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Cyran kiss? Please?

A/N: Here you go anon!

Word Count: 809

You blame it on the rain. It’s the reason you stop in your tracks. The reason you find yourself turning, your heart thundering in your chest, to face the armory you fled just seconds ago, leaving Cyran and all the sudden, tightly-strung feelings behind. You hadn’t wanted to go. Every cell in your body was screaming for you to stay, stay right where you were with his fingers touching yours as you handed over the letter Clavis sent you to bring him. It can’t wait, the prince had said, his eyes glittering like sunlight winking off gold. You had to go now to Cyran, despite the darkening sky. Despite the electric smell in the air.  And so you had gone and found him in the stone armory, surrounded by weapons. He was stripped down to his unlaced, white linen tunic, damp with sweat, cleaning his sword after a particularly grueling training session. You think your heart might have raised the white flag then and there at the sight of him.

The next few moments were a blur: You had cleared your throat and he looked up, locking eyes with you. His beautiful eyes miss nothing. You’re certain he saw the faint blush of pink across your cheeks. The catch of your breath as you drank in the way his tunic clung in just the right places, teasing the sculpted muscle underneath. Unlaced just enough to ignite a shower of sparks through your body. He saw how you licked your lips unconsciously and how your hand tightened around the letter. And he certainly saw the way the faint pink across your cheeks deepend to a rich flush when you touched, his calloused fingers brushing yours. 

With a loud whoosh those sparks inside turned into a roaring bonfire and you didn’t know what to do…..except run. Run from the overwhelming heat of desire you felt in your veins and saw painted across his usually stoic visage. You burst through the armory doors, barreling towards the path that would lead you back to the palace.

But you’re now only a few strides gone and the clouds have opened up the floodgates, soaking you through in just the few moments you’ve been outside. And so it is because of the rain you turn around. 

And you see him. 

He’s just stopped in his tracks but you know he was coming after you. The rain has darkened his red hair to a deep garnet and graciously revealed all the secrets his tunic had only been hinting at before. You stare at one another through the haze of water, neither one moving, frozen by one another’s gaze. 

One heartbeat. 

Then another.

And then you’re running back towards him and his long legs are swallowing the distance between you until you meet like a clap of thunder, falling into one another’s arms. His mouth is warm yet slick with cool rainwater and you are dizzy at the contrast. Your hands slide over his broad shoulders, over the soft, translucent material of his tunic. You feel the lines of muscle, the strength of them. How many times had you imagined touching him? How many nights did it haunt your dreams? You are determined to get your fill, here and now. 

Your restless fingers are not still. One hand grips the nape of his neck. The other travels upwards, pushing in the thick expanse of his hair. You gasp against his lips at the shocking thrill of curling your fingers into those crimson tresses, at the way his large hand grips your waist tighter when you do. The unflappable soldier is bending under your touch. What will he do when he tastes you? You part your lips, bold and unapologetic. The rough sound that escapes his throat tells you it was the right thing to do.

You’ve snapped the thin threads of self-control he was still holding onto, the very same self-control he has made a mantel of and armored himself with. Gone is the serious man from Obsidian with the somber eyes. Instead you hold a man incandescent with a hunger that only you can satiate. His kiss is devouring, determined to leave no part of you untasted. He steals your breath, swallows your gasps, drinks from your lips. Over and over he kisses you until your legs shake and your blood is a river of fire in your veins. Soon your mouth is not enough. He needs more. His lips scavenge your cheeks, your jawline, and then lower, following the line of your neck. Everywhere he kisses you burns and the raindrops that land there in his wake feel cold as ice. 

Your head falls back, baring your throat to him, facing the gray clouds and falling rain with only one thought shining through the haze like the bright, blinding beam of a lighthouse: 

More.

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