"Liar." But there's no heat in the word, only fond affection that makes Bellamy's heart race with impossible hope.
Ivah's hand slides from his face to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls Bellamy closer. Kneeling on the cold stone floor of the throne room, they're finally at the same height, and Bellamy can see nothing but the depths of those dark eyes.
"Try again," Ivah whispers, his thumb still tracing patterns across Bellamy's lips.
The gentle command, the warmth in those eyes, the intoxicating proximity—it all combines to shatter the last of Bellamy's defenses. If this is manipulation, if this is all part of some elaborate game, then he's already lost completely.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he admits, the words steadier than he feels. "I know I shouldn't have come, I know this is madness, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. I had to see you."
"Good." Ivah's smile is soft, genuine, completely unlike the sharp grins he'd worn in front of his guards. "Because I haven't been able to think about anything else."
When their lips meet, it's with desperate hunger and overwhelming relief. Bellamy responds eagerly, his freed hands fisting in Ivah's tunic, pulling him closer despite their awkward position on the stone floor. All his fears, all his doubts, all his terror that he'd been played for a fool—it all melts away under the fierce certainty of Ivah's kiss.
It was real. Whatever this is between them, however impossible and dangerous and utterly insane—it's real.
When they finally break apart, both breathing hard, Ivah's eyes are dark with desire and something deeper, something that makes Bellamy feel like he might actually matter to this man.
Ivah pulls back and rises to his feet, then reaches down to help Bellamy up. But when Bellamy tries to stand, his legs are unsteady—whether from the long ride, the emotional turmoil, or the overwhelming relief of Ivah's presence, he can't tell. He sways forward, pressing against Ivah's solid warmth, almost unable to remain upright without the support of that strong body.
Ivah's arms come around him immediately, steadying him, holding him close.
"Follow me," Ivah says, his voice rough with emotion as he keeps one arm around Bellamy's waist.
This time, Bellamy follows without hesitation. He's crossed the line now, committed himself completely to whatever this is between them.He doesn't need to catalog guard positions or note potential weaknesses—all he needs is to stay close to the man who just proved that his heart hadn't led him astray after all.
He doesn't dare breathe properly until they reach a heavy wooden door and Ivah ushers him inside, closing and barring it behind them. Bellamy turns around before Ivah can get any further into the room and crowds into his space, backing him against the door they just closed.
Ivah's back hits the wood and his eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then his hands are coming up to cup the sides of Bellamy's face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones with infinite gentleness. Before either of them can say anything, Bellamy is pushing up on his toes and licking his way into Ivah's mouth.
He's never had anyone kiss him the way Ivah does. Like he can take him apart piece by piece with just the gentle slide of his tongue, like he has all the time in the world to learn exactly what makes Bellamy gasp and melt against him. Ivah cradles his face like he's something precious, something that might break if handled roughly, and opens up against him like he's welcoming every breath Bellamy takes.
Ivah's body is a hard line against Bellamy's softer one—all muscle and strength and barely restrained power that Bellamy can feel thrumming under his skin. Bellamy rucks up Ivah's tunic with shaking hands and finally, finally gets to touch the skin he's been dreaming about since the first time. Ivah's body is a work of art, handcrafted by countless hours on the battlefield, and Bellamy wants to worship it with his hands for as long as Ivah will let him.
Ivah makes a soft sound against Bellamy's mouth when Bellamy's fingers trace the defined lines of his stomach, and the sound goesstraight to Bellamy's head like the strongest wine he's ever tasted. Ivah leans forward into the kiss, pushing off against the door, and then his hands are on Bellamy's shoulders, strong and sure, guiding him until their positions are reversed.
The door is hard against Bellamy's back, and he winds his hands up Ivah's chest, mapping the solid warmth of him, over his shoulders and around his neck. Ivah is tall enough that Bellamy has to stretch to reach, but Ivah bends down to meet him halfway, making sure Bellamy doesn't have to strain for what he wants.
Ivah pulls back just enough to press a soft kiss to Bellamy's chin, his breath warm against Bellamy's skin. "You are more beautiful than I remember," he says.
Bellamy swallows thickly, caught up