The backs of his knees hit the mattress, and he sat, pulling me down with him. His thighs bracketed mine, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, his mouth still on mine.
I pulled back slightly, breathing harder.
"We don't have to—" he started.
"I know."
"I just wanted—"
"I know."
This wasn't about escape. It was about choosing something real before the ground gave way, before three more days elapsed. It was about being together in the moment before everything got harder.
It was about trust.
I kissed him again, slower this time. I was learning the shape of his mouth and how he responded when I changed angle or pressure. His breath caught when I traced my tongue along his lower lip.
He was responsive in a way that suggested he rarely got to surrender to sensation. Most of his life was performance and control, managing how he appeared to watching eyes.
Here, in the dark, with the door locked and no cameras, he could finally be himself.
I wanted to give him that gift. Space to be honest, without consequences.
I pulled his shirt over his head. He raised his arms and let me remove it, then immediately reached for mine.
Rune's hands burned softly against my skin as he pushed my shirt up and off. He looked at me, palms flat against my bare chest.
"You're so careful," he murmured. "Even now."
"Old habits."
"I don't want you to be careful with me. Tonight, I want honesty."
I understood. He wanted to be treated like someone who could handle intensity.
I kissed him harder. He responded immediately. His mouth opened wider, and he gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. I caught his lower lip between my teeth, and he lost control of his breathing.
As I pushed him back onto the bed, I followed him down, my weight settling over him. He wrapped one leg around my hip, pulling our bodies flush together. He was already hard through the thin barrier of clothing between us.
I ground against him, watching his face. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. I kissed down the length of it as his pulse raced under my lips, tasting salt and a faint sweetness.
His fingers worked at my belt with intent. We shed the rest of our clothes in silence, skin to skin..
"Griffin," Rune said quietly.
I kissed him again, slower now, taking my time. I slid a hand down his side, exploring the structure of his ribs and hip bone, the places where taut muscle gave way to softer skin. He was lean and more solid than he appeared onstage.
When I wrapped my hand around his cock shaft, a sound slipped out of him, soft and unplanned, and he pushed up into my grip. With his hand, he guided me, demonstrating the pressure and rhythm he wanted. He actively took part in his own pleasure.
I watched his face as I touched him. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open. Every careful mask he wore dissolved into something raw and unguarded.
Mine.
The word arrived without permission. It wasn't possessive. It acknowledged what we shared, if only for a moment.
"Wait," he said suddenly, breathless. "Wait, I want—"
He pushed my shoulder, and I moved immediately, giving him space. He repositioned himself so that we were lying side by side, facing each other.
