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People have been talking about it, Lovro knows that, but it’s still something to feel Ivan’s eyes settle on his cheekbone, to feel the trail of Ivan’s gaze across his skin.
Ivan doesn’t say anything, turns away as Sonja calls his name and the moment’s gone.
But he can still feel it. It’s like a drug, it’s gone and it’s all he can think about. Desperately chasing the high of Ivan’s attention the moment he loses it. How had he lived without it, all those years ago.
Ema’s knee knocks into his own but it feels faint, like there are layers and layers of fabric between them. Like sensations are coming to him on a delay.
Ivan’s alone on the other sofa, Sonja in the kitchenette, and Lovro can’t help watching him. He could watch Ivan forever, tracing over the expressions on his face, the awkward pull of his body as he’s folded into the sofa. The way his foot’s been tapping this whole time, the discomfort in his body that’s screaming for Lovro’s attention.
There’s a fumble and a rustle and then the music cuts out but Ivan doesn’t look up, still an uncomfortable figure, hunched into himself. Lovro wants—needs—to do something. What, he doesn’t know.
Step up and make everything go away? Take Ivan far away from here and run until nothing can stop them?
Ema hums softly to herself beside him and leans into his shoulder, head pressing into the bone as she taps away at her phone. It’s become muted suddenly, this party. Like the energy’s dropped out of the room.
And then there’s that issue, the girlfriend curled around him. The girl he likes, really likes, fun to spend time with and pretty. He’s found himself in a relationship that so almost works but he just can’t make it through. Make it real all the way down to his core.
Sonja shouts, faint words that Lovro can’t quite make out, and she’s dancing back into his eyeline with a cupcake, hand cupped around the candle. Ema sits up and Lovro feels alone suddenly; his side is cold without her, too vulnerable. She was like a weight, some anchor tethering him to this night.
Sonja dances forwards, song faint on her lips until Ema picks it up and then they’re confident and loud, singing away the two of them. Lovro mouths along, murmuring through the words—the focus isn’t on him, everyone looking away.
He watches, instead. The way Ivan tenses up at Sonja’s approach, the way his shoulders sit high around his ears even as he looks up. The way his jaw clenches on one side and Ema and Sonja just keep singing.
Lovro’s hand itches.
The song ends and Sonja stands there, leaning over Ivan and holding out the cupcake. The candle’s burning low now, but Ivan makes no move to lean forward, to put an end to this painful interlude.
“Birthday wish for the birthday boy,” Sonja says, moving her hand closer. Ivan moves, slow at first like he’s coming back to himself, body dragging through water, then Lovro blinks and Ivan’s leaning in, lips almost brushing the candle.
Ivan’s eyes are open and Lovro tells himself that he can see the flicker of flame in them, the warm glow across his pupils. As if Ivan heard Lovro’s thoughts, he glances away from the candle and then he’s looking at Lovro.
Staring at Lovro.
Lovro gasps, faint breath passing his lips. What?
Time pulls out, drags and stretches until the moment is infinite. It’s just the two of them, and this endless second.
Lovro feels cold, a trickle down his spine. It isn’t fear but he’s pinned to his seat, trapped in the moment. He doesn’t know if he wants to leave, but he can’t turn away from Ivan.
The flame’s playing with Lovro’s vision, everything’s fading into the background away from Ivan’s eyes; but in the flickering shadows he thinks he sees a shift, some twist of Ivan’s lips.
With that, Ivan blows the candle out.
“What did you wish for?” Ema asks and her words come through distorted; Lovro can’t pull his eyes away from Ivan. Ivan’s saying something, eyes pinning Lovro to the sofa, but Lovro just can’t read him. He can’t let himself think about what Ivan’s thinking.
Lovro’s frozen, a rabbit in the headlights of his own life. One of the girls will look up, they will notice how quiet Lovro’s being, they’ll look up and see him and figure everything out. They’ll know. Not that anything’s happened, nothing that Lovro should be guilty for.
Just his thoughts, but everyone has secrets that they only let out on a late night, laying in bed with the streetlights filtering through the window.
But the knowing sits in the air around them. Something happened—almost happened—and he knows. And Ivan knows. They both know, and they’re thinking about it and they’re looking at each other and Lovro feels like he’s choking.
