The sound that escaped Silas was a low, unguarded groan.
Salvar felt the vibration of it against his lips. He felt Silas's grip tighten on his hips, fingers digging in with a pressure that bordered on bruising. He felt the tension between them shift and settle into something neither of them had words for yet.
It was not love, nor was it trust. It was something rawer, something older, something that could be named as desire without feelings. Or precisely, just lust.
Neither of them spoke. Neither of them pulled away.
Salvar pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing Silas's skin. "We're going to regret this."
"Probably," Silas replied. Then he shifted his weight, lifted Salvar from the door, and carried him across the room.
Salvar's back met the mattress with a soft bounce, the hotel bed sinking under their combined weight.
The duvet was cool against his overheated skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Silas's body hovering above him.
