Sparks Fly by Birdie Lynn

Author:Birdie Lynn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Counterpoise Press

Arthur thrust the notebook back at him. “No fucking way. I cannot believe I ever considered you my friend for one iota of a second, you disgusting, neanderthalistic—”

“Do you want them to start asking questions again?” Mika interrupted. “Guaranteed—if you have proof, you won’t have to keep blatantly lying to them.”

Arthur’s retort got lost in his throat. The guilt, carefully locked away on the shelf, rattled the box noisily.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. He’d done this before. It was just temporary closeness. And a lot of sucking, and some spit. It was no big deal. It was no big deal whatsoever.

So why did it feel like one?

“Okay,” he sighed, willing his heart to slow. It paid him no mind. “Okay,” he repeated, as if speaking the word into existence would make it feel as such. He initialed the addition and passed the contract back to Mika. “Fine. But we should both have one. And I want to go first.”

“Be more specific, Pham.”

“What?”

“Give or receive?”

“Give. Jesus—give, Rivera. Fuck.”

“Peachy.” Mika initialed the contract and Sent it back to Arthur’s room. He patted the couch next to him. “Come on up.”

And just as Arthur’s heart rate had started to slow.

“Wait.” He felt dangerously short of breath. “Now?”

“Yes, now, genius.” Mika had a face screaming what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you aimed his way. “Was I just imagining the very un-subtle looks they were throwing you before they left? What do you imagine Clarke thinks you’re doing with me, in my room, alone, right now, the weekend before holiday break?”

Arthur stared at him. “Studying?” he tried weakly.

Mika gave him a pointed look and patted the seat next to him again.

Numbly, Arthur eased up onto the couch, staring alternately between Mika’s face and his neck. His neck, which he was going to have to put his mouth on and how the hell was this happening?

“You’re not gonna logic your way through this one, Pham.” Mika smirked.

“Watch me,” Arthur muttered, scooting closer. Mika smelled like Old Spice.

“You have done this before, right?” Mika asked, not without a hint of condescension.

“Yes, asshole,” Arthur hissed, meeting his sparkling eyes to glare at him—nope, no way—and then down at his neck. Where he was supposed to give Michael Rivera a hickey. Right now. With tongue. Without any prior warning whatsoever. He could see the tendon there, could see his blood pulsing—it made Arthur’s own pulse race even faster, and he was suddenly struck with a horrifying realization.

He wasn’t nervous.

He was excited.

Carefully, he extended his Sense…and found the feeling was reciprocated.

Some sick, evil, visceral corridor of his brain—parallel to the movie villain’s but on the opposite side of the compound—was thrilled at this discovery, and leaned him in to feel that pulse for himself.

Mika inhaled sharply. It sent something electric and powerful down Arthur’s spine, urging him to reach his left hand up to touch Mika’s chin, guiding it farther aside with his thumb for a better angle. He opened his mouth and tasted skin-sweat-boy, thrilled at how Mika’s pulse thrummed faster under his ministrations.

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