Page 30 of Speak in Fever

It’s amazing, but he desperately needs to have his hands on Percy.

His hands are practically trembling when he pulls Percy’s shorts down, pulling him out too.

They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times, even though Rath has never let himself look, but it’s a lot different seeing Percy hard and flushed over him.

He’s fucking huge, heavy in Rath’s hands, and he loves the feel of it.

He’s never touched another man’s cock, and he can’t think of a better one to have for his first time.

He hooks a leg around Percy’s waist, pulling him down, needing him to be closer.

Percy lets out a grunt, but goes easily. He takes both of them in one of his large hands before tucking his face back into Rath’s neck. Rath rolls his hips up into Percy’s hand, loving the feeling of Percy’s length running along his own.

He wants to laugh, he feels so amazing. He’s falling apart underneath Percy, loving the way Percy strokes them, loving the heat of it, the friction.

He loves the weight of Percy overtop of him, pinning him into the mattress and making him feel small in a way that’s never felt this good.

Percy doesn’t tease him, doesn’t draw it out, his hand is tight and picking up speed.

Rath tightens his thighs around Percy’s hips, needing to be as close to him as possible. He wants this to last as much as he desperately wants to come.

“That’s it,” Percy murmurs against his neck. “Wanna hear you come, Rath.”

Rath is so close, his eyes closed and his hips moving in time with Percy’s hand.

He’s become nothing more than the hand on his cock, the slide of Percy against him and the heat of their bodies.

His fingers dig into Percy’s sides as an intense heat coils in his stomach, and he finally lets himself give in.

His release has him pulling Percy in hard, fingers digging into the larger man’s shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through him.

Percy follows moments after, his body tensing against Rath’s as they both finish across Rath’s chest, over Percy’s trembling hand.

The warmth spreads between them, sticky and intimate, marking the moment in a way that feels both sacred and terrifying.

Their breathing comes heavily, ragged gasps that mingle in the small space between their faces.

They stay pressed together, still clinging to each other like drowning men, sensitive in their comedowns.

Rath can feel every point where their skin touches–Percy’s chest against his, their legs still tangled together, the ghost of Percy’s breath against his collarbone.

The air around them is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and for a moment time seems suspended.

Rath is afraid to open his eyes, afraid that looking will break whatever spell has settled over them, but he does anyway.

His vision is still hazy, but he focuses on Percy, who is looking down at him with an expression Rath can't quite read.

Percy's dark hair is mussed, falling across his forehead in damp strands, and his lips are still parted as he catches his breath.

There's something vulnerable in his eyes, something raw and unguarded that makes Rath's chest tighten with emotion that has nothing to do with what they've just done and everything to do with what he wishes they could be.

In this moment, looking up at Percy, Rath realizes all he wants in the world is for Percy to kiss him. Something that would say this matters and you matter .

Percy is right here, so close that Rath can count his eyelashes, his mouth mere inches away.

It would be nothing to lift his head, to close that small distance and press their lips together in the kind of kiss that means something beyond desire.

But there's something in Percy's expression—a guardedness creeping back into his features, a careful blankness settling over the vulnerability—that keeps Rath frozen beneath him.

The moment stretches between them, fragile as spun glass, and Rath watches as Percy's walls rebuild themselves brick by brick.

The warmth in his eyes cools, the softness around his mouth firms into something more controlled.

It's like watching someone disappear while they're still right in front of you.

Carefully, so carefully it feels deliberate, Percy begins to extract himself from Rath.

His movements are measured, clinical almost, as he untangles their limbs and puts space between their bodies.

The loss of contact is immediate and jarring—where there had been warmth and weight and the reassuring press of another person, now there's nothing but cold air and distance.

Percy sits up on the edge of the bed, his back to Rath, and the mattress dips with the shift of his weight.

The empty bed feels enormous suddenly, like a chasm has opened between them.

Rath lies there, still catching his breath, still feeling the phantom touch of Percy's hands on his skin, and he thinks, Oh .

The realization hits him like a physical blow—this was just sex.

Just bodies moving together, just friction and release and nothing more.

He'd let himself believe, in those few precious moments, that maybe it had meant something to Percy too.

But the careful way Percy is avoiding his eyes, the deliberate space he's putting between them, tells a different story entirely.

"I should take a shower," Percy is saying, his voice steady and neutral, but all Rath can hear is the rushing in his ears, like white noise drowning out everything else.

The words feel like a dismissal, like Percy can't wait to wash away the evidence of what they've just done, to cleanse himself of Rath's touch.

Rath's throat feels tight, his chest hollow, but he manages to force words past the obstruction. "Yeah," he says, and he's proud that his voice doesn't shake, doesn't betray the way his heart is currently crumbling into pieces. "I'll go next."

It's such a mundane thing to say, so utterly ordinary, when everything inside him is screaming.

He wants to reach out, to catch Percy's wrist and pull him back down, to demand to know if this meant anything at all or if Rath is just another warm body to him.

But he doesn't. He can't. The distance Percy has created between them might as well be an ocean for all that Rath feels capable of crossing it.

He takes a shuddering breath, just once, feeling something crack open in his chest that he's not prepared to examine. The sound seems too loud in the empty room, too revealing, like admitting weakness when he needs to be strong.

The physical evidence of what they'd shared is everywhere—sheets twisted from their movement, pillows thrown carelessly aside, the lingering warmth where Percy's body had been pressed against his.

But Percy's dismissal has transformed all of it from proof of connection to proof of his own stupidity.

Rath forces himself to move, swinging his legs out of bed and reaching for his shorts with movements that feel mechanical and strange.

His body still thrums with aftershocks of pleasure, still bears the imprint of Percy's hands, but his mind is already working to compartmentalize the experience, to file it away as something that happened to someone else.

He pulls his shorts back on, the fabric feeling rough against skin that's still sensitive from Percy's touch. The simple action of getting dressed feels like putting on a costume, preparing to play the role of someone who isn't falling apart from the inside out.

There's an ache in his chest that feels like it's spreading, cracking out from one rib to another like ice fracturing under pressure.

He recognizes the feeling—it's the same hollow sensation he'd felt as a kid when adults promised things they had no intention of delivering, the same emptiness that came from hoping for more than people were willing to give.

But he refuses to acknowledge it. Refuses to name what's happening to him as heartbreak or disappointment or any other word that might give it power. Instead, he stands up and tells himself he's fine, that this was just sex, and that nothing is different.