The apartment was still, save for the soft tick of the clock and the faint morning haze filtering through the curtains.
Kael was already awake.
He lay on his side, arm draped over Riven's bare waist, fingers splayed like he was memorizing the shape of him. Riven's back rose and fell in slow rhythm, his breath warm against Kael's chest. The sheets clung low on their hips, twisted from the night before, when words gave way to hands and silence cracked open like lightning.
Kael leaned forward, nose brushing Riven's shoulder. He didn't speak. He just kissed—slow and steady—along Riven's skin, each press a quiet confession. And Riven stirred, eyes blinking open just as Kael's hand slid over his hip.
"No one's coming," Kael murmured, voice still thick with sleep. "It's the weekend."
Riven turned slightly, their foreheads nearly touching. "You say that like we ever act like someone could come."
Kael smirked and kissed him. Not teasing—deep, greedy, anchoring. Like Riven was the only gravity he knew.
Their breaths tangled, movements growing more fevered, desperate. Riven rolled onto his back, pulling Kael on top of him. The shift sent a gasp from both of them—skin to skin, warmth to warmth, friction that felt like fire and familiarity all at once.
Kael's mouth traced a path down Riven's neck, tasting the heat there, hand bracing against his chest. "Tell me to stop," Kael whispered.
"I won't."
He didn't.
Sheets pushed aside. Legs tangled. There was nothing soft about this. It was sharp and real—gripping, thrusting, gasping into each other's mouths like drowning men who'd finally surfaced. The room filled with sound: the creak of the mattress, the low curses from Kael's lips, the broken moans Riven only ever let him hear.
This was not the first time. But it always felt like it might be the last—like they were burning through time, devouring it.
Kael pressed his forehead to Riven's, bodies slick with sweat. "Look at me," he whispered.
Riven did.
Later, silence returned—just the sound of breathing and the shift of Kael pulling the sheets over them.
They didn't speak for a while.
But when Kael finally slipped out of bed, the spell didn't break. Riven watched him cross to the bathroom, light hitting the lines of his back, the curve of his shoulder. There was always something careless about the way Kael moved, like the world owed him no explanation.
Water ran. Steam curled.
Riven dragged himself out of bed, joining Kael without a word. The shower was hot, the kind that stung then soothed. Kael turned, eyes dark under wet lashes, and pressed his lips against Riven's neck, shoulder, jaw. It wasn't just lust—it was need.
"Why does this feel more real than anything outside this apartment?" Kael asked quietly.
Riven didn't answer right away. He kissed him instead.
The kitchen was warm with sunlight and quiet jazz. Kael, shirtless in sweatpants, was making coffee like they weren't lovers tangled just minutes ago. Like they weren't hiding something bigger than either of them knew how to hold.
Riven leaned against the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder. "You're using the wrong filter."
Kael looked over, eyebrow raised. "You're welcome to come fix it."
Riven crossed the room, standing close. Too close. He adjusted the filter, stealing a kiss in the process.
They stood like that for a while, bare skin brushing, coffee brewing, no words.
Just this. This strange sanctuary they built between walls.
Kael's voice was quieter now. "We should go somewhere today. Just us."
"And tell everyone we're what, best friends out on a romantic picnic?"
Kael chuckled. "No. Just two idiots pretending the world can't see through us."
Riven's expression softened. "It's not pretending if no one's looking."
But Kael's smile faded. "She's looking. That girl—Liora."
Riven didn't flinch, but the tension crept in.
"She sees things," Kael added. "And I think she sees us."
Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't comfortable.
Riven turned away, pouring the coffee. "Then we give her nothing to see."
Kael said nothing.
But as he reached for his mug, their hands brushed.
And neither pulled away.
---
The living room was quiet, soaked in morning light. The curtains swayed faintly, but neither of them noticed.
Riven dropped onto the sofa first, his body still buzzing. Kael followed without a word, straddling him, his knees bracketing Riven's thighs, settling in like gravity had chosen him.
For a heartbeat, they just stared—chests rising, breaths shallow.
Then Kael leaned in, fingers threading into Riven's hair, and their mouths met—hard.
It wasn't careful.
It wasn't sweet.
It was everything they couldn't say—tongues tangling, teeth catching lips, Kael gasping against Riven's mouth as Riven's hands slid beneath his shirt, over warm skin, gripping his waist tight like he'd disappear.
Riven's fingers roamed Kael's back, tracing every line like he was mapping something sacred. Kael rolled his hips forward, a moan slipping out—quiet, needy.
"You drive me insane," he whispered against Riven's lips, but didn't pull back.
Riven only answered by dragging his hands lower, grabbing him harder, pulling him closer.
Their mouths never stopped.
Riven's hands kept moving—chest, shoulders, hips, everywhere he could touch. Kael arched into it, head thrown back when Riven's mouth dropped to his throat, biting just enough to make him shiver.
He shifted in Riven's lap again, fingers clawing into his shoulders, grinding down until Riven's breath hitched and they both groaned into each other.
The air was thick with heat and the sound of their bodies moving, clinging, needing. No space between them.
No need for it.
They kissed like the world was ending in that room—again and again, until their lips were swollen, their skin flushed, and all that was left was breath and the ache of wanting more.
Kael pressed their foreheads together, chest heaving. "We're not going to survive this."
Riven's voice was low, rough. "Then let's burn while we can."
And Kael kissed him again.
Hard.
Hungry.
Home.
--