Snapshots

Jungle

Scott touches Mitch's lower lip with his thumb, pulls it down just far enough to see Mitch's teeth, shiny with spit even in shadow. As Scott licks his own lips, Mitch wrinkles his nose, grimaces, and Scott says, "Are you a sweet kitten?"

Mitch growls.

"A little tiger, maybe?" Scott asks. "A leopard?"

Baring his teeth, Mitch says, "A lion."

Scott reaches up and pushes his fingers through Mitch's short hair. He clenches his hand into a fist, yanks as much as he's able to, pulling Mitch's head up and back. He lets his eyes sweep over Mitch's face, down his long neck, his exposed torso. His throat looks so vulnerable, blood so close to the surface in his veins, and Scott longs to bite him and taste Mitch for himself. He wonders what kind of animal that makes him.

"A lion cub, maybe," he finally replies. "Playing at fighting without leaving a mark."

Mitch's open mouth stretches into a smirk. "You want me to leave a mark?"

Scott shrugs. "Just know that whatever you give me, I'll give back three times harder."

Mitch pushes forward, breaking free of Scott's hold with an all-over wince as Scott doesn't actually let go of his hair. He falls onto Scott's chest and looks up at him with glittering, eager eyes. "Then you better start keeping track."