He stared at his broad hand pressed against Isaev's chest, aware of the contrast. His skin was darker, coarser, his knuckles crossed with numerous thin white scars, trophies from dozens of fights. His fingers were thick and blunt. They looked crude next to Ilarion's smooth skin.
Taras let out a breath, soft and roughened.
"That's what I want."
His chest cramped suddenly, aching with a pain he could not name.
Taras kept his gaze lowered, mismatched eyes burning, and now unseeing. He felt the impulse to glance up, but he didn't know what would happen if he met Lasha's eyes again.
His thumb moved, brushing over Ilarion's chest, the rasp of his touch faint, but audible.
He could feel Lasha's pulse flutter, or maybe it was just his own.
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He stared at his broad hand pressed against Isaev's chest, aware of the contrast. His skin was darker, coarser, his knuckles crossed with numerous thin white scars, trophies from dozens of fights. His fingers were thick and blunt. They looked crude next to Ilarion's smooth skin.
Taras let out a breath, soft and roughened.
"That's what I want."
His chest cramped suddenly, aching with a pain he could not name.
Taras kept his gaze lowered, mismatched eyes burning, and now unseeing. He felt the impulse to glance up, but he didn't know what would happen if he met Lasha's eyes again.
His thumb moved, brushing over Ilarion's chest, the rasp of his touch faint, but audible.
He could feel Lasha's pulse flutter, or maybe it was just his own.
Taras swallowed.
"Lasha," he whispered.