Tayvis One-Shots

make the first move

Taylor's POV

The party had wound down, and the house felt quieter now, with the last few people leaving after a night of laughter and celebration. But somehow, the air between Travis and I had grown thick with something unspoken. The tension was palpable, almost electric, and neither of us seemed to know how to break it.

I stood by the fireplace, my hands wrapped around a glass of wine, but it was my attention on Travis that really had my focus. He was leaning against the doorway, his dark eyes following me as I moved, like he was waiting for something. I couldn't help but notice how the soft glow of the firelight made his jawline look even sharper, how the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders had my pulse quickening.

"Having fun?" he asked, his voice a little too casual, like he wasn't aware of the way I was feeling.

"Of course," I said, taking a sip, not daring to let him see how badly my thoughts had turned into something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with the party and everything to do with him. "But I'm more curious about you. You've been acting... different tonight."

He raised an eyebrow, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking a few steps closer. "Different how?"

I smiled, feigning innocence. "Oh, you know. A little too quiet. A little too focused. You've been looking at me like—"

"Like what?" he interrupted, his voice lowering, the teasing tone suddenly gone, replaced by something heavier, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I bit my lip, forcing myself not to get lost in the way his eyes were darkening, how he was standing just a little too close now, invading my space without touching me. "Like you're planning something," I said, my voice almost a whisper.

He stepped even closer, and I swear the air between us was charged with heat. "Maybe I am," he said, his voice low and dangerously smooth, sending shivers down my spine. "But you've been giving me all kinds of signs, Taylor. Signs that you're... waiting for me to make the first move."

My heart raced. It wasn't just his words, it was the way his gaze flickered over my lips, the way his presence filled the room. He was testing me, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold out.

"Oh really?" I said, keeping my tone light, my hand coming to rest on my hip as I tilted my head, daring him to make the next move. "What kind of signs?"

His smile was slow, deliberate. "The way you're standing, for one. The way you keep glancing at me when you think I'm not looking. The way you're biting your lip right now..." He took a step even closer, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, "You want me to make the first move. But you're just waiting for the right moment to admit it."

I felt his words like a spark to dry kindling. I couldn't deny it. I was feeling something—something that was building with every second we stood there, with every inch he closed between us. He was right. I had been waiting for him to make a move. But now that he had, I wasn't sure I wanted to play coy anymore.

I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze, feeling the heat between us intensify. "I'm not sure I need you to make the first move, Travis," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His lips quirked into a smile, the air between us thickening with unspoken words. "No?" he asked, his voice dripping with challenge. "So what are you going to do about it?"

I was done pretending to be oblivious. Slowly, I placed my glass down on the table, my eyes locked on his. I could feel the tension between us reaching a breaking point, and yet, I wasn't quite ready to let it snap.