Chapter 28: I Make Up for Lost Time

                                    

                                          
Chapter 28: I Make Up for Lost Time
The kettle begins to whistle, and Viktor slowly untangles himself from me with a quiet sigh. His lips linger on my forehead as he takes a step back and focuses on making tea, completely silent. I swallow away the emotion building in my throat and round his kitchen island, sitting at one of the stools and smoothing out the letter from the Bats while I wait.
Viktor hands me a steaming mug of tea before taking a seat beside me, a mug in his hand. He says, "Tell me."
So, I do. We talk about the details of my contract, about how I have five years with the Bats before we'll have to see whether I stay or move on, and we talk about the new broom they're going to size me for next week, and we even talk about the schedule for games and practices.
Viktor says, "You know you and I will play each other at least twice."
"I know."
He smiles and sips from his tea, watching me over the brim with those warm brown eyes dancing with amusement.
I ask, "Who do you think will win?"
"Well," he says and sets his mug down, stifling his grin, "I am a better seeker than yours, but you are a better chaser than all of mine. We will be well-matched."
"I missed you," I tell him even though we've had this conversation before because the realization sneaks up on me every time we interact. His absence in my life has been dreadful. He's a friend and a confidant and he's mine. 
I am so incredibly lucky.
I scoot to the edge of my stool and press my thigh against his, brushing my fingers over his knee. His eyes are on my hand, watching as it slides further up his thigh. Halfway up, I brace my hand and lean forward to kiss him.
This time, Viktor doesn't protest.
This kiss is all about lost time. If I kiss him hard enough, maybe all those weeks we spent apart will disappear. Viktor's hands close on the back of my stool, and he tugs it closer to him. I grip harder on his thigh when the stool jolts forward, but he only groans and winds a strong arm around my waist to keep me steady and close, his lips taking over the kiss. 
Our cups are forgotten on the island, the steady stream of steam slowly lost to the air as they lose their heat, and Viktor is grappling at my thigh, tugging me closer and closer until I'm nearly on his lap, our legs tangling together.
"Viktor," I mumble to break the kiss. He responds with a clipped word in Bulgarian that sounds something like 'kakvo', watching me through heavy-lidded eyes. "Bedroom," I say simply, and then we're moving.
He holds me in his arms like I'm something precious and fragile, strong arms wound tight around me as he brings me down a hallway I haven't yet explored, and then he pushes through a door and deposits me on a soft bed, still hovering at the edge.
I take the opportunity to look around his bedroom, which is tidier than mine, with pale green bedding, thick sherpa blankets, and even a small plant on his windowsill. It smells like him in here, clean and warm, and there's a small pile of quidditch equipment piled in the corner.
I grab his arm and tug him onto the bed, and he lets me, careful to avoid landing on me in any capacity. I immediately grasp the hem of his shirt and ask, "Can I take this off you?"
"I—Yes," he says and lifts his arms when I tug the shirt over his head.
I bite down on my lip as I study him—the build of his strong shoulders, his biceps, the hair dusting his chest and below his navel, the subtle ridges of his muscled torso, the sharp cut of his hip bones. He's a sight to behold and my heart begins to beat a little quicker.