Ecclesias' hand moved slowly, tracing the line of Soren's jaw, then sliding to the curve of his neck unhurried, precise, as if committing him to memory, as if he intended to unravel him piece by piece. His touch burned through Soren like fire under ice, searing every nerve until his skin prickled and his knees felt unsteady beneath him. His breath stuttered, his pulse thundered in his ears, a wild rhythm that betrayed the silence he clung to. He wanted to pull away, to retreat into the walls he had built around himself but something buried deeper, something starved and furious and alive, hungered for this man to devour him. Hungered for that calm voice whispering against his ear, that steady grip tightening on his throat, for him to press closer and scorch away every hollow ache.
"Look at me," Ecclesias murmured, voice low and commanding.
Soren obeyed, trembling under the weight of it. Frostfire eyes caught his and held him captive unyielding, unhurried, laced with authority and a hunger Soren dared not name. The King's thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, a slow, deliberate claim, pressing just enough to part his lips before his own mouth descended.
The kiss landed like a seal, like a vow carved in stone. Heat surged through Soren, sharp and dizzying, ripping through his composure like a blade. His fingers twitched at his sides, then curled into the King's shirt, gripping fabric before his mind caught up. Shame clawed at his throat, raw and vicious, but his body betrayed him, leaning into the warmth, into the hand cradling his neck, as if it had been starving for this command. His breath snagged, his chest heaved too fast, and in one terrifying instant of clarity, he craved more craved that hand sliding lower to his waist, the full weight of Ecclesias' body pinning him until the quiet inside shattered.
Ecclesias sensed the fracture, deepening the kiss just enough to taste the tremor in Soren's breath, the faint yield as his mouth opened beneath him. His hand slipped from jaw to nape, fingers threading into hair, guiding with a pressure that was gentle yet absolute no escape, no drift. Words brushed Soren's lips like another touch, voice molten, the question weaving into the heat as if the words themselves were part of the kiss.
"Do you want more?" he whispered.
Soren's breath shuddered out. "I… I can't…" The protest cracked when Ecclesias' fingers slid higher, cradling his jaw, holding him as if the world could collapse and he would still not let go.
"You can," Ecclesias murmured against his mouth, velvet laced with fire. "You feel it. You want it."
The kiss lingered, soft and relentless, an ache that burrowed deep, before Ecclesias eased back just enough to search his face. His gaze burned steady, seeing too much, lips hovering at Soren's ear, breath a warm scrape against flushed skin. The air between them thinned, electric and fragile.
"I will not let you fade," he whispered, each word slow, deliberate, lethal in its tenderness. "You will not hide. You will stay because I will make every breath you take unforgettable."
----
Ecclesias knew he should stop the warning flashed cold and precise in his mind. But Soren's lashes fluttered down, his breath hitched in surrender, fingers curling tighter into his shirt instead of shoving. Something in the King cracked open, raw and unsettling. How does he do this? A man built to vanish, yet he burns like forbidden flame.
He kissed him again. Slower. Deeper. Deliberate in every shift, savoring the small yields the way Soren's lips parted, the tremor he couldn't hide.
Soren's world spun. Heat flooded him, chest to gut to core, his body no longer his own, dizzying, scattering his thoughts like shards of glass. Pulse hammered. Fingers clenched harder in Ecclesias' clothes, pulling despite himself.His hand held firm at the nape of Soren's neck, thumb circling the pulse behind his ear, tilting his head for better access, gentle but unyielding as it drew him in by inches.
Then it escaped a small, unguarded noise from Soren's throat, a soft hum of excitement vibrating against the King's mouth, raw and involuntary.
Ecclesias felt it instantly. That tiny sound rippled through him like a spark to dry tinder, more potent than any plea, shocking in its honesty. Pleasure surged, dark and fierce; he stilled for a heartbeat, then answered with intensified focus his kiss turning firmer, deeper, mouth claiming with controlled hunger, hand at Soren's neck gripping just enough to tilt him further, to demand more of that sound. No rush, but unyielding pressure: I heard you. Give it again.
