The cottage had gone quiet in the way that only came at dusk—the light turning amber through the windows, the fire settling into itself, the whole world holding its breath. Kaelen had made it to the bench by the door. That had been the goal. Ten steps from the bedroom, and he'd needed to stop twice, leaning against walls, breathing through the spike of pain that still lived in his ribs when he moved too fast.
Robin found him there. Of course he did. Robin always found him.
"What are you doing." Not a question. Robin's voice flat in that way it got when he was trying not to sound scared.
"Getting some air." Kaelen didn't look up. He could feel Robin's gaze on him—that weight that never quite lifted, the way Robin watched him like he might disappear if he blinked too long. "I'm fine."
Robin stood there in the amber light, hands hanging at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them. The dish towel was still over his shoulder—he'd been drying a cup when he heard Kaelen's footsteps, when he'd turned and found him halfway across the cottage, one hand braced against the wall, breathing too hard.
"You're not fine." Robin's voice came out quieter than he meant. "You can barely stand."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He looked out the window instead of at Robin, at the darkening sky, the first stars pricking through the blue. "I needed to move. I've been in that bed for days."
"A week." Robin stepped closer. "You've been in that bed for a week, because your ribs were cracked in three places and you coughed blood for the first four days." He stopped in front of the bench, close enough to see the shadows under Kaelen's eyes, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the wood like he was holding himself upright by will alone. "You're not healed. You're just—not dying anymore."
Kaelen let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it had any humor in it. "High bar."
"It's the only bar I care about."
Something shifted in Kaelen's expression. A crack in the wall he'd been holding up all week. His hand lifted, hesitated, then dropped back to his thigh. "Robin."
"Don't." Robin's voice broke on the word. "Don't tell me you're sorry. Don't tell me I shouldn't have stayed. I know everything you're going to say before you say it, and I don't want to hear it."
Kaelen looked up at him then. Really looked. His dark blue eyes catching the last of the daylight, the firelight flickering across his pale skin, the freckles standing out like constellations on his cheeks. "Then what do you want to hear?"
The question landed in Robin's chest like a stone dropped into still water. Rings spreading outward. Everything rippling.
He knelt. Not because he planned to—his knees just gave out, folded him down until he was eye level with Kaelen on the bench, close enough to see the way his pulse moved in his throat. "I want to hear that you'll stop doing this." His voice rough. His hands shaking where he pressed them against his own thighs. "I want to hear that you'll let me carry you when you can't walk. That you'll tell me when it hurts instead of pretending it doesn't. That you'll stop looking at me like I'm going to leave."
Kaelen's breath caught. Audible. Sharp. His hand came up again—this time it didn't stop. His fingers brushed Robin's jaw, light as a question, and Robin turned into the touch before he could think better of it.
"I don't know how," Kaelen whispered. "I don't know how to stop."
"Then let me teach you."
The words hung between them. The fire popped. Outside, the wind moved through the pines, a sound like the sea in the distance.
Kaelen's thumb traced the line of Robin's cheekbone. Once. Twice. A rhythm he wasn't ready to stop. "You're always the one carrying me."
"I know."
"It's not fair to you."
"I don't care about fair." Robin caught Kaelen's wrist, held it gently, felt the pulse jumping under his thumb. "I care about you. That's it. That's the whole list."
Kaelen's eyes went bright—not tears falling, but close, the threat of them. He blinked hard and looked away, but his hand stayed in Robin's grip. "I keep having the dreams. The ones where I'm old and alone and no one remembers my name."
Robin's chest tightened. He'd known. Of course he'd known—he'd woken to Kaelen's muffled cries in the dark, had held him through the shaking, had never asked what the nightmares were because he was afraid of the answer. "Those aren't real."
"They feel real."
"I know." Robin shifted closer, his knee pressing against the bench. "But they're not. You're here. I'm here. Lucien's coming back in three weeks, and Bramble is probably eating someone's laundry right now, and you're here, Kaelen. You survived. You're still waking up."
Kaelen let out a shaky breath. "Still waking up."
"Every morning. Every single one." Robin brought Kaelen's hand to his mouth, pressed his lips to his knuckles, felt the tremor run through him. "And I'm going to be there for every single one. If you'll let me."
The silence stretched. The light shifted from amber to grey as the sun finally sank below the horizon. The fire crackled and settled.
