Sam doesn't move.
He should. His mind screams at him to react—to shove Ivanov away, to put distance between them, to do anything—but his body refuses to listen. His breath is shallow, caught somewhere between panic and something far more dangerous.
And Ivanov notices.
A deep, satisfied hum rumbles from the man's chest, and then—he closes the distance.
This time, the kiss isn't fleeting, isn't testing. It's deep. Slow. Deliberate.
Sam's fingers twitch at his sides, his entire body locking up as Ivanov's lips move against his own. Heat crawls up his neck, pooling in his face, and before he can think, his eyes squeeze shut. It's too much. Too overwhelming.
He can feel the curve of Ivanov's smirk against his mouth, like the man knows exactly how rattled he is.
A strong hand tilts his chin up, deepening the kiss, and Sam swears his knees might buckle. His breathing turns erratic, every nerve in his body reacting all at once—he wants to push away, run, but at the same time…
Why does his body feel weak?
Then, just as suddenly, Ivanov pulls back.
His lips linger close—so close that Sam can still feel his breath ghosting over his mouth.
"Look at you…" Ivanov murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. "Sticking out your tongue so eagerly. How cute."
Sam's eyes snap open.
His face burns as he stumbles back, his hand flying up to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. His breath is uneven, chest rising and falling far too fast. Did he just—
"This—! This is why I hate you, you jerk!" He glares, voice sharp, but the tremble in his tone betrays him.
Ivanov doesn't look remotely offended. In fact—he laughs.
Deep. Smooth.
The sound sends a chill down Sam's spine.
"Oh, I know," Ivanov purrs, watching him with eyes that see too much. "You hate me, yet the way you crave slow teases and attention…" He steps forward, closing the distance Sam fought so hard to create. His voice dips lower, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "I've seen every bit of it, sweets."
Sam's breath catches.
Speechless.
He hates that Ivanov's words feel like they crawl under his skin, exposing things he doesn't even understand himself. He wants to deny it, shout at him, but his throat locks up.
Ivanov smirks, clearly pleased by his reaction.
Then, without warning, he reaches for Sam's hand.
Sam flinches—but before he can pull away, Ivanov lifts it to his lips.
A soft kiss.
Featherlight against his knuckles.
Sam freezes.
Heat explodes across his face. His fingers twitch, caught between wanting to yank his hand back and—
No. No, no, no, no—
His heart is beating so loudly, he swears Ivanov can hear it.
"Since we're sorted…" Ivanov's lips brush against his skin, voice as smooth as silk. "You don't have any problem hanging out with me now, right?"
Sam gulps.
The sensation lingers, a phantom warmth curling over his knuckles. His body feels weird—too aware, too hot, too everything.
"I… I still don't wanna see your face," he mumbles, turning his head away, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. His voice is supposed to sound firm, but instead, it comes out small.
Ivanov stares at him for a moment before—
Laughter.
Deep, rich, and full of amusement.
Sam hates it.
He clenches his jaw, fists tightening at his sides, but his body betrays him again—his heart stutters at the sound.
"Sure thing, my little bird," Ivanov drawls, the nickname rolling off his tongue far too easily. He steps even closer, pressing their bodies together just slightly. His breath fans against Sam's ear, warm and teasing. "I'll wait for you by six."
Sam stiffens.
Then—
A soft brush of lips against his knuckles again.
Ivanov's smile is playful, but his next words are anything but.
"Don't leave the office…" His voice drops lower, dangerously close to a whisper. "Or I'll break your legs."
What?
Sam's eyes widen.
His breath stills, pulse slamming against his ribs as the words settle in his mind.
Did I just hear that wrong…?
His gaze flickers up, searching Ivanov's face for any hint of malice.
But all he sees—
Is a smile.
Calm. Carefree. Usual.
Like he didn't just say something so utterly terrifying.
Sam swallows hard, uncertainty crawling up his spine.
What… was that?
What the hell was that?
His throat feels tight.
He should say something—call him out, demand an explanation—but the words won't come. His mind is too tangled, too lost in the lingering heat of the kiss, the phantom sensation of lips on his skin, and the cold weight of Ivanov's last sentence.
Ivanov watches him for a moment longer, smirk unwavering, before finally stepping back.
"See you at six, sweets."
Then—he turns, walking away as if nothing just happened.
Leaving Sam standing there, frozen, heart pounding in his ears, his mind an absolute mess.