Ii.

ii.

to say he was expecting it was a lie. he knew eoin mcgonigal, considered him a friend - much like the rest of the lads. he was great fun: good with words, witty head on his shoulders and sharp tongue to follow. augustin also knew eoin mcgonigal was irrefutably in love with paddy mayne. it was clear in the way they looked at each other, the curly-haired irish not doing much to hide the affection lingering within his gaze. it showed in the way they always orbited one another, close proximity a necessity for them. it was endearing and alluring and it made him want to look away. (though it also made him want to take a closer look.)

so, when they drink that night, the only two left after a jolly night out, he wasn't expecting them to laugh this hard; wasn't expecting them to tease each other this much or to find so much delight in spending time together, just the two of them.

he also wasn't expecting the sudden, somewhat tense silence that settled between them. wasn't expecting their animated words to turn into hushed whispers. wasn't expecting eoin's drifting eyes to find his mouth.

augustin definitely wasn't expecting for them to kiss. for eoin's lips to be so warm, so receptive, so sweet. it doesn't make much sense, yet, somehow, it does. teeth finds skin, tongue meets tongue. lovely. perfect.

the kiss is interrupted by the cheering of a rowdy group of teenagers nearby, playing some silly drinking game. they stare at each other, breathless, both visibly surprised.

ah, putain.