Then Kaelen moved—slow, careful, his whole body a question—and leaned forward until his forehead rested against Robin's. Their breath mingled. Warm. Close. The world reduced to the space between them.
"Okay," Kaelen breathed. "Teach me."
Robin's eyes closed. The relief that flooded through him was so sharp it almost hurt. He kept Kaelen's hand pressed to his mouth, his forehead touching his, and let himself feel it—the weight of the week, the terror of almost losing him, the impossible, aching tenderness of this moment.
"First lesson," he said, his voice rough. "You let me carry you to bed."
Kaelen huffed a laugh, warm against Robin's lips. "That's a terrible first lesson."
"Best I've got." Robin pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're pale. You're shivering. And you're going to fall off this bench if I don't move you soon."
"I'm not—" Kaelen started, then stopped. Swallowed. Let out a breath. "Okay."
Robin's heart stuttered. He'd expected a fight. He'd been braced for one. Instead, Kaelen was looking at him with those dark blue eyes, trusting him, and the weight of that trust was heavier than any argument could have been.
"Okay," Robin repeated, just to feel the word in his mouth. Then he slid one arm behind Kaelen's back, the other under his knees, and lifted.
Kaelen made a sound—a sharp inhale, a bitten-off protest—but his arms came up around Robin's neck, his face pressing into the curve of his shoulder. He was lighter than he should have been. A week of barely eating, of burning through every reserve his body had. Robin could feel his ribs through the thin shirt, could feel the flutter of his heartbeat against his chest.
"I've got you," Robin murmured, and Kaelen's fingers tightened on the back of his neck.
The walk to the bedroom was twelve steps. Robin counted every one. The floorboard that creaked. The doorway he had to turn sideways to fit through. The narrow bed with its rumpled quilt, the pillow still dented from Kaelen's head, the faint smell of him in the linen.
He lowered Kaelen onto the mattress like he was made of glass. Careful. Reverent. His hands lingering on Kaelen's ribs as he settled him against the pillows, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric.
Kaelen's eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in deep, slow breaths—whether from exhaustion or relief, Robin couldn't tell. He started to pull his hands back, to give him space, to get him water or another blanket or anything that would give him something to do with his hands.
Kaelen's hand shot out and caught his wrist.
Robin froze.
Kaelen's eyes opened. Dark. Steady. His grip was weak—he didn't have the strength for more than that—but he held on like Robin was the only thing keeping him tethered. "Don't stop touching me," he whispered.
The words hit Robin like a physical blow. Like something cracking open in his chest that he'd been holding closed for years.
He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He just stood there, Kaelen's hand around his wrist, the pulse in his throat hammering so hard he was sure Kaelen could feel it.
Kaelen tugged. A small pull, barely any force behind it, but Robin followed like a man answering a summons. He eased onto the edge of the mattress, then lay down beside him, slow and careful, propping himself on one elbow so he didn't put any weight on Kaelen's ribs.
Kaelen's hand found his. Fingers threading together, palm against palm, a fit that felt like coming home.
"I don't know how to do this," Kaelen said, his voice rough. "I don't know how to be—held. How to need someone and not feel like I'm drowning."
Robin's hand trembled where it rested on Kaelen's chest. He could feel his heartbeat under his palm—slow, steady, alive. "You're not drowning."
"Feels like it sometimes." Kaelen turned his head on the pillow, meeting Robin's eyes. The firelight painted shadows across his face, caught the copper in his hair, made his freckles look like scattered embers. "But then you look at me, and it stops. Just for a second. The drowning stops."
Robin's breath stuttered. He pressed his palm flat against Kaelen's chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the solid truth of him. "Then I'll keep looking at you. As long as it takes."
Kaelen's hand came up, covered Robin's where it rested on his chest. His fingers were cold. His grip was gentle. "I dreamed about you."
"Good dream or bad dream?"
"I don't know." Kaelen's eyes drifted half-closed. "You were standing at the edge of a cliff. The wind was so loud I couldn't hear you, but you were saying something. Your mouth was moving. And I was trying to get to you, but the ground kept breaking apart between us."
Robin's throat tightened. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I know." Kaelen's voice was barely a whisper. "That's what scares me."
Robin didn't understand. He opened his mouth to ask, but Kaelen's hand squeezed his, and the words died in his throat.
"If I lose you," Kaelen said, his eyes still closed, "I don't think I'd survive it."
