"I want to kiss you," Zach said, although his words were still harsh, the sound of them burning on his tongue with the honesty of the sound. "I want to fucking kiss you so hard that I can feel your heart beating against my mouth. I want to break through that goddamn coldness of your eyes- they look like the poles, like glaciers that hide a raging river." His fists were clenched so hard now the fingers were turning white, the blood rushing to their tips.
"That poem. You sent me a poem that I've always wanted someone to send me. You just- you don't get that. How can someone who looks like you possibly fucking understand? What it's like to sit there, staring at the page of a book, and fucking- bloody fucking knowing that you want someone who will let you burn. Who will accept the explosions of your skin against theirs, who will let you kiss them unless your mouths go numb and your bodies collide and you become a single piece of some puzzle that never gets solved." The blood running down his arm. His mouth bruised from biting it so hard. The throbbing of his choking breath as he said it, knowing that there was no sympathy on the other end. "I haven't known heat, Warrington. Not from another man's hand."
"You know what? I know I'm a fucking asshole. Know that. But I can't goddamn help it. Because you're- you're- just fuck." He stopped then, staring at the other man, then said, "You're fucking right."