This is too much.
“Shush Ema, let him have his secrets,” Sonja laughs, breaking the moment, as she sets the cupcake on the table and leans her hip into Ivan’s shoulder. Ivan relaxes into it, it’s familiar between them, and brings an arm around her legs.
Ivan looks away, like the moment never happened, and Lovro feels stranded. Sometimes he thinks there are two of them in this, wandering around a maze until they’ll eventually bump into each other in some corner.
But then other times, now, it might be just him. Probably is. Seeing things, twisting memories around until they fit his thoughts.
He’s not evil, he knows that. But sometimes he does feel it. Like this is his penance, penance for a crime that he isn’t even sure whether he’s committed yet.
Crouching down, Sonja takes the candle from the cupcake and sets it between her lips, licking the icing from the stand. Lovro feels caught on it, watching Sonja’s lips—she’s kissed Ivan, those lips have been on his. It’s a big thought, and Lovro can’t shake it from his mind.
Sonja drops the candle to the table and takes the cupcake, dragging a finger through the icing and turning to hold it out for Ivan. Her hand hangs there in the space between them but Ivan jerks his head away and Sonja shrugs, turning back to Ema and licking the icing from her finger.
There’s something there, Lovro doesn’t know what.
Ivan gets up without talking to them, and walks back over to his little block of a kitchen island and suddenly Lovro’s mind’s back there. That day. Just the two of them in this room.
His heart, racing, as Ivan pushed close but Lovro couldn't say no to him and Ivan didn’t even know that yet. His skin, burning, as Ivan knocked into him, as Ivan kept touching him. His lips, numb, as he worked them between his teeth, breath caught in his throat.
Lovro remembers, of course he remembers. It’s a fresh bruise. It hurts to think about it but he can’t stop himself, placing his thumb in the centre until the thrumming discomfort is all that he can feel.
He likes the pain, maybe.
Or maybe it’s just another form of this, this destructive week. A bad week in a bad month in a bad year. In a bad life.
Perhaps he seeks them out, things he knows will hurt him.
There’s music again now, Lovro doesn’t know where that came from. The girls are deep into the sofa so it was probably Ivan, Lovro keeps himself from turning to stare. That’s too obvious.
The girls don’t spare a look for Lovro and don’t seem to have noticed that Ivan’s gone. They’re turned towards each other on the sofa now, Sonja’s feet tucked under her as she listens to something that Ema’s saying.
They’re friends now, proper friends, and Lovro can’t decide how he feels about it. He’s happy that Ema has a friend, someone that she can talk to, and Sonja seems nice. It’s good that they’re getting something from this, while Lovro feels like he’s just coasting past the edge of what she needs from him.
He isn’t wanted here and, glancing across the room at the closed off sprawl of Ivan’s back, he isn’t sure if he fits over there either. Lovro’s caught between them, unneeded. If he opens his mouth, speaks up, he knows the girls would turn to him, include him in whatever gossip they’re caught up in.
But he doesn’t want to talk about that, doesn’t want to beg his girlfriend to talk to him.
Ivan moves, some clatter as he knocks bottles together, and Lovro sighs. That’s his decision made. Lovro doesn’t let himself think about it, the moment he does that for too long everything will start crumbling around him.
He just pushes himself from the sofa, crossing the room in too short strides until he’s there, at the edge across from Ivan. Leaning in, like this is normal. Casual.
Ivan looks up at him and Lovro studies the flinch on his face, even as Ivan tries to hide it away. Ivan doesn’t last long, turning back down to stare at his hands and it leaves Lovro with his thoughts.
Does he scare Ivan?
He’s been different since th—that night. Where Ivan had been chatty and joking around, he’s now closed up tight when he’s near Lovro. Like he’s slammed down the shutter on himself, leaving Lovro outside alone.
Lovro rolls a lip between his teeth. He wants to say something, pretend like everything’s the same as before; if he tries hard enough he can get them back to normal, he knows this. He can shoulder his way through this awkwardness.