Robin leaned down, pressing his forehead to Kaelen's temple, his breath warm against his skin. "Then don't lose me."
"I'm trying."
"I know." Robin's voice cracked. "I know you are."
They lay there in the quiet. The fire shifted in the other room, casting long shadows across the ceiling. The wind picked up outside, rattling the window pane, but in here—in this narrow bed, with Kaelen's heartbeat under his palm and their breath synchronizing without meaning to—the world felt small. Safe. Ours.
Kaelen's breathing evened out. His grip on Robin's hand loosened, not letting go, just settling into the weight of it. His face relaxed, the tension bleeding out of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes seeming deeper in the firelight.
Robin watched him fall asleep. Watched the way his lips parted slightly, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched against Robin's hand like he was reaching for something even in his dreams.
He didn't move. He didn't want to.
He lay there, palm pressed to Kaelen's heart, counting each beat like a promise. One. Two. Three. Still here. Still breathing. Still waking up.
Outside, the first owl called. The moon climbed over the treeline, casting silver light through the window, pooling across the rumpled quilt. Robin shifted just enough to pull the blanket up over Kaelen's shoulders, tucking it around him like armor.
Kaelen made a small sound—not a word, just a breath—and turned toward him, his face pressing into Robin's shoulder. His hand found Robin's shirt, fisted in the fabric, held on.
Robin pressed his lips to the top of Kaelen's head. Closed his eyes. Felt the weight of him, warm and alive and here, and let himself believe, just for a moment, that they were going to be okay.
He didn't know how long they lay there. Time lost its shape in the dark, folding in on itself, each minute indistinguishable from the last. The fire burned down to embers. The moon crossed the sky. And Robin stayed, his hand on Kaelen's chest, counting heartbeats until he lost track.
When he finally drifted off, it was with Kaelen's breath warm against his neck, and the certainty that he would wake up beside him—that he would keep waking up beside him, every morning, for as long as Kaelen would let him.
Still waking. Together.
Robin woke to the grey light of pre-dawn, the fire a bed of embers casting faint orange across the ceiling. Kaelen was still pressed against him, face buried in his shoulder, breath warm and slow. His hand had slipped from Robin's chest sometime in the night, now resting limp on the pillow between them.
Robin didn't move. He lay there, memorizing the weight of Kaelen's body, the way his dark copper hair spilled across the white linen, the softness of his slack mouth. The shadows under his eyes seemed deeper in this light, bruises of exhaustion he'd been carrying for weeks.
His hand moved before he told it to. Fingers grazing Kaelen's shoulder, tracing the edge of his collarbone where it curved out from the collar of his shirt. The bone was sharp under his fingertips, too sharp—Kaelen hadn't been eating enough. But beneath the sharpness was the solid truth of him, warm skin shifting under Robin's touch.
Kaelen shivered.
Not the shiver of cold. Something deeper. A tremor that ran through his whole body, his breath catching, his hand twitching on the pillow.
Robin's fingers stilled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
Kaelen's eyes opened. Dark blue, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they found Robin's face. "You didn't." His voice was rough with sleep. "I was already—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I felt you."
The words hung in the air, charged with something neither of them named.
Robin's hand was still on his collarbone. He could feel Kaelen's pulse under his fingertips now, faster than it had been a moment ago. A different kind of tension entered the room—not the tight, protective fear of the past weeks, but something electric. Alive. Hungry.
"I was watching you sleep," Robin admitted, his voice low. "That's—that's not weird, is it?"
A ghost of a smile touched Kaelen's lips. "You've been watching me sleep for a week. You'd think I'd be used to it by now."
"That was different. That was—" Robin struggled for the word. "Vigiling. This is..."
"This is what?"
Robin's thumb traced the hollow at the base of Kaelen's throat. Felt his pulse jump. "This is me wanting to touch you. Just because I can."
Kaelen's breath stuttered. He turned his head on the pillow, fulling facing Robin, their noses inches apart. "You can."
Robin's hand slid lower, palm flattening over Kaelen's chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart. "I know." He paused. "That's the part I'm still figuring out."
Kaelen's hand came up, covering Robin's where it lay on his chest. His fingers were warmer now, his grip steadier. "Figure it out slow," he said. "We have time."
Robin's throat tightened. Time. They'd been given time. A second chance. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, but he wasn't going to waste it.