Soren's knees buckled slightly. His chest heaved, his pulse roared, and butterflies stormed his stomach, wild and relentless. He hated it. He wanted it. He wanted to tear it out of himself and yet, when Ecclesias' lips moved against his, soft and commanding, he leaned in. His body betrayed him, craving more even as his pride screamed no.He loathed the surrender in it, the way his body arched into the press. He wanted it to end. He wanted it endless. Ecclesias nudged him back spine meeting the table's edge, the King's frame caging him without crushing and Soren leaned in, spine bowing traitorously.
Ecclesias registered every tell: the parted lips on another stifled breath, the grip that pulled rather than pushed. Resolve hardened in him, sharp as a blade. I should stop. Draw the line. But this reluctant fire was a challenge, and he never backed from one. He sank into the kiss with quiet inevitability, as if it had simmered beneath every glance they'd shared.
Then pride surged a sharp blade cutting through the haze."No…"The word tore from his throat, raw and trembling. His hands pressed against Ecclesias' chest, pushing him back not brutal, but desperate enough to sever their mouths and steal a gasp of air.
The King froze. Shock lanced through him, bright and piercing Soren had rejected him. No one did. No one dared. He didn't retreat fully. Hands dropped from Soren's neck, granting space, but his presence loomed, heat lingering like a brand. Frostfire eyes locked on, dissecting every flinch. Rejection stung, keen as a knife but it didn't ignite rage. It forged something worse: unshakeable intent, a hunger sharpened to a point.
So he fights. Perfect.
Soren's voice cracked, shame and defiance tangled together. "You can't… I'm not…" He swallowed hard, his chest heaving. "I'm not yours."
Ecclesias' stare didn't waver; it honed. A ghost of a curve touched his mouth not scorn, but shadowed triumph. This wasn't meek submission. This was fire resisting flame. It pulled him closer, not away.
Fingers flexed at his sides, warring against the impulse to seize Soren's jaw, yank him back. His voice emerged low, measured, a blade sheathed in silk time endless for this to consume them.
"You are," he said, certainty absolute, no volume needed. "You just haven't yielded yet."
He closed the gap, not for a kiss, but to ghost his mouth by Soren's ear breath feathering hypersensitive skin. Tone stayed even, almost tender, but laced with steel promise.
"I won't let you vanish," he breathed. "Hide in your silence, your shadows I'll haul you into the light. You stay where I can reach you."
His thumb rose, dragging slow along Soren's lower lip, imprinting the kiss's memory. "Not one night. Not a season." Eyes pinned his, merciless calm. "While I breathe, you won't forget whose you are."
Soren twisted away or tried. The scant space felt suffocating, infinite. Breath jagged, chest crushed, skin aflame where touched, untouched. Humiliation warred with terror, undercut by a vicious want that wouldn't die.
He despised the craving. Craved it deeper. Wanted to rip it free. The King's mouth lingered in his senses, hand's echo at his neck. Fingers dangled limp, tingling with absence.
One breath from truth one pulse from yes, from melting back. Pride clamped it down, teeth gritted.
Under the chaos, thought sliced clear, a dagger's edge:
Fate doesn't dictate. He won't be the sole author. This blaze will ignite on my terms.
Ecclesias adjusted the collar at Soren's throat with deliberate care, his fingers grazing skin, slow and sure, as if sealing the promise he had spoken. His voice cut through the silence, velvet edged with fire:
"Sleep now," he said softly, his tone carrying the weight of inevitability. "Tomorrow will be a long day."
Soren stood frozen for a moment, chest heaving, thoughts a storm he refused to let drown him. Everything felt too heavy the robe, the silence, the taste of the kiss still lingering on his lips. But the vow in his mind burned brighter than the king's claim. Without a word, he turned toward the bed. The silk sheets whispered against his skin as he lay down, his body sinking into the cool softness.
His lashes lowered, and for the first time since waking, he let go not of himself, not of his will, but of the fight for this one exhausted moment.
Sleep claimed him slowly, like surrender to rest, not to chains.