It’s worse, that they’re stuck in this wordless sinkhole and the girls are gossiping away, it makes the difference worse. Makes it all the more obvious that something is wrong with them, that something happened and now they’re both scared of saying something that will bring it into the room with them.
This can’t last forever.
Clearing his throat, Lovro forces his way through his doubts, “Could you make me one?”
His question comes out wrong, quiet and needy and far too vulnerable; Lovro wants to grab it and stuff it back into his throat but it’s too late now, it’s out in the world and he has to deal with it.
Ivan’s fingers still on the bottle and he doesn’t look up. Lovro settles onto the counter, he can wait this out.
“S’just vodka and juice,” Ivan says to the bottle, eyes darting up to Lovro’s and then back to the bottle again. That hits Lovro like a knife, Ivan can’t look at him now. Why can’t Ivan look at him? He was just burning holes into Lovro’s face.
“Sounds great,” Lovro says. Two can play at this game, not that Lovro even really knows what the game is.
Ivan pauses then shrugs, like the argument isn’t worth his time. He pours an inch of vodka into a glass and grabs a half-empty bottle of juice to pour on top. Holding the bottle, Ivan stares at the glass for a moment before pouring another slug of juice into the glass and wordlessly sliding it over to Lovro.
When Lovro reaches out to take it, their fingers brush and he feels it like a shot of lightning, yanking his hand back to himself to cradle it at his side. Ivan’s touch is hot, like he could burn Lovro up.
Ivan hesitates and turns back to his collection of bottles and Lovro runs a hand along the table to take his glass again. Flexing his fingers, Lovro studies the back of his hand. You should be able to tell, you should be able to see that Ivan’s touched him.
Lovro glances up and Ivan’s watching him, an emotion Lovro doesn’t know on his face. When he notices Lovro’s gaze, Ivan starts and turns away.
There is something off with Ivan tonight. If Lovro’s honest, something’s been off with Ivan all week. He isn’t one to talk, walking around like a spectre and picking fights. But at least he’s aware of it.
Cupping the glass between his hands, Lovro spins it slowly on the table. It’s a deep colour, and he already knows how it will sour on his tongue.
Thoughts cycle through his head and he’s trying to put them in order. Too many things are happening and he can’t make sense of them, can’t tidy them up and sort them into categories. He needs Ivan to talk to him, needs Ivan to sit him down and explain everything.
What should he say to Ivan about this? How do you broach it? What does he even want to broach? The almost kiss, the ghosting, the white lies?
Lovro opens his mouth like words will come to him but he’s saved by Ema appearing and crashing into his side.
“What is that?” Ema asks, craning in to stare at his drink. Lovro nudges it towards her and she picks it up. Ivan twitches across the island, hand jolting by his side but he sets it back by the bottle with a glance at Lovro.
Lovro doesn’t understand anything. Ema takes a small sip and coughs, setting it back by Lovro’s hand, “Yeah, no.”
“We can’t live like this, guys” Sonja says and Lovro didn’t even realise she was here, leaning on the wall at the corner. He reaches out and slowly drags the glass back into the spread of his hands.
Ema laughs and walks over to knock an elbow into Sonja’s side, “Sonja, this is a dire situation.”
Sonja nods, “Do we…”
“I really think we do,” Emma says and they turn back to Lovro again.
“We’re going to go buy something that’s less,” Sonja waves her hand at the counter and Ivan looks up at her, offended, “No offence, baby.”
Ivan shrugs and the girls walk away, Lovro and his shitty drink already forgotten.
Lovro sighs. The two of them are too close, too quickly.
There’s laughter from the other side of Ivan’s room as the girls shrug into their coats and pull their shoes back on, but he and Ivan stand in their pool of silence. Lovro doesn’t know what to say, how to set this right, put everything back on track.
Ema sticks her head around the corner and Sonja follows, resting a hand on Ema’s scalp as Ema laughs. “We’re off,” Ema says, “Anything else you guys want?”
They aren’t looking at him and Lovro stares at his drink, darting a look at Ivan when the silence has drawn out too long.
“Do you want snacks, Ivan?” Sonja asks, head tilted like a puppy. She really is cute, Lovro gets it. His eyes dart between Sonja and Ivan, how Sonja seems to understand something and wraps an arm around Ema’s shoulder, “Okay, more gummy worms it is.”
