Page 46 of Speak in Fever
"Right," the woman says, her confident smile completely gone now as she stands and gathers her purse. "Well, enjoy your evening."
She retreats with minimal grace, clearly unused to being dismissed so definitively. Her departure leaves Rath and Percy alone at the table, suddenly aware of their intimate positioning and the implications of what just happened.
The VIP section's ambient noise—conversations, laughter, music—seems to fade into background as Rath processes the reality of sitting in Percy's lap, of Percy's hands on his waist, of the way Percy's chest rises and falls against his back.
"Rath." Percy's voice is lower now, closer to Rath's ear, and the proximity sends a shiver down Rath's spine that has nothing to do with temperature. His hands feel huge on Rath's waist, warm and possessive in ways that make Rath's pulse race. "What are you doing?"
The question is reasonable, but Rath can hear the undercurrent of something else in Percy's tone—not disapproval exactly, but awareness of the line they've just crossed, the public nature of his claim.
"Rescuing you from unwanted attention," Rath says, trying to keep his voice casual despite the way his pulse is racing. "You looked uncomfortable."
It's true, but it's also inadequate. The rescue was as much about Rath's jealousy as Percy's discomfort, as much about claiming what he wants as protecting what Percy needs.
"I was handling it," Percy says, but his tone lacks conviction. His thumbs trace small circles against Rath's ribs through his shirt, unconscious movement that suggests comfort with their current position.
"Were you?" Rath turns slightly in Percy's lap so he can see his face, and immediately regrets the decision because now they're close enough that he can count Percy's eyelashes, can notice the way Percy's lips part slightly when their gazes meet.
"I..." Percy starts, then stops, his eyes dropping to Rath's mouth for just a moment before snapping back up. The look is quick but unmistakable, revealing desire that Percy is trying to keep under control. "Thank you. For the rescue."
"You're welcome," Rath breathes, and he so desperately wants to kiss this man. This infuriatingly confusing, devastatingly handsome man who is ruining his life in the best possible way.
Percy's hands are still on his waist, thumbs now tracing deliberate patterns against Rath's ribs through his shirt. The touch is light but intentional, creating points of contact that feel electric and charged with possibility.
"Rath," Percy says again, and his voice is rough with something that might be desire or might be panic or might be both.
The sound of his name in Percy's voice, spoken with that particular tone of need and confusion, sends heat straight through Rath's body. It's the same tone Percy used this morning when Rath's touch had broken through his careful control.
"Percy," Rath breathes, and Percy's name comes out like a prayer, like a question, like the beginning of something that's going to change everything between them.
The name hangs in the air between them, full of possibility and risk in equal measure. Rath can see Percy processing the implications, weighing professional responsibility against personal desire.
"Yeah," Percy says quietly, and now his hands are moving from Rath's waist to cup his face, thumbs tracing along his cheekbones with infinite gentleness. "I know."
The touch is reverent, careful, like Percy is handling something precious that might break if he's not cautious. But there's heat behind the gentleness, intensity that suggests Percy's control is more fragile than it appears.
The kiss, when it comes, is inevitable. Percy closes the distance between them slowly, giving Rath every opportunity to pull away, but Rath meets him halfway with desperate eagerness.
It's nothing like the gentle, tentative first kiss Rath might have imagined. This is hungry and desperate, all pent-up frustration and weeks of denied attraction finally given permission to exist. Percy's mouth is warm and demanding, tasting like beer and possibility and something uniquely him.
When Rath opens for him, the sound Percy makes is low and possessive, vibrating through both their bodies and making Rath's skin feel electric. Percy's tongue slides against his with confident skill, claiming and exploring with the same focus Percy brings to reading defenses during games.
Rath's hands fist in Percy's shirt, pulling him closer, needing more contact, more pressure, more everything. The kiss deepens naturally, becoming more intense as barriers dissolve and carefully maintained distance evaporates.
Percy responds by tangling one hand in Rath's hair while the other grips his hip with enough force to leave marks. The touch is possessive and claiming, and Rath feels in boiling in his blood.
They kiss like they're drowning, like this is the air they need to survive, and Rath has never wanted anything as much as he wants this moment to last forever. Kissing Percy is unlike kissing anyone else, and when his tongue slides against Rath's in a particularly skillful way, Rath actually moans into his mouth.
The sound seems to break something in Percy, because he pulls back just far enough to look at Rath's face, his pupils dilated and his breathing ragged. The expression in Percy's eyes is intense and complicated—desire mixed with uncertainty, need tempered by awareness of consequences.
"Fuck," Percy breathes, his voice rough with want and confusion. "Rath, we shouldn't—this is—"
But even as he voices objections, Percy's hands remain on Rath's body, thumbs tracing patterns on his hip and jaw that contradict his words. The disconnect between what Percy thinks they should do and what he actually wants is obvious and heartbreaking.
Rath can't keep doing this. He can't exist in this unknowing space where he doesn't understand what Percy wants from him, where every interaction is clouded by uncertainty about intentions and boundaries.
"Please," Rath begs, breathless and desperate. He wants this so much—wants this man in his life, in his bed, as his captain, as everything. This crush has rapidly evolved into something he doesn't want to examine too closely, but something that's taking him over all the same. It's all-encompassing, completely life-changing, and utterly terrifying. "Tell me you want me."
The request is simple but carries enormous weight. Rath needs to hear it clearly, needs Percy to acknowledge what's happening between them instead of hiding behind professional courtesyand careful distance. Rath's chest tightens with disappointment and frustration. He doesn't know what's on his face, what broken expression replaces the desire in his eyes, but Percy reaches up and takes his face in both hands with desperate tenderness.
