CHAPTER 321: HAZEL DEFIANCE, PALE BLUE FIRE (PART 2)

Clyde noticed Micah’s blushing. He reached out without a word, his hand moving with the kind of hesitancy that wasn’t truly hesitant at all, but restraint. His knuckles brushed Micah’s cheek first, as though testing whether the boy would shy away. The warmth of skin met the coolness of his fingertips, and his breath caught.

Micah stiffened at the touch, but didn’t retreat. His lashes fluttered as he gazed upward, meeting pale blue eyes that were steady, consuming. Micah saw something that made his stomach twist. Love, yes, but not the shallow kind. It was indulgence, almost tender to the point of ache. It was gentleness wrapped around something darker, deeper, something unspoken that made his heart thunder wildly against his ribs.

The pad of Clyde’s thumb drifted from Micah’s cheekbone upward, brushing a stray lock of silver hair aside, then moved deliberately toward Micah’s ear. His finger curled around the shell of it, tracing the flushing skin between forefinger and thumb as if mesmerising its heat.

Micah felt the warmth flood into his face at once, hotter, brighter. His ears had always betrayed him; now they were burning red, and Clyde was touching them as though they were the most fascinating things in the world. His lips parted, but he could say nothing. He bit down instead, catching his bottom lip between his teeth to keep the sound from slipping out.

Clyde noticed. Of course, he noticed. His fingers slipped downward, trailing with agonising patience until they found that lip trapped under Micah’s teeth. He pressed lightly, coaxing it free, brushing the tender skin with the tips of his fingers. The faint tremor beneath them betrayed Micah’s racing heartbeat.

Micah’s breath faltered, a sharp inhale rushing into his lungs. He was frozen, caught between shock and anticipation. His pulse galloped, racing so fast he swore it had to be arrhythmia. Heat crawled up from his chest to his throat, spreading across his face until he thought he would combust.

Clyde’s gaze shifted, no longer mild, no longer controlled. It was fixed on Micah’s lips, darkened, sharpened, and dangerous. He looked like a man one breath away from losing the leash he held so tightly on himself.

But he didn’t move even an inch. Instead, his hand rose again, this time moving upward to rest atop Micah’s head. His fingers threaded into soft strands of silver hair, stroking gently, soothingly, as if Micah were fragile porcelain.

The sudden shift was almost unbearable. Micah’s chest squeezed tight, disappointment flooding in like cold water over fire. Of course, Clyde would never cross the line. He would always hold back, always step away before the moment broke. Micah didn’t care why, whether it was age, experience, morality, or some sense of restraint. The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was the hollow ache of wanting more and being denied.

His lashes lowered, shutting his eyes against the sting. Clyde’s palm lingered at the crown of his head, then slid slowly down to the back of his neck. The touch was maddeningly soft, almost reverent, each stroke of his thumb along the nape sending shivers racing through him. It was torture.

Micah wanted to shake Clyde, to demand, Kiss me already, damn it! He wanted to force the man past his self-control, past that maddening patience. Yet at the same time, terror prickled through his chest. It would be his first kiss. His first real one. What if he messed it up? What if Clyde didn’t like it? Worse, what if Clyde laughed, mocked him, pulled away as though it had been nothing but childish folly?

His gaze betrayed him. It dropped to Clyde’s lips. Pale, thin, with the faintest creamy tone, so close he could almost taste the warmth of his breath.

Suddenly, Clyde’s hand moved, sliding over to cover his eyes. Darkness fell over Micah, startling him, but the roughness of Clyde’s palm was steady, shielding, almost trembling.

"Don’t look at me like that," he said, voice hoarse, ragged, a restraint that sounded like it cost him everything.

The words sent a jolt through Micah. His body shivered beneath the weight of them.

Clyde wanted nothing more than to kiss Micah. Yet he hadn’t kissed him at all. The torment of it was in the almost, the deliberate denial. His control was brutal. He wanted to. Every breath, every touch, every quiver of his voice filled with desire. And yet he refused.

Because if he kissed him, Clyde thought, he would be no different from a beast.

Micah was an adult. But Clyde knew the awkwardness in his gestures, the uncertainty in his blush. He saw the way Micah’s hand shook, the way his lips trembled as though no one had ever touched them before. This was his first time being held by someone’s hand like this, his first taste of intimacy.

Clyde’s chest tightened painfully. He wanted him desperately. But what if he frightened him? What if he kissed him and couldn’t stop there? What if that single taste shattered all restraint, dragging them further than innocence would allow?

His thumb brushed lightly against Micah’s temple, his palm shielding his eyes so he wouldn’t see the hunger burning there. Clyde’s jaw clenched as he forced his body still.

Micah, however, trembled beneath him. He could feel it; the man wanted him. Maybe even more than he wanted Clyde. That knowledge swelled inside him like wildfire, making him lightheaded, dazed.

Finally, Clyde moved. His hand slipped away from Micah’s eyes, trailing down his face as though reluctant to leave. He exhaled, long and heavy, the shifted his grip, guiding Micah back gently into the passenger seat. His movements were steady, firm, almost mechanical, as though if he paused for a heartbeat longer, he would give in.

The leather creaked faintly under Micah as he sank back into place, his chest still heaving with shallow breaths. Clyde reached forward, fingers curling tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles pale. He turned the key, the engine roaring to life.

Without a word, Clyde pulled away, driving through the dark streets with his jaw tight and his gaze locked on the road.

Micah turned his head toward the window, but his reflection betrayed him, red ears, parted lips, eyes wide and shimmering with too many emotions at once. Smoke practically rose from his head, his fuse long burned out.

Clyde hadn’t kissed him. But that touch, those lingering hands, the weight of his voice, was just as intense as a kiss. Maybe even more.

Micah’s lips tingled, his heart swelled until it felt like it would burst. He knew now, beyond doubt, that Clyde wanted him. Wanted him badly.