Ivan cracks a smile at that and Lovro watches as Sonja relaxes, frown disappearing from her face. Sonja gives Lovro a warm grin and turns away, “Let’s go, Ema.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ema shouts over her shoulder as they disappear from the room. It strikes Lovro somewhere behind his ribcage, a hit that Ema did not intend to hurt as much as it does. She doesn’t know. What would she do if she did?
The door clicks closed behind them and Lovro listens to the sound of their feet on the stairs, the muffled rhythm of their chatter as they walk away. He can’t tell the moment it happens but they drift quieter and then there’s nothing, Ema and Sonja disappeared into the evening.
Lovro feels adrift, he sways gently where he stands. He needs them back. There’s a version of him who turns and bolts and chases after them, desperately clinging to his comfort blanket.
But Lovro finds himself still leaning on the island, staring down at his hands clasped on the edge.
The silence is cacophonous. Somehow descending around them as the CD player keeps going around some old favourite of Ivan’s. That exacerbates it, a little. That Lovro can find silence even in the midst of the faint sounds of the city and a dull knocking of wood as Ivan does something and the background hubbub of the music.
He can’t be here. The buffer’s gone, and he feels scrubbed bare.
Lovro lets himself look up and Ivan’s leaning on the other side of the island, chin in his hand as he studies Lovro. It’s shock, speeding through his body. Ivan’s eyes feel like a dart on him.
Leaving his drink on the island, Lovro turns away and walks towards the window. It takes him a second to figure out and he pushes the skylight open, leaving it to hang above him.
All it takes is one touch from Ivan and he’d probably explode.
It’s raining. He’d known, Lovro thinks faintly. There’d been a rhythmic pattering in the background but he hadn’t let himself think about it—body too much on the defensive. All nerves firing, constantly stuck in fight or flight.
This can’t be good for him, heart racing this fast. None of this is good for him; the confusion, the fear, the hope. It’s all getting caught up inside him, layers wrapping around and around each other until he can’t pull them apart, everything just formed into a composite wrecking ball rolling around in his stomach.
Lovro rests his arm on the windowsill and sinks his chin into the meat of his elbow. There’s a cool breeze from the rain and he closes his eyes, tilting his face into the chill. It’s welcome after the heat of Ivan’s room, the churning boil of Lovro’s thoughts.
The odd raindrop settles on his cheeks and Lovro basks in it, the tiny specks of cold on his skin, until they warm and fade and trail down to his jaw. Each one a reminder that there’s a world out there, a city living beyond these walls.
If he calms down, if he lays everything out neatly.
They’re dancing around it. Every moment that they’re together it’s all that Lovro can think about. Ivan’s watching him too closely to be thinking about anything else.
Lovro can’t live like this, can’t keep eking each day out of his suffering. Letting the atmosphere draw out until they can’t be around each other anymore. Until his friends can’t be around him.
He knows the endgame, he’s familiar with it. He just doesn’t know the steps that he needs to get there—no route planned out for him across the intricacies of the world.
Lovro sighs and pushes away from the windowsill, fumbling in his pocket for his spliff, lighter pressed up against it. He lights it with easy familiarity, dropping the lighter onto the windowsill as he settles back into his viewpoint.
It’s a simple routine, leaning into the window frame and raising the spliff to his lips. The rain’s still falling, just light enough that it’s soothing. A comforting blanket over the night.
There are lights as far as he can see, the city filling the world to its horizons. This is all there is. Lovro likes it up here, watching a thousand little lives unfolding before his eyes, knowing that no one is looking back up at him.
He was always meant to be a spectator.
A creak of the floorboards and the brush of socks on wood and then there’s a hand on his lips. Lovro’s mind stumbles to a halt, thoughts shattering around him. He didn’t even notice Ivan arrive, and he always notices Ivan.
He can sense Ivan across a room, like Lovro’s body’s attuned to his. Like there’s something calling for him, dragging them together.
It’s fast, how quickly it takes Lovro apart. There’s a trembling under his skin and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He’s so weak to Ivan’s touch, thoughts failing in Ivan’s presence.
