Strangers In The Night

6. 22 Hours, 01 Minutes Until It Ends

Bo shook his head, sighing. He sat forward. "I kind of hate you, honestly. I see that, and I just...see it. It makes me hate you. It makes me hate that you're so talented, and you can't try to rebuff me –" He paused, raising a finger to Ian, "– and that you're a market research analyst pisses me off even more. You should be doing so much more than...researching the market or whatever the fuck you do." Bo pressed forward, leaning down closer to him. "You know I could be meaner, Ian," he chuckled, "but I have no reason to be."

He didn't smile. Ian stared back, confused and angry and vindicated. "Come on. Rip it to shreds. It's garbage work."

Bo stared. His eyes burned. "No."

Ian clenched his jaw. He ran a hand over his head. "I guess we both kind of suck at taking compliments, huh?"

A breath of silence. The world beyond glowed gold, the sun inching closer towards the horizon. Heat radiated from the windows, licking their skin in drafts. The corners of Ian's sliding doors were tinted in condensation, dripping in children's lines down to the metal frame. They said nothing, eyes darting from each other to somewhere else in the small room like it was any different from Bo's room.

'I don't want this to end.'

'I have to do something.'

Bo stood slowly, legs wobbling as he righted himself. "I should...go," he offered lazily, though once on his feet, Bo made no other attempt to move. "Get ready for the wedding."

He nodded, standing. "Sorry if I...overstepped."

"Don't. Don't apologize to me. You didn't. I just..." Bo started but didn't finish his thought. It died in his throat. He stepped closer to him. "Ian," he whispered again, gritting his teeth. His fingertips pressed a little tighter into his hands.

"...yeah?"

"I don't – I can't..." He drew in a breath, and Bo's hands were on Ian's arms, noting their thinness, the gentle tinge of muscle underneath. He recoiled from the contact, uncertain and hoping for that closeness again. Bo couldn't let that happen. He closed his eyes, defeated. He dropped his head, mindful to lean back to not hit Ian. "It's complicated."

He swallowed, the sound loud in his ears. Ian closed his eyes and counted the seconds. Bo said nothing.

Again, Bo's hands were on Ian's arms. He didn't know whether he was trying to push Ian away or bring him closer, but whatever strength in lifting his arms disintegrated with a sigh. His hands traced down slowly, feeling the bumps and hairs on his arms before catching on Ian's wrists.

"Stop me," Ian begged, the request so quiet it was more breath than voice. Ian leaned forward. "I don't...want to push if..."

Bo didn't know who was breathing harder. He wondered if Ian's head spun as his hands slid onto the shorter man's neck. "I can't..." Bo whined, closing his eyes. "It's so – I just –"

"What?" Ian whispered. His fingers laced through Bo's. "...what?"

They stopped breathing. There was a moment where their eyes met, a moment where the air was too hot to breathe, where time froze, and words became useless. Neither knew who gave in first.

Bo tipped his body into him, his hands sliding onto Ian's face, his fingers grasping around Ian's jawline. His face squished insistently against the shorter man's, the first kiss slow. Bo held his breath as he pulled away, his shoulders rigid as he was pulled in again. The third, fourth, and fifth grew faster, needier. Hungrier. His mind rallied against him, screaming numbers as they shrank, faults Bo saw with himself, some way to stop him from kissing Ian harder. His heart pounded in his ears. The corners of his eyes gathered tears as he held Ian tighter, the world so unimportant and fuzzy. He had to stop himself.

Ian's head spun; he tried holding Bo gently but could not stop himself. His hands stuck to the gentle curve of the taller man's neck, soft and elegant. Ian's lips were chapped; Bo's lips were cold, and every second after sped by too quickly. He considered stopping himself but the sentiment died in his throat along with whatever anxiety that this was a mistake. His back pressed into the wall, legs stepped through Bo's. He could feel the wet wiping across his face. Every kiss left him warm and delirious. He couldn't let Bo leave yet. If everything was tinted gold before, the world now burned pink, and Ian couldn't let the moment pass. He wanted more.

Yet as quickly as it began, Bo opened his eyes and pressed his hands against Ian's chest, ending it. He trembled as he pushed Ian away. He let out a breath that was slow and tinted black. All of it ached in him. It tasted like hope, too tantalizing to ignore but too painful to want. Whatever romantic haziness in Bo's head dissipated into hard, rigid boundaries. Bo frowned. His hands curled against Ian's shirt. "Shit."