[bryan has such nice hands. big, broad. beautiful. he's touched them before, not in any kind of tender or romantic way, but enough to know there's a rough spot under his forefinger when it's used to hugging a trigger. that the muscle in his biceps and shoulders isn't just for show; that there's a surety and strength in his grip that feels good when you're on him or under him. he can hold you up against a wall and screw you like you've only read about

or

you know. stop you from getting any closer. damn it, bryan's sexy delts. kavinsky's mouth twitches into an irritated frown, but he doesn't try to fight. he studies the boy's sad eyes instead.] 'Cause it fucks me off when people have what I can't have, [he says, after a moment. a rare moment's honesty.] Okay. Tell me. Him, then your best friend, [he really doesn't understand love okay!] then your worst enemy.