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Summary
Their eyes met, brown on blue, although he imagined both looked dark enough to be black in the dim lamplight. Two glasses of vodka, which the younger man had relented and taken earlier in the night, reflected golden crystals beneath their fingertips. Sasha picked his up and tilted his head back to drain it, closing his eyes as the remaining crescent of the ice ball clinked against the glass. When he opened them again, Daniil’s gaze was on his throat.
“Danya,” he sighed, apropos of nothing.
“Y-e-s?” Daniil drawled, smiling again from where his head was propped up on his elbow on the back of the couch. Sasha sometimes found it difficult to understand Daniil’s fascination with him, with his unkempt hair and perpetual bags under his eyes. Twelve years between them. Women were as drawn to Daniil as the boy was to him, so yes, certainly it was difficult to imagine why he persisted like a moth to flame.
Series
- Part 2 of chess requests