He shifted onto his side, propping himself on one elbow, looking down at Kaelen. The morning light was growing, soft and grey, filtering through the window. It caught the freckles scattered across Kaelen's nose, the slight curve of his lips, the way his dark blue eyes watched Robin like he was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Robin said quietly. "I've never—" He laughed, a short, breathless sound. "I've never wanted someone the way I want you. And I've never been this terrified of wanting."
Kaelen's hand tightened on his. "I know."
"I keep thinking about that dream you had. The cliff. The ground breaking apart." Robin's voice dropped. "I keep thinking—what if I'm the one who makes you fall?"
Kaelen shook his head, a small, firm motion. "You're not." He lifted his free hand, cupping Robin's jaw, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "You're the only thing holding me together."
Robin's eyes closed. He leaned into the touch, into the warmth of Kaelen's palm, the calluses on his fingers from years of climbing and fighting. He let himself feel it—the safety of being held by someone who knew exactly how broken he was and chose him anyway.
"Robin." Kaelen's voice was barely a whisper. "Look at me."
He opened his eyes.
Kaelen's gaze was steady, darker than the sea outside, full of something that made Robin's chest ache. "I'm not going to break," he said. "Not anymore. I'm done breaking."
Robin's hand moved, sliding up from Kaelen's chest to his neck, fingers threading into the curls at the nape of his neck. "Promise?"
"I promise."
Robin leaned down, pressing his forehead to Kaelen's. Their breath mingled, warm and slow, the space between them thick with everything unsaid.
"I want to kiss you," Robin whispered. "But I don't want to—I don't want to push. You're still healing. I don't want to—"
"Robin." Kaelen's voice was firm. "I've been waiting for you to kiss me since we were sixteen years old."
Robin's heart stopped. "What?"
Kaelen's eyes softened, a hint of old pain surfacing. "You really didn't know?"
"I—" Robin's mouth went dry. "I thought—you always seemed—"
"I was scared," Kaelen said simply. "I was scared of losing you if I said it out loud. I was scared of what it would mean. And then the lighthouse happened, and I thought I'd lost my chance."
Robin's grip on his neck tightened. "You didn't."
"I know." Kaelen's hand slid from Robin's jaw to the back of his head, fingers curling into his dark hair. "So stop overthinking and kiss me."
Robin kissed him.
It was soft at first—just the press of lips, tentative and searching. Kaelen's mouth was warm, slightly chapped, tasting of sleep and something saltier. Robin's hand cradled his jaw, tilting his head, deepening the kiss by a fraction. Kaelen sighed against his mouth, a sound of surrender that sent heat curling through Robin's chest.
He pulled back, breathless. "Was that okay?"
Kaelen's eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide. "That was—" He licked his lips. "Do that again."
Robin didn't need to be told twice.
This time, the kiss was hungrier. Robin's hand slid into Kaelen's hair, tugging gently, angling his head back. Kaelen made a low sound in his throat, his hand fisting in Robin's shirt, pulling him closer. The narrow bed creaked as Robin shifted, his weight settling half over Kaelen's body, careful not to press on his ribs.
Kaelen broke the kiss, gasping. "I can't believe—"
"What?"
"I can't believe we waited this long."
Robin laughed, the sound muffled against Kaelen's throat. "We're idiots."
"Monumental idiots."
"Catastrophic."
Kaelen's laugh was a huff of air, warm against Robin's ear. "Shut up and kiss me again."
Robin did.
The morning light brightened, painting the room in shades of grey and gold. The fire crackled as a log settled. Outside, a bird began to sing, tentative and sweet. But inside the narrow bed, the world had shrunk to two bodies, two heartbeats, and the slow, aching discovery of what they'd been denying themselves for years.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Kaelen's hand found Robin's again, fingers lacing together on the pillow between them.
"We're going to figure this out," Kaelen said, his voice rough but steady. "The prophecy. The visions. All of it. Together."
Robin pressed a kiss to his knuckles, one by one. "Together."
Kaelen's smile was small but real, the first one Robin had seen in days that reached his eyes.
"I love you," Kaelen said quietly. "I should have said it years ago. But I'm saying it now."
Robin's chest ached with the weight of it. "I love you too. I've loved you for so long I don't remember what it felt like before."
Kaelen pulled him down, tucking his face into the curve of Robin's neck, his breath warm against his skin. "Stay."
"Always."
They lay there as the sun climbed, as the cottage woke around them, as the world pressed in with all its weight. But for this moment, there was only warmth, and breath, and the quiet miracle of being wanted.
