Damian Thorne

The blow against the wall still rumbled in his back, but it didn't hurt; it anchored him. That was it, that desperate firmness, that spaceless contact, what he'd been waiting for since they'd freed him without actually freeing him. Since they'd separated him, since they'd left him to wander with Corey's name stuck between his teeth, the kiss had burned him, not because of its abruptness, not because of its force, but because of everything that came with it: the weight of the silences, the edge of the white nights, the caress that never came, the "almost" that had pursued him like a faithful dog for half a decade.

His lips clung to Corey's with the same hunger, but more precise, more contained, more lethal, not to stop him from telling him, I'd been waiting for this too, I'd hurt inside too, and yet, here I am. Her breath hitched as she squeezed him tighter, as her hands held him as if he'd evaporate when she let go. The wall behind her became distant, unreal; all that existed was the palm on the back of her neck and the body burning against hers. When Corey broke the kiss just to lean against her forehead and say those words, those words they'd never spoken to each other, not even during the longest hours of confinement, she closed her eyes. For a second. Just for one. Because it hurt. Because that fear was hers too.

And then, in a low voice, broken only by the pounding pulse in his throat, he murmured.

— I didn't leave. They took me out, and when they let me go... I kept looking for you.

His hands rose slowly and rested on the sides of Corey's face. He held it with his fingers spread, as if he wanted to wipe away all the pain without breaking anything. His thumbs brushed across his cheeks, a tiny gesture filled with a tenderness that had no right to be there, and yet had always been there. Always.

— I'm not one to return. — he continued. — But... I didn't even know how to fully leave with you.

And then it was he who kissed him, not like before, not with fury. He kissed him like someone remembering, someone giving back, someone promising something without saying it, soft, slow, deep. As if she were telling him with her mouth what she could never write in the reports, as if she could finally have him without bars, without supervised shifts, without fear of sounding weak. And when she barely broke away, her forehead still pressed against his, their breath intertwined, she opened her eyes and smiled that exact smile, the one only Corey had seen once before, in Room 27, when no one was looking. Corey's back was still against the wall. The breath between them dissolved into increasingly shorter, hotter bursts. The lights in the living room had vanished, erased by the darkness of the side hallway, and now all that remained was that charged air, that tense hum of something about to break. Damian had him by the jaw. His eyes glowed like burning embers on a windless night. Nothing in him trembled, nothing in his body hesitated.

He kissed him again, and this time he didn't let Corey respond to his rhythm. His mouth invaded, claimed, dominated, and his hands were soon moving down the sides of his suit, sliding with hunger and precision. He undid the button on his jacket with practiced swiftness and took it off without breaking the kiss, throwing it to the floor as if it didn't matter, because it didn't. He tried to speak or breathe, but Damian wouldn't let him. He pushed him against the wall again, this time with his entire body, his knee insinuating itself between his legs, forcing contact, friction, heat. His hand slid under his open shirt, skin against skin, and there, Corey gasped.

— So he's still shaking.

He murmured against her neck, feeling the slight tremor that shot through his fingers. He licked it, slowly, then bit, and Corey arched, his fingers twitching against the fabric of her shirt. He followed, kissing every bit of exposed skin he found: her collarbone, the edge of her neck, the hollow where it throbbed too loudly. When she tried to turn her face away, perhaps out of modesty, perhaps out of fear of losing herself… she held him, firm. Irrefutable.

— Look at me, you're not going to close your eyes with me this time.

His hand went down to his belt and didn't pause, unbuckling it with one hand, with the kind of efficiency that said, "I've thought about this too many times," and slid his fingers along the hem of his pants, just an inch inside, enough for Corey to let out a broken moan, a sound not for galas or reports, but for him alone. He leaned down and bit his lower lip, pulling just enough to make him let out another gasp.

— I came to remind you why you never got over me.

Damian slid his hand down his chest to his neck and held him there, without force, just with presence. His lips returned to his, slower this time, deeper, exploring, tasting as if every corner of that mouth were sacred. And when he broke away, just for an instant, he rested his forehead against Corey's and murmured, his voice heavy with desire and promise.

— This time... if you burn, you'll burn for me.