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    Summary

    "That's neither here nor there," he grumbled, scratching at his hair with the pen dangling between his fingers. "I promise I'll be along soon," he continued tiredly. "Just-"

    "Olly."

    Olruggio's hand stilled. In an instant, Qifrey had soundlessly swept in close, leaning his head in next to Olruggio's. That low, silky, almost breathless quality to his voice halted the breath in Olruggio's lungs and sent a spark of energy skittering down his spine. The notion that a single word had stopped him in his tracks so completely was an embarassing blow to his ego, but that corner of his mind was overriden by the intense awareness of Qifrey's closeness. Even though he couldn't actually feel it, he could swear that Qifrey's cheek was a hair's breadth from his own, his mouth dangerously close to his ear, his slender arm encircling the back of his chair. His other hand had come down to rest against the flat wood of the desk, caging Olruggio in despite his previous negotiations to get him away from his work.

    Language:
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