There’s the instinct, the need to push into Ivan’s fingers and see what happens next. It’s the same feeling he gets at the top of a tall building, that innate desire to lean over the edge and fly.
Lovro caves, body curving into Ivan but Ivan’s hand doesn’t stay there, taking the spliff and pulling away. Lovro feels like he’s had a loss, like he’s suffering from something that he didn’t even really have.
Breath caught in his throat, Lovro follows the spliff, Ivan’s fingers bent crookedly around it. He feels faint, watching something he made be cradled in Ivan’s hands—to see that he has an effect on people. Things he touches are out in the world, he isn’t just a ghost fading through.
Ivan brings it to his lips and Lovro feels faint, the drone of the rain and distant cars fading away. He glances up and Ivan’s already watching him, this time he doesn’t look away when Lovro catches him. It’s intoxicating, this blatancy. Ivan being unwavering in his attention.
Ivan lets out a breath and the smoke washes over Lovro’s face, he doesn’t waft it away like he wants to but lets it settle on his skin. That was from Ivan’s body, Lovro wants everything he has to give.
Eyes heavy on Lovro, Ivan raises his hand back to his lips for another drag.
Ivan takes it from his lips and leans in closer, and for one mind-numbing moment Lovro thinks this is it. It’s happening, Ivan’s going to kiss him again. But Ivan just holds it to Lovro’s lips, waiting.
Some distant part of Lovro is screaming but he just blinks and parts his lips, Ivan sliding the spliff between them. Lovro takes in one wavering breath, he knows he’s misjudged it but Ivan’s too close and his eyes too intense and Lovro’s trapped in this.
Ivan keeps watching him, waits for Lovro to breathe out and then he’s leaning into the smoke, leaning past Lovro to stub the spliff out on the windowsill. It’s too close to Lovro’s hand, the heat burning on his fingers but Lovro forces himself to stay still.
Ivan leaves his hand there, fingers brushing against Lovro’s, and stands up again, so much closer than he was before; he brings his other hand up to Lovro’s cheek. His touch is hesitant, like he isn’t sure what he’s doing
“What happened?” Ivan’s breath rushes over his face, a bitter undercurrent of alcohol on his tongue.
Lovro feels pinned in place, his stomach tying itself in knots under Ivan’s attention. He feels nauseous, butterflies long grown to birds in his stomach; flying around and ramming their heads into him until he’s unsteady and weak in the knees.
This is too much for one body to take.
He’s so close to bursting, to opening up and screaming some stream of words. Words he won’t even know until he opens his mouth. It’s infuriating. That Ivan has such an effect on him, such a mind-altering moment that Lovro’s this shifted off centre.
Ivan’s fingers stutter over his skin, dragging against the bruise. It hurts, but Lovro pushes into Ivan’s touch, needing it to be real. “I wanted to ask earlier but it didn’t seem the time,” Ivan whispers.
Lovro isn’t used to this. This quiet genuine concern. Ivan’s droll and quiet, poking fun at people around him. To be confronted with this, Ivan bending close, worry in his eyes. Lovro doesn’t know what to do with it.
Lovro’s mind flits back, to his stories, to his lies. To his mother and Ema in their apartment, concerned but exasperated. Neither believing him, but neither caring enough to dig deeper. Accepting that he’d tell them if he wanted to.
He has his story, he knows the line to follow. Lovro opens his mouth but freezes, breath hanging in his throat. He can’t do that, he can’t lie to Ivan. It feels worse, somehow. Worse than lying to his girlfriend.
Like it would have some other effect, like it would do more damage.
Lovro’s confused, he’s been confused all week. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, what game Ivan’s playing with him. He’s scared and tired of mixed messages.
But he can be honest on this one thing, “Got in a stupid fight…” Lovro’s voice is faint and Ivan leans closer to hear him. Ivan must hear the hitch in Lovro’s breath, the flickering of Lovro’s eyes, but he doesn’t move, just hanging over Lovro.
Lovro can’t stop the memories once they start. The night in the square comes back to him—Ivan in this same position, bending down to get close to Lovro.
For a moment it’s too real and Lovro’s eyes drop to Ivan’s lips. Lovro can’t look away, it’s like everything’s happening in slow motion. Like he can see ahead, like he knows how the future’s going to unfold.
