Theo, in unaccustomed grubbiness, had salt crystals scattered across his lips—he was licking his fingers, savoring malt vinegar, and his hair was such a mess. It was a moment unplanned, something he had never had the capacity to imagine. Something he could never have counted on.

He almost—there was a part of him which ached for the Theo he had known before, the coiffed Theo and the unkind, the aristocrat, the aloof. The archetype which he hated and envied. He had never understood how much of that was a mask. He wanted to own that Theo just as much as he wanted to make love to this one—to destroy him, remake him, worship at shined calf-leather shoes.

“What?” Theo wiped his hand across his lips. “Do I have something on my face?”

Jack had been staring, captivated. He reached out his left hand, wrapped it around Theo’s trim waist, pulled him in.

“Yeah. Let me—” He drew himself up, stretching just a bit to make up those two inches, and kissed Theo’s salty mouth. Theo struggled for a moment, and Jack could tell that even now, some part of both of them fought against what they shared. But he kissed Theo, again and again, hands tight on Theo’s biceps, trapping him.

It felt like digging fingers into a bruise.

Maybe it was the acid of the vinegar finding every raw place in his mouth, every bit of friction from when he chewed the inside of his cheek or brushed his teeth too hard. It was imperfect. But the pain of that kiss, here under vague starlight, the smell of the deep fat fryer, cigarettes, the ketchup that other American kids asked for and Theo wouldn’t lower himself to eat—it was a part of Jack. Had always been a part of him. And kissing Meg had never felt like this.

Theo wound a hand through Jack’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Jack wondered how Theo, still at war with himself, had learned to be so affectionate. Like it was easy. He could feel himself beginning to be aroused—not that desire for Theo was ever too far out of reach—and Theo pushed into his body, and his heart beat like a bodhran in his ears, the endless pulsing flow of the River Lee.

Kissing Theo was unstoppable.

And it was terrifying, because he knew, he finally knew that yes, there was a love beyond comfort, beyond deep friendship, beyond Meg’s soft skin. It was a love he had craved without knowing its name, a love he didn’t think could possibly exist. That had never seemed accessible to him.

A love for a perfect boy made imperfect. A fallen prince; an idol destroyed.