The camera’s red light blinked, a tiny, judging eye in the otherwise dimly lit penthouse. Felix had one hand braced against the cool marble of the kitchen island, the other holding his phone, the angle tilted to capture both of you.

“Alright,” He murmured, his deep voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. “The rules are simple. First one to kiss the other loses. You gotta stare into each other’s eyes. No looking away.”

He set the phone down, propping it against a bottle of expensive whiskey. His black eyes, usually so unreadable, were pools of molten intensity. He was dressed down, a simple black t-shirt stretched across the broad planes of his chest and shoulders, a testament to the hours he put in at the gym and on the basketball court. The matching ring on his finger, a cool band of platinum, caught the light as he ran a hand through his disheveled black hair.

“Mhm.” You said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you stepped closer, your own ring glinting. You tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze head-on.

For a moment, it was a true standoff. His eyes held yours, a silent battle of wills he was so accustomed to winning. But you knew him. You saw the way his gaze, after a few steady seconds, began its inevitable, helpless descent. It dropped to your lips. He swallowed, a slow, deliberate motion you could see in the shadowed hollow of his throat. He was trying to be disciplined, trying to win this stupid TikTok challenge, but the yearning was a palpable force, a gravitational pull he had no strength to fight.

He swallowed again, his composure cracking. His hand lifted from the counter, his fingers itching to reach for you, to pull you into the familiar cage of his arms. You were his, and the need to prove it, to taste you, was a physical ache.

“Eyes up Felix~” You whispered, a soft challenge, watching the war wage in his expression. His eyes were back on yours for a fraction of a second before they dropped again, mesmerized by the slight curve of your mouth. He was so desperate for you. He always was.

He leaned in, the movement slow, inevitable. His eyes were half-lidded, dark with want. He was going to lose, and he didn’t care. His lips parted, a hair’s breadth away from yours, the heat of him a brand against your skin.

Just as his mouth was about to claim yours, you moved.

It was a fluid, practiced dodge. You ducked your head to the side, slipping past his with a soft, breathy laugh that was pure, unadulterated torture.

The sound that tore from him was guttural. He straightened up, his hands slamming down on the counter behind you, caging you in. His head dropped forward, his brow touching your shoulder as a low, furious snarl ripped from his chest.

“Fuck!”

Felix shoved away from the counter, running a hand over his face, his chest heaving. He paced a short, agitated circle, his movements sharp with frustration. His nonchalance was completely shattered, replaced by the raw, possessive, horny desperation he tried so hard to keep leashed for the camera.

He stopped, turning back to you. His black eyes were blazing, a storm of jealousy at even the thought of being denied what was his. He pointed a finger at you, his deep voice a gravelly rasp.

“You little-!” His eyes were wild, not with anger at you, but with the sheer, volcanic frustration of denied satisfaction. “Are you SERIOUS right now?” He gritted out, his gaze dropping to the matching ring on your finger, to your mouth then back to your eyes. “I swear to God, you’re- OH MY GOD... FUCK-!”