So, even though New Ejiro was screaming at him to just go for what he wanted, no matter how daunting it was, Old Ejiro resurfaced and chose the easiest option.
To pretend the problem didn’t exist at all.
OBIORA WAS PLAYING WITH FIRE.
He could tell, after their goodnights to Sophia, something within Ejiro seemed to have shuttered. He refused to meet Obiora’s eyes as the night progressed—in fact, he seemed to be trying really hard to pretend that Obiora didn’t exist at all.
But Obiora refused to let Ejiro ruin this thing building between them. He refused to let Ejiro grow scared and pull away. He wouldn’t let him.
Which was why, even though Ejiro hadn’t taken a single drop of alcohol all night, he was breathing a little fast and looked slightly flushed, because Obiora currently had their legs tangled underneath the table.
During short intervals, Obiora would sensually run his foot up Ejiro’s calf, making Ejiro give a small, nearly-imperceptible shiver that burned Obiora all the way down to his soul.
Despite his daring, Ejiro didn’t once acknowledge him, but neither did he pull away or adjust his stance. He just sat there, his eyes half-lidded and full lips slightly parted, trying to contain his obvious desire, which made Obiora burn even hotter.
“Is there a reason you don’t drink, Ejiro?” Chris Wu asked when the conversation lulled.
Ejiro startled slightly at the mention of his name. His eyes darted to Obiora’s for a fast second, like he couldn’t help it, and Obiora wanted him so fucking badly it hurt.
“Just personal preference,” Ejiro said, though he looked just a bit uncomfortable at the question. He’d probably been asked about it a lot and was tired of answering.
“Are you saying you’ve never had alcohol in your life?” Dean asked with surprise. “Like, never? Not even a sip?”
Ejiro shook his head. His next word came out almost strangled, because Obiora had used that exact moment to run the side of his foot up his calf again. “Nope,” he squeaked. He cleared his throat.
“Sure you don’t want at least a sip?” Noah asked, waggling his eyebrows playfully, swishing the golden whiskey in his tumbler around. “I’m sure Jin makes a mean piña colada.”
“Please don’t drag me into this,” Jin groaned. They laughed.
“I’m sure,” Ejiro replied. “I’m literally just not interested, all right?”
“All right, all right.” Noah held his hands up placatingly.
Obiora wanted Ejiro’s attention back on him. He wanted to break down Ejiro’s barriers again; he wanted Ejiro to look at him the way he’d looked at him back in the garden, like Obiora was the only thing that mattered in his entire world.
Obiora slid his leg up higher, up to the inside of Ejiro’s knee.
Obiora expected Ejiro to make another noise again, or flush, or shiver—any one of the reactions he’d come to expect so far.
And he did all that; he flushed, he shivered, his peach lips parted, a soft gush of air escaping his mouth.
But he did all this while looking directly at Obiora. His eyes were inky black, on fire with lust.
Oh fuck.
Obiora stood up abruptly. He was breathing too fast. He took a deep breath, tried to slow down. The men looked at him curiously.
“Think I’m going to head to bed,” he said.
Ejiro stood as well. He didn’t take his eyes off Obiora. “Yeah, me too.”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
“Goodnight, boys!”
“Goodnight.”
“The rest of us should probably call it a night, huh?” Jin was saying, but Obiora was no longer listening.
