"Between friends, unspoken feelings can feel like a fragile thread pulled taut; one denies its existence while the other hides behind its delicate weave, both yearning for the courage to unravel what lies beneath."
Ian and Julian, long-time best fri...
"For your awareness and sanity: Viewer discretion is advised." ~ Julian
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I stepped into the room, already tugging at the collar of my shirt, expecting to find Ian sprawled across the bed, his brows drawn in that serious little furrow as he scrolled through something, lost in thought. But the bed was empty.
A quiet patter of water reached my ears.
Oh.
A slow, knowing grin spread across my face. My shoes hit the floor with a careless thud, my fingers already undoing the rest—buttons slipping free, fabric sliding down my skin like a whisper. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just inevitability pulling me forward, step by step, heat curling low in my stomach as I shed the last of my clothes and walked into the bathroom.
Steam clung to me, thick and smothering, but it was nothing compared to the fire licking through my veins. The mirror was fogged over, the shower glass blurred, but I barely noticed. All I saw was him.
Ian.
He stood beneath the spray, head tipped back, throat bared, water spilling over the hard lines of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach—holy fuck. My breath caught, my pulse hammered. He hadn't noticed me yet, and maybe I should've lingered, watching, memorizing every slick inch of him, but restraint had never been my strong suit.
That wouldn't do.
My fingers twitched. My body twitched. It felt like something inside me was clawing to get out, desperate, aching, begging to close the space between us. My skin was too tight, my breath too shallow, my thoughts too fucking loud—touch him, take him, feel him, now.
I moved before I even realized it, the heat of him pulling me in like gravity. My fingertips found his waist first, sliding over damp skin, pressing into firm muscle. Electricity snapped through me at the contact, made my breath shudder out in something dangerously close to a whimper.
Ian tensed. Then he turned, sharp and sudden, and—fuck—his eyes locked onto mine. Dark. Heavy. Pupils blown wide. Water traced the curve of his cheekbone, dripped from his jaw down the length of his throat, and I wanted—I needed—to put my mouth on all of it.
His lips parted, startled, but only for a second. My hands were already on him, sliding, gripping, pressing, saying everything my mouth hadn't yet. Every inch of me screamed to close the last sliver of distance, to drag him against me, to let him feel how much I wanted this—how much I wanted him.
"I swear to God, Julian—"
But I was already grinning, already stepping in closer, already kissing him.
His lips parted like he was still about to protest, but I swallowed the words whole.
Heat crashed between us. His hands found my shoulders, but he wasn't pushing me away. No—he was pulling me in, his fingers digging in, breath warm and ragged against my cheek. The water cascaded down between us, tracing every sharp angle, every shivering point of contact.
