconsciously licks his lips. There has been this tension between them for a while now, words and gestures and looks, but none of them has ever done anything about it. But then again, it has never been this close to impact and snap their carefully constructed realities.
Steve waits for a moment, his eyes searching for any hints apparent on Rohan’s face. Then he continues dryly. “Thank you for your concern. I’ll email you once a week to let you know I haven’t fallen victim to any violent crimes.”
“You better.” The younger man tries to not let his voice betray his emotions but one drink too many and the close proximity of their bodies make that somewhat impossible.
Steve just grins at him and Rohan, self-assured and confident Rohan, feels, as is so often the case with Steve, completely out of his depth.
“Was there anything else you wanted to warn me about?” Steve knows he is pushing Rohan but if he doesn’t do it today, in this moment, who knows when he will get his next chance.
“I don’t think so. Though I haven’t given you my gift yet.” His voice is surprisingly steady when he delivers that line.
“You got me that thing,” Steve nods towards a big box that is still wrapped. “Together with everyone else.”
“Ah!” Rohan feels like he is explaining one of the most important discoveries ever made. “But that’s not a very personal gift.”
“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t opened anything yet.” Steve points out.
“Trust me, it isn’t,” Rohan replies, starting to feel like he is getting the hang of this.
You don’t even know how much I trust you, Ro, is what Steve wants to say and he feels a familiar wave of fondness wash over him.
“Is that so…,”is what Steve says instead while he smiles and inclines his head.
You don’t smile nearly enough, Rohan thinks and mirrors Steve’s smile. It also occurs to him that with those lips and that shirt he is wearing the danger of having something slipped into a drink isn’t that far-fetched.
He finishes that thought by crushing his lips against Steve’s.
There is only a split second of hesitation and wide eyes before he feels a response.
“Ro..”, Steve breaks away and their stubbly cheeks rub against each other.
“I know,” Rohan replies and can’t do anything but kiss him again, long and possessively.
For a few minutes they are made of long arms on thick hips and dexterous fingers in hair, nails scraping over scalps, teeth over lips, and fingertips brushing teasingly over necks and chests.
Then they break away once more, forehead resting against forehead.
“You better be back in a year!” Rohan says and before Steve can reply, the other man turns around and leaves. With his long shadow and dark hair, he seems to simply vanish against the backdrop of the dark hallway at the end of the room.
Steve sighs and touches his lips while turning towards the window again. Until the music cuts out a short time later, he stares at Rohan’s fingerprints on the glass, weirdly prominent in the distant city lights and the last mirror ball reflections. Steve sits down on the floor and props himself up on his arms, welcoming the silence around him as well as the slight chill. The reflections in the window are blurring, undefined splashes of colour on a canvas that seems new. The equilibrium of light has shifted and Steve waits for the night to end so he can see the sun rise above the Royal Albert Hall.