"You would," Michael agreed, and tried not to think about it too much--the two of them, off on their own. They could go anywhere, be anything. He couldn't just leave, of course--he had to keep watch on Isobel--but it was a really lovely fantasy, and, for a moment, he wanted to suggest it. Let them both just run away from the rest of their lives.

But even that fantasy faded as Alex went on, with hands and words just as wickedly distracting. He shivered and tightened his hand on the steering wheel. He swallowed, cast Alex a sideways glance with a smile before focusing on the road--he didn't care so much about himself, but he wasn't gonna wreck and let Alex get hurt.

"I was thinking about yours since the night you brought me the guitar in the shed," he admitted quietly, a flush creeping into his cheeks. Which was what had led to the museum kiss. "Kicked myself all night that I chickened out." He'd been confused; still wasn't really sure what this fierce attraction to Alex meant, honestly. As far as he knew, you were gay, or you were straight. But he still found girls hot, but he was downright obsessed with everything about Alex. Maybe it was an alien thing. He was fine just going with it, whatever it was or meant.