Jassyn slid his palms up the planes of Lykor’s chest, fingers weaving through sleep-tousled hair to haul him closer, every unspoken thing straining between their bodies. He leaned in, deepening the kiss.
For the first time in decades, he needed to know what it felt like to be touched without being taken. To be claimed in the ways that were right. And he wanted all of this with Lykor.
The wildness.
The forgetting.
The choosing.
The fall.
The fire inside his chest flared, and Jassyn didn’t fight the shift. Wings tore free from his spine, shredding through his nightshirt as the membranes spread against the wall.
Lykor growled into his mouth, and that feral sound obliterated the last of Jassyn’s restraint. He grabbed Lykor’s hips and twisted, driving them both into a hard pivot.
They crashed into an end table, toppling it with a splintering crack, the sound lost beneath the roar in his blood.
Breath tearing loose, he kissed Lykor as he steered him across the sitting room. They tripped over an edge of the rug and spilled into the couch. Cushions sagged beneath them as Lykor landed on his back with a low grunt.
Jassyn followed, settling over him, wings flaring wide as he braced one arm beside Lykor’s head and planted a hand on Lykor’s chest, feeling a frantic heartbeat thudding against his palm.
Then Jassyn kissed him again, slower and deeper, each press of his mouth a vow, choosing Lykor again and again, until nothing else in the world existed.
An answering snarl built in Lykor’s throat, dark and edged with hunger held on a fraying leash. His talons hooked in what remained of Jassyn’s shirt, slicing through the fabric in a single ruthless motion.
Flinging the scraps aside, Lykor bracketed his ribs, hot fingers digging in, and Jassyn ignited. Heat shimmered off his wings in wavering currents, curling into faint threads of smoke. Fire rippled through his veins in a molten wave, orbs of flame gathering between his wing claws.
Through the haze of wanting as Lykor’s mouth dragged a groan from his throat, Jassyn wrestled the beastblood for some semblance of control. Gritting his teeth, he curled the ravenous magic inward, smothering the blaze before it could leap free and scorch the couch.
Catching his breath, he rolled their hips together in a long, dragging grind that stole the air right back from his lungs. Their bodies collided again, heat searing through the last useless barrier of cloth, pressing want to want.
Desire flooded Jassyn’s chest in a white-hot rush, burning away the remnants of shame until only wild need remained.
Lykor suddenly stilled beneath him and Jassyn drew his mouth away just enough to look. Lykor’s eyes were already onhim, wide and glowing, a dark flush climbing the sharp line of his cheekbones. He blinked once, breath leaving him in a ragged huff.
“That was…” Lykor rasped, voice deep like swallowed thunder. “Fuck. I came here to talk.”
Only then did Jassyn register the way he had Lykor pinned breathless beneath him, his wings spread in a possessive sweep.
A shiver ran the length of his spine as he shifted back, reining himself in before he forgot how. But he didn’t move or climb off Lykor. Didn’t pretend he hadn’t kissed him like a male trying to rewrite every regret he’d ever carried.
“You’re the one who barged in and distracted me before we could,” Jassyn murmured, aiming for levity, though his voice stumbled.
Lykor arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Did I?” His hand slid up Jassyn’s side, then down again slowly, hesitant and unexpectedly gentle.
Heat prickled down Jassyn’s neck at the rare sight of Lykor’s guard slipping, a fleeting openness that felt tender. His heart kicked hard beneath his ribs, faster now than it had at any point during the kiss. As if this nearness—this unarmored space between them—was the true undoing.
“I’m not complaining,” Jassyn said, softer now.
Lykor’s grip settled on Jassyn’s hips, but no words followed.
Jassyn didn’t lean in again or chase another kiss, even though reaching for more would’ve been easier than dwelling in the quiet. Instead, he let himself take Lykor in—the hair clinging to his face, the fire still bright in his eyes, the uneven pull of his breath struggling to find its rhythm.
And maybe it was that stillness, the way Lykor hadn’t rebuilt the walls the kiss had cracked open, that finally gave Jassyn the courage to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I hurt you, and I deserve whatever you feel toward me. But staying away didn’t fix anything. It just felt like I was coming undone in places I didn’t know how to mend.”
Lykor didn’t answer. He only watched him, eyes flaring in a silence sharp enough to draw blood.