Ivan’s hand twitches against his own and Lovro’s heart thuds in response. This is something. Lovro isn’t just dreaming by himself.
Darting a tongue between his lips, Lovro wets them nervously. It’s instinctive, something to do, but he hears the wavering of Ivan’s breath.
It’s like a bucket of cold water over his head. This is real, this moment is tangible. Ivan’’s so close, hovering in Lovro’s eyeline. The idea of looking away, tearing his eyes from Ivan’s eyes to see that there’s still a world out there. That they aren’t alone, locked away in some private corner.
Lovro’s heart is pounding so loudly that he can hear it, keeping a steady rhythm amidst his panic. Ivan’s there, crowding Lovro into the skylight.
He’s faint, like he’s breathing empty air. Like he’s panting but nothing’s going in. With a deep gasp, Lovro tears his eyes from Ivan’s lips and looks up, forcing himself into it before the cowardice comes back.
Ivan’s staring himself, eyes on Lovro’s lips.
Oh Lord.
Lovro wants to turn and flee, run away and never show his face again. This is terrifying, the edge of something that he can’t yet put a name to. But he also wants to take it, freeze it in amber so he can look back on it again. This perfect terrifying moment.
The nausea comes back as does the thought: Lovro could kiss him. That’s something that he can do. It’s so loud, now that Lovro lets himself think about it.
Ivan wanted to kiss him. Tried to. That’s real, no matter how long Lovro spends doubting and trying to convince himself otherwise. That happened, Ivan watching him with that look on his face. Ivan bending down, bringing their faces closer and closer together.
Lovro has wondered on his sleepless nights. What would’ve happened if he’d held his nerve, if he’d kept himself from flinching and pushing Ivan away. Where they’d be now, if he hadn’t been scared.
He can’t keep convincing himself that this isn’t happening, that this isn’t taking the shape of something. He can’t keep burying his head in the sand, refusing to look for fear of what he will see. Choosing the familiar, the uncomfortable well-worn shape of it. Something he knows well enough to hide in.
Lovro runs his eyes over Ivan’s face; he looks drunk, desperate, eyes on Lovro’s lips as he breathes heavily. He’s pretty sure that Ivan won’t hit him, won’t do what Lovro did and shout and run away.
Lovro just wants to try.
Sometimes you have to do things that scare you. It’s that or live in the grey uncertainty and Lovro can’t take that for any longer.
Shifting his weight between his legs, Lovro runs his hand along the windowsill for balance. Ivan’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t follow and Lovro already misses his touch, as if Ivan’s hand isn’t still curved around his cheekbone.
Lovro lets out a breath, long and low. He wonders if he might pass out, blood rushing in his ears with fear and air drawing thin around him again. Ivan would catch him, if he did—he’s good like that.
With that thought, heart pounding, Lovro pushes up onto his tiptoes and into the palm of Ivan’s hand. Ivan’s lips part, some question hovering in the space between them, and Lovro doesn’t let him answer, leaning up the last inch to press their lips together.
He doesn’t know what he expected but there’s a sense of nothing to it. It’s just lips on lips. Lovro feels unbalanced on his toes and Ivan’s still against his lips.
This was a mistake, this was a terrible mistake. He misjudged this again, another poor decision in a lifetime of poor decisions.
Lovro’s mind whirls, running through a scenario where he can step away and turn his back and find somewhere to cry in private and then move school so he never sees Ivan again. That’s the only option that’s left for him.
Lovro pulls back from the kiss, desperately trying not to listen to the sound of their parting. He looks up at Ivan and runs a finger along his lips—it barely happened but he can still feel Ivan on him.
Ivan’s frozen, staring down at him and Lovro nods. He got it wrong, somehow.
He’s too aware of Ivan’s hand still on his cheek, that Ivan’s hand has been on his cheek this whole time and it feels like it’s burning him. But that’s something else, nothing to do with whatever Lovro’s been convincing himself.
Lovro looks back into the room and then there’s a touch to his hand, harder when he doesn’t turn back, pinning his fingers to the windowsill. He freezes, heart beating out of his chest. Ivan must be able to hear this. Hear what this is doing to Lovro.