Robin's hand found the line of Kaelen's collarbone again, tracing it slowly, reverently. Kaelen shivered, but this time he smiled.
"Don't stop," he whispered.
Robin didn't.
Robin's mouth found the curve of Kaelen's throat.
It started as a question—a soft press of lips against the pulse point, barely there, testing. Kaelen's breath stuttered, his hand tightening in Robin's hair, and that was all the answer he needed.
He kissed lower, into the hollow where neck met shoulder, tasting salt and sleep and something that was just Kaelen. His tongue traced the line of his collarbone, following the path his fingers had mapped moments ago. Kaelen's hips shifted beneath him, a restless, involuntary movement that sent heat spiraling down Robin's spine.
"Robin." Kaelen's voice was wrecked. Already wrecked. They'd barely started.
"Yeah?" Robin's lips brushed against his skin as he spoke, and he felt Kaelen shiver.
"Don't—" Kaelen swallowed hard. "Don't be gentle."
The words hit Robin like a punch to the chest. He pulled back just enough to look at him—at the flush spreading across his pale cheeks, the dark hunger in those blue eyes, the way his chest rose and fell like he'd been running.
"Tell me if I hurt you."
"You won't."
"Tell me anyway."
Kaelen's hand tightened in his hair, pulling him down. Their mouths met again, and this time there was no softness, no hesitation. This was teeth and tongue and the sharp gasp of air stolen between kisses. Robin's weight settled over him, careful even in his hunger, his forearms bracketing Kaelen's ribs so he didn't press where the bruises were still healing.
Kaelen arched beneath him, a sound caught in his throat that might have been Robin's name. His fingers slid from Robin's hair down his back, dragging his shirt up, finding skin. The touch was electric—Robin's hips bucked forward involuntarily, grinding against Kaelen's thigh, and they both gasped.
"Fuck," Robin breathed against Kaelen's mouth.
"Yeah." Kaelen's laugh was broken, desperate. "Yeah, that."
Robin pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, and Kaelen's eyes traced the line of his shoulders, the scars scattered across his torso like a map of every battle he'd never talked about. His hand found the worst of them—a jagged line across Robin's ribs—and traced it with his thumb.
"I love every part of you," Kaelen said quietly. "Even the parts you hate."
Robin's throat tightened. He couldn't speak. Instead, he leaned down and kissed him again, deep and slow and full of everything he couldn't say.
Kaelen's hands worked at the ties of his own shirt, and Robin helped him pull it off, careful of his bandaged ribs. The fabric fell away, and Robin's breath caught at the sight of him—pale skin, the fading map of bruises, the sharp lines of his collarbone. He was beautiful. Broken and healing and so fucking beautiful.
"You're staring," Kaelen said, but there was no edge to it.
"I'm memorizing." Robin's hand traced down his chest, feeling the flutter of his heartbeat beneath his palm. "I spent years convincing myself I'd never get to see this. I'm not wasting a second."
Kaelen's eyes went soft, vulnerable in a way that made Robin's chest ache. He reached up and cupped Robin's jaw, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.
"You get to see it forever," he said. "As long as you want."
"Forever's not long enough."
Kaelen kissed him again, pulling him down into the warmth of the bed, and Robin let himself be pulled. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, and the heat between them was almost unbearable. Robin's hand slid down Kaelen's stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of his trousers, and Kaelen's breath hitched.
"Yeah?" Robin asked, his lips against Kaelen's ear.
"God, yes."
Robin's fingers worked at the ties, slow and deliberate, drawing out every second. Kaelen's hips lifted to meet his hands, a silent plea that made Robin's cock ache with want. He pushed the fabric down, baring Kaelen's hips, and the sight of him—half-hard already, slick at the tip, his whole body trembling with anticipation—sent a wave of heat through Robin that left him dizzy.
"Look at you," Robin murmured, his voice rough. "So fucking beautiful."
Kaelen's laugh was breathless. "Shut up and touch me."
Robin did.
His hand wrapped around Kaelen's cock, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of him against his palm. Kaelen's head fell back, a moan spilling from his lips—low and raw and desperate. Robin's thumb traced the head, spreading the slickness there, and Kaelen's hips bucked into his grip.
"Robin—"
"I know." Robin kissed his throat, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "I've got you."
