Heat punched through him before his mind could catch up. His cock hardened without permission, mortification striking with the same swift violence.
Lykor tensed, shame spiking through every nerve. He nearly shoved Jassyn away, convinced he’d already ruined the moment.
But Jassyn moved closer.
The nearness stopped him cold.
And then he felt it—felt Jassyn hard against him, trembling. Just as undone by this as he was.
The relief hit like a blow. That it wasn’t justhim.
A low sound slipped between them—half groan, maybe a growl—and Lykor didn’t realize it was his until Jassyn’s hipsground down in a shock of friction that sent a bolt of pleasure racing straight up his spine.
Jassyn’s mouth returned to his, coaxing and claiming, each kiss landing with ruinous precision. But he must’ve felt the tension in Lykor’s stillness, the way his hands hadn’t budged from where Jassyn had first set them. His voice came next in a whisper against Lykor’s mouth.
“You can touch me,” he murmured, palms gliding up Lykor’s ribs. “If you want.”
The invitation detonated inside him. Lykor’s throat seized around a wrecked sound, too close to a whimper to hide.
“I haven’t…” he rasped, voice fraying.
The rest jammed in his throat. He’d never done this. Had no instincts to fall back on. No sense of where to put hands that felt like weapons, too dangerous to trust. One wrong touch might cross a line Jassyn still carried and Lykor would never forgive himself.
Jassyn eased back just enough for Lykor to see him clearly. Starlight spilled across his features—eyes widening, scar silvered on his cheek, breath catching in a soft hitch.
Lykor wanted to drag the words back into his mouth and choke on the humiliation before Jassyn could read it for what it was.
“You haven’t?” Jassyn asked. “Is this…too much?”
Panic slashed through him when Jassyn’s weight began to lift and retreat.
Lykor didn’t think. He seized Jassyn’s hips and hauled him back down into his lap. Graceless. Desperate.
“No,” he growled, lips brushing Jassyn’s throat. “It’s not too much.”
Dragging in a shuddering breath, Lykor buried his face in the curve of Jassyn’s shoulder. “I just…” He swallowed, whollygutted as silence braided around their uneven breathing. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Jassyn’s fingers slipped into his hair, gentle and reassuring. Lykor nearly broke for the kindness he had no map for.
“Aesar and Kal…” he began, the admission scraping its way out. “I know they…” He winced. “I stay out of it. I’ve never looked in those memories. I don’t—stars, I don’t want to see that.”
Heat climbed his throat, hotter than any fire Jassyn could summon.
“But I know the mechanics,” Lykor mumbled, trying to claw back a shred of dignity he didn’t possess. “I’ve caught wraith desecrating every stars-forsaken crevice in our fortress. You wouldn’t believe—”
He cut himself off. If he looked up—if he found even a flicker of softness in Jassyn’s eyes—he’d break open. His ribs cinched tighter, each inhale snagging in his chest.
And when the silence stretched too far, when Lykor thought it might crush him completely, Jassyn released a breathless sound. A quiet chuckle, all warmth and no mockery, melting straight through the fractures Lykor tried to hide.
That was what finally gave him courage to lift his gaze.
Jassyn didn’t look away.
Lykor’s grip tightened reflexively at Jassyn’s hips. He shut his eyes for a beat, hauling air into lungs that barely seemed to inflate anymore.
“Will you show me?” he managed, his voice low and hoarse, silently pleading he wouldn’t fumble the moment beyond repair. “With whatever you’re comfortable with?”
Jassyn didn’t hesitate when he reached for him.
