"What if the expectations are wrong?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
I chose my next words carefully, aware that we were approaching territory that could change everything between us. "What if compatibility isn't about conforming to traditional roles? What if it's about discovering what actually works for the people involved?"
Rion was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the moving water. "That sounds dangerous.”
“Sounds like common sense." The certainty in my voice surprised me. "Rion, when you imagine our joining—not the ceremony, not the formal aspects, but the actual intimacy—what feels right to you?"
Silence stretched between us, filled with the gentle music of moving water and the weight of a questionthat demanded honesty neither of us was certain we could afford. I watched Rion's face in the moonlight, saw the conflict there—desire warring with duty, authenticity fighting against years of conditioning.
"I imagine..." he began, then stopped, jaw clenching with the effort of forcing out words that felt like confession. "I imagine someone taking care of me. Making decisions so I don't have to. Telling me what they want, what they need, so I can focus on providing it rather than trying to guess."
The admission was barely above a whisper, but it hit me with the force of revelation. Everything clicked into place—his discomfort with expected dominance, the way he'd relaxed when I'd guided our conversation the previous night, the relief I'd sensed when I'd taken charge of small decisions.
"And that terrifies you," I said gently.
"It's the opposite of everything I'm supposed to be." His voice was rough with self-recrimination. "A militant who wants to follow rather than lead. A warrior who finds peace in surrender rather than victory."
"It's honest," I corrected. "And honesty is the foundation of any real bond."
Something shifted in the air between us, a charge building like the moment before lightning strikes. I felt my own certainty crystallizing, dominant instincts rising to meet his need with startling clarity.
"I want to kiss you," I said.
The words emerged with quiet authority that surprised us both. Not a question or request, but astatement of intent that left no doubt about who was making the decision.
Rion's eyes widened, his breath catching audibly. "But we're not bonded yet. The protocols?—"
"Protocols are for the ceremony," I interrupted, shifting closer on our stone seat. "This is just us. Just truth."
"But tradition says?—"
"Tradition says many things that have nothing to do with what we actually need from each other." I reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, and cupped his face gently in my palm. "Bonds are about connection, not ceremony. About recognizing what's real between two people rather than performing roles someone else designed."
His skin was warm beneath my touch, and I felt him tremble slightly—not with fear, but with something that looked like relief. As if he'd been holding his breath for years and finally had permission to exhale.
"Kaelen," he whispered, and my name on his lips sounded like prayer.
"Trust me," I said, and leaned in.
The first touch of our lips was soft, tentative—a question rather than a demand. But when Rion sighed against my mouth and leaned into the contact rather than away, something ignited between us. The kiss deepened naturally, his lips parting under mine with a surrender so complete it made my head spin.
He tasted like moonlight and possibility, like secrets shared in darkness and the sweetness of figs stolen from hidden groves. When my tongue sweptacross his lower lip, he made a small sound of pleasure that went straight to my cock, and suddenly the night air felt too warm, my skin too tight.
I pulled back just enough to see his face, noting the way his pupils had dilated, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the kiss-bruised softness of his mouth.
"That felt right," I said.
"Yes," he breathed. "More right than anything has felt in years."
The heat building between us was becoming impossible to ignore—not just desire, though that was certainly present, but something deeper. The fire of recognition, of pieces clicking into place to form a picture that finally made sense.
"We should cool down," I said, though my voice came out rough with wanting.
Rion's gaze flicked toward the stream, then back to my face. Understanding passed between us without need for words.
We undressed slowly, separately, each of us maintaining the pretense of discretion while stealing glances that grew bolder with each discarded garment. When Rion'sseretcame off, revealing the lean muscle of his torso, I had to grip the stone beneath me to keep from reaching for him.