He stroked him slowly, deliberately, watching every micro-expression cross Kaelen's face—the way his brow furrowed, the way his lips parted, the way his hands fisted in the sheets. Kaelen was a study in surrender, and Robin wanted to memorize every frame.
"I want to taste you," Robin said, and the words hung in the air between them.
Kaelen's eyes flew open. "What?"
"I want to taste you." Robin's hand kept moving, steady and slow. "I want to feel you come apart in my mouth. I want to hear you say my name like it's the only word you remember."
Kaelen's breath was ragged, his chest heaving. "That's—fuck, Robin."
"Is that a yes?"
Kaelen nodded, words failing him. Robin pressed a kiss to his hip, then lower, his lips tracing a path down his stomach. Kaelen's muscles tensed beneath his mouth, every touch sending a shiver through him. Robin settled between his thighs, looking up at him—at the way the morning light caught his hair, the way his hand was pressed against his own mouth, trying to stifle the sounds already building in his throat.
"Don't hide those," Robin said. "I want to hear you."
Kaelen's hand dropped. His eyes met Robin's, dark and desperate.
Robin took him in his mouth.
The sound Kaelen made was broken—a gasp and a moan and something that might have been a sob all tangled together. His hand found Robin's hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. Robin moved slowly, learning the shape of him, the taste of him—salt and heat and the faint bitterness of precum. He took him deeper, his tongue tracing the vein along the underside, and Kaelen's hips bucked.
"Fuck—Robin, I'm not gonna—"
Robin hummed around him, and Kaelen's whole body convulsed. His grip tightened in Robin's hair, his head thrown back, his throat working as he tried to form words that wouldn't come. Robin didn't stop, didn't slow, pulling him deeper into the wet heat of his mouth until Kaelen shattered.
He came with a cry—Robin's name torn from his throat like a prayer—and Robin swallowed him down, feeling every pulse of his release against his tongue. He stayed until Kaelen's hips stilled, until the trembling subsided, then pulled away slowly, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh.
Kaelen lay there, chest heaving, eyes glassy. His hand was still tangled in Robin's hair, and he tugged weakly until Robin crawled up to lie beside him.
"That was—" Kaelen started, then stopped, shaking his head.
"Good?" Robin offered, smiling.
Kaelen laughed, the sound wet and wrecked. "I don't have words. You broke them."
Robin kissed his forehead. "Good."
They lay there for a moment, catching their breath. Robin's hand traced idle patterns on Kaelen's chest, feeling the slow thrum of his heartbeat. But the heat between them hadn't faded—if anything, it had grown, a low thrum in Robin's blood that demanded more.
Kaelen must have felt it too, because he turned, pressing closer, his hand sliding down Robin's stomach, finding the waistband of his trousers.
"My turn," Kaelen said, his voice rough.
Robin's breath caught. "You're still—"
"I don't care." Kaelen's fingers found the ties, working them loose. "I want to touch you. I want to feel you fall apart for me."
Robin's hips lifted, helping him push the fabric down. Kaelen's hand wrapped around him, and Robin's vision went white for a moment. Kaelen's grip was perfect—not too tight, not too loose, his thumb tracing the head with the same reverence Robin had shown him.
"You're so hard," Kaelen murmured, almost to himself. "How long have you wanted this?"
"Years," Robin admitted, his voice breaking. "Years, Kaelen."
Kaelen's hand moved faster, and Robin's hips bucked into his grip. He was close already, wound so tight that every stroke sent electricity through his veins. Kaelen leaned down, pressing a kiss to his chest, then lower, his mouth hovering over Robin's cock.
"I want to taste you too," Kaelen said, and the words undid him.
Robin came with a groan, his release spilling across Kaelen's hand, his stomach, the sheets beneath them. Kaelen didn't stop, stroking him through it, watching his face with an expression of raw, aching tenderness.
When it was over, Robin collapsed against the mattress, pulling Kaelen into his arms. They lay there, tangled and sweaty and breathing hard, the morning light painting them gold.
"We should probably clean up," Kaelen said eventually.
"Probably." Robin didn't move.
Kaelen laughed, the sound warm against his chest. "I can't feel my legs."
"Good." Robin pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "That means I did it right."
They lay there for a long time, the world outside forgotten. The fire crackled. A bird sang. And in the narrow bed, two bodies found their way back to each other, again and again, until the sun was high and the day demanded they finally surface.
But not yet.
Not yet.