You Were Able To Write Him As Charming As He Is And You Went An Extra Step And Put In Insecurities And Flirting - Tumblr Posts

CYRAN x READER

More Questions Than Bodies Have Answers For

ONESHOT . SMUT . ANGST

minors/ageless blogs please do not read/like/reblog any of my works where this warning appears (you will be blocked)

x o x o x o

"Cyran... Rose... You are... the..." Your voice sounds strange to your ears.

That last moan from you, that hideously lewd mewling that no bookstore employee has ever made, echoes fresh in your memory, and fresh onto the slender, freckled hand between your quivering legs.

Has he done this before? You're certain now that Cyran is pressing shapes into you that very much do not exist in reality. And the way his low panting, at once dreamy and bestial, matches his strokes is nothing short of hypnotic.

But you can't let yourself runaway with it.

Cyran's not on break, exactly. What are the chances Clavis even remembers whatever errand he sent him on this time? The castle grounds are vast, and there are avenues galore to a particular destination. Detours are completely natural. Probably.

You happened to be in the wine cellar running an errand for Jin, and Cyran happened to... happen by... and...

The exact sequence of events has been lost to heady mouth-plundering, and most of it rattled from your train of thought when your back hit the side of some shelf in the damp dark.

"You're nervous." Cyran ends his sibilant consonants the way an Obsidianite does, but his terse half-lilt is through-and-through the mark of a Rhodolitian knight. And his voice--something you can no longer divorce from the tongue of an amorous kisser--is so terribly warm and balmy.

So why don't your nerves settle into its safety?

Cyran seems unsure of what to do for a moment. His gaze is drawn to your lips but he pulls it back to read your eyes every time he strays. With each flicker his irises catch the hanging lantern's rippling firelight, somehow making him even more bewitching to look at. And that does the complete opposite of putting your breathing into order.

Finally Cyran slides the hand he has over your breast under your arm to wrap around your back. His calloused fingertips run reassuring lines up and down between your shoulder-blades. His other hand pulls away from your center and begins massaging your leg in a similar rhythm. The feel is still hot and sensuous around the edges, but his intent is clear. He's even put some distance between you two, as you can no longer feel his ardor against your inner thigh. And of course that's upsetting too.

"I don't know why I'm being like this," you answer honestly. You pull him closer and rest your forehead against his disheveled collar. He'll be able to hide that love-bite easy enough.

Your eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden, with a false drowsiness that comes from overstimulation. It's Cyran's scent. It truly drives you mad.

Cyran's scent becomes more and more familiar to you with every encounter. Soldier's musk, sweat, but those are mere windfalls against the full-bodied bouquet of sunshine and summer that imbues his skin. Yet it's not wild like unchecked garden growth. Everything about Cyran feels ordered and disciplined. Like he's shopped through time and placed every new vial of himself into a gorgeous display for anyone to appreciate.

At their leisure. Even when princes linger in the same room.

Cyran is a wonder.

But that order and discipline seem shaken now. You don't know if you're projecting or if Cyran is every bit as nervous as you are. This is what, though, your third time doing this together? There is nothing forbidding you from having any sort of affair with...

Wait, is this just an affair? Is that what's bothering you?

...Is this the best time to have that conversation?

Should that conversation have been had three trysts ago?

You don't like that word, you think. You and Cyran are not that word.

Cyran is staring at you wide-eyed. "Why are you making that face?"

You bite your lip and tuck your head against his shoulder again. "What face? Don't read too much into it, please. ...What face?"

"I don't know!" Cyran panics, dropping both hands and surrendering you to the cold cellar. "I'm sorry, I should just-"

"No, please!" You wrap your arms around him. Your heartbeat seeks his out where your chests connect. "You feel so good." It's true but also not what you mean at all.

Cyran falls silent for a moment too long. You count three drops of water from a loose tap somewhere in the shadows. Then he sighs and gently unlatches your arms. "We should-"

"Talk?" Your voice is pulled taut. "Can we?"

"I really have to go soon."

"Cyran..." But hope springs to life when you notice his expression twist at his own words. Maybe he's saying the wrong words too, just like you are?

Still, he walks backward from you, boots strangely silent over the stone floor, until he hits the shelf opposite. "What happens when your month here ends?"

"I go back to town." No. No, you want to say so much more but the words are getting lost somewhere, because Cyran Rose is a knight, and Cyran Rose is kind and beautiful, and maybe you and Cyran Rose never should have happened and-

"And would you think of me?" A voice that vulnerable has no business being this far away from your listening ears. "Do you think of me?"

"Cyran, I wouldn't touch you like this if you weren't on my mind literally all the time."

"All the time?" You can hear the embers of a smile. "Even when... you're, um... alone?"

Your cheeks are a furnace. Certainly it's only natural for Cyran to ask this, and you'd be lying if you weren't immediately, presently, thoroughly occupied with what his answer would be to the same question. You wonder what his bedchambers look like, or if he has to stop himself and duck into some alcove between training, ashamed and cheeks burning, or even...

You blow out a mouthful of air and scuffle your toes against the ground. You were thinking of Cyran very intimately just this morning before Rio brought you your tea. "Would the truth make you uncomfortable?"

"If the truth is what I want it to be then I think it would make me incredibly..." He suddenly turns around and faces the shelf. "I'm sorry. This conversation has gotten so weird, and it's entirely my doing. I'm so sorry."

The sight of this usually so placid knight cowering from you in a cellar draws and quarters you between disbelief, adoration, confusion and a sudden desire to tease.

"Are you still in a rush to leave?"

"Honestly? I'd love to just evaporate away right now."

You wait. You wait an entire minute, not saying anything. And at no point does Cyran make any move to leave. In fact, he even looks over his shoulder, and the look in his eye...

Emboldened, you take several steps toward him and hug him from behind. Emboldened, you slide your hand over the front of his pants, hoping...

Cyran's unfiltered groan fills the entire cellar. Then he bonks his head against the shelf in front of him. "Fuck. Excuse me. Wow. That was loud."

"It was." You press your chest against his back and writhe upwards, finding it strangely easy to be coquettish. "It was really hot too."

Cyran clears his throat. "Shouldn't we be talking?"

"Shouldn't you be leaving?"

"I'm rather, uncomfortably comfortable right where I am, thanks."

Another two drops of water fill the silence. Then the tension bursts into mutual laughter.

If Cyran's voice is lovely with hellos and small-talk, it is pearls on a necklace with laughter. As rich as any prince.

And the way his laugh seems to dance perfectly around yours? How many couples can say that?

Couple. Now that's a word you like. But it's up to Cyran to pull that into his vocabulary for you two.

And there's still a chance that he...

You drop your hand but Cyran catches your wrist and guides you back.

"Cyran...?" You turn your head and rest your cheek against his back.

"Please. I like it when you think of me."

Your heart surges. "Can I take that to mean what I hope you mean?"

He cups your palm around him, rubbing slow, languorous strokes along the hardened length. "I wouldn't want to be touched like this unless you were the one touching me." His breathing is hypnotic with how controlled it is, how it compliments the movements of his and your hand.

You do, you really truly do. Want to runaway with him.

Again, and again, and again.

Lost in the moment, in Cyran, in his quiet beauty, you press a light kiss into his back. "Then maybe... you could show me your bedroom sometime?"

--

credit as always to thewitchofbooks for cyran info and inspiration