Trevor didn't have the time to say anything. Lucas was already moving, closing that breath of space between them like it had offended him. His hands slid to Trevor's face, fingers threading through dark hair, and then his mouth was on his. No hesitation. No gentleness. It was hunger dressed as defiance, a kiss that stole breath and dared Trevor to stop him.
And gods, he wanted to give in.
To lose himself in the feel of Lucas—hot, determined, angry in the way only someone who had learned to survive could be. Lucas kissed like he was reclaiming something. Like this moment was the only thing keeping the rest of the world from caving in.
He reached up, gently cupping Lucas's face, thumbs brushing the skin beneath his eyes. Then, softly, he pulled back, just an inch.
Lucas didn't let go at first. His hands gripped tighter, like he could force time to stall, like he could use Trevor's mouth to forget the last ten minutes or ten years.