Neither of them moves and Lovro flexes his fingers under Ivan’s, there’s a shift and then they’re moving, interlocking with his own. Lovro feels like he’s about to die. This can’t be happening.
Slowly, Lovro turns back to Ivan, like they’re back in the escape room with its terrible jump scares. But it’s just Ivan, mouth ajar and eyes wide—he looks petrified, desperate.
Lovro doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even know what to say. Does he lie, say he’s drunk? Say it was a silly mistake? Get on his knees and apologise and beg Ivan not to kick him out?
He doesn’t get to say anything; Ivan makes a noise and his hand drifts across Lovro’s cheek, carding through his hair to cup the back of his head and pull him closer.
What.
There’s barely any space between their lips now, brushing together with their breaths. This can’t be real. Ivan takes one heavy breath and then his fingers tighten on the back of Lovro’s head and he’s pulling Lovro in the last hair’s breadth.
Ivan’s lips are soft against his, they part easily and Lovro tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Here are the fireworks! The explosions, the magic, the moment.
So this is what it’s supposed to be like. This is what all those hollow kisses had been an imitation of.
It’s terrifying how easy it is, how naturally it comes to him. Opening his lips at the press of Ivan’s tongue, taking Ivan’s lip between his teeth in a gentle nip and swallowing down Ivan’s moan.
Lovro’s hand is hovering in the air between them and he drops it on Ivan’s chest, curling his fingers into Ivan’s shirt.
Ivan frees his fingers from Lovro’s on the windowsill and Lovro can’t help the whine that bursts from his lips but Ivan just brings it to his waist, spreading it wide across the small of Lovro’s back.
With a gentle push, Ivan drags him closer and Lovro sways into his chest. He’s unsteady, weak and needy. He’ll take anything that Ivan can give him.
Lovro gasps and pushes into Ivan’s mouth, dragging him closer by his shirt. Whatever this is, he needs more. He needs to get closer, grab Ivan and press them together.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been licking into Ivan’s mouth, listening to the wet sounds of their lips. Ivan’s kind, cradling Lovro to his chest as he slowly takes him apart.
Lovro feels drunk, gasping at Ivan’s touch and whines again when Ivan pulls away. He chases Ivan’s lips as they go, just needing one more kiss.
Ivan smirks at him. Lovro’s eyes catch on it, there’s a bubbling need in his chest to kiss it off Ivan’s face. He’s so annoying.
Ivan leans in and Lovro tilts his head up for it, but there’s no kiss, just the quiet huff of Ivan’s laugh.
“Easy,” Ivan whispers, and lets go of Lovro’s waist to bring a hand up to Lovro’s jaw. He takes it between two fingers and tilts Lovro’s head down again, “We have plenty of time for that.”
Lovro wants to grump, stomp his way around but Ivan’s leaning in and there’s the featherlight brush of Ivan’s lips on his bruise. Ivan’s lips ghost along Lovro’s skin and then he’s leaving a trail of kisses across Lovro’s cheek.
Lovro feels fizzy, like he’s so light that he could float away. Ivan presses another kiss to the bruise and Lovro doesn’t think about the dull ache of it, the rasp of Ivan’s lips against his skin too loud.
Ivan nuzzles into Lovro’s cheek and drops his arm to Lovro’s shoulder, a steady heavy weight.
“Did you win?” Ivan asks, lips brushing against Lovro’s cheek.
It takes Lovro a long second to understand the question, figure out what Ivan’s asking.
“Of course.”
Ivan laughs, a dizzying chuckle, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Lovro says, but he can’t help the laugh that bursts from his chest. He doesn’t know what to do with a flirty Ivan, he might just melt into the floor.
Lovro chooses the next best thing, dragging Ivan closer and burying his face in Ivan’s neck. Ivan runs his hand through Lovro’s hair, nails dragging on his scalp, “Did you run away?”
Lovro works his lips, feeling them drag against Ivan’s skin, “Definitely not…just suddenly wanted to go home.”
“What a coincidence,” Ivan says, his voice so dry that Lovro laughs again, worming an arm around Ivan’s shoulder to pull him closer.