Dylan eyed the distant ridge of Theo’s collarbone, the pulse at his neck a faint, tantalizing throb even from here. “Gotta move,” he muttered, his wrist device beeping faintly—eight minutes left. “Neck’s safer. Closer to the shirt collar, less chance of getting squashed.” He ignored the part of him that thrilled at the idea of climbing higher, closer to Theo’s pulse, where the heat and scent would be even more intense.
The climb was brutal. Theo’s pectorals sloped upward, the skin taut and slick with sweat, each hair a precarious handhold. Dylan’s muscles burned as he hauled himself toward the collarbone, the heartbeat beneath growing louder, more insistent. “This guy’s a freaking furnace,” he panted, the musky scent thicker now, filling his lungs and sending a shiver through him. He tried to focus on survival, not the forbidden rush that came with being so close to Theo’s raw vitality.
Theo’s phone alarm blared again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through Dylan’s body like thunder. “Two minutes,” Theo muttered, yanking his shirt on. The fabric swept over Dylan’s head, a dark wave that nearly knocked him loose. He yelped, gripping a hair as the shirt settled, trapping him in a dim, humid world. “Not good!” he gasped, scrambling faster toward the neck. The skin grew warmer, the pulse stronger, as he neared the base of Theo’s throat.
Theo broke into a jog, each step a jolt that made Dylan’s perch shudder. The collarbone loomed ahead, a bony ridge offering a potential hiding spot. Dylan reached it just as Theo sprinted across campus, the world tilting wildly. He dove into the shallow dip where the collarbone met the neck, the skin here softer, the pulse a steady drum beneath. The musky scent was intoxicating, mingling with the faint salt of sweat, and Dylan’s breath hitched, his body reacting despite his fear. “Focus, you idiot,” he hissed, clinging to the skin as his device beeped—five minutes left.
The shirt collar grazed his back, a constant threat, but the collarbone’s curve offered some protection. Theo’s breaths were deep, each one sending a warm gust over Dylan, the pulse at his neck a hypnotic rhythm. “This… shouldn’t be this intense,” Dylan whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed himself against the warm flesh. The heat, the scent, the sheer scale of Theo—it was overwhelming, yet he couldn’t deny the electric pull.
Theo slid into the lecture hall just as the professor started, panting, “Made it.” The sudden stillness was a relief, but Dylan’s device beeped again—three minutes left. He huddled against the collarbone, the pulse beneath him steadying, its rhythm almost calming. The neck’s warmth enveloped him, the scent dizzying, and Dylan fought the urge to linger, caught between survival and the dangerous allure of Theo’s body. “Get it together,” he muttered, knowing he had to find a way off soon—but for now, he held on, lost in the pulse and heat of the giant he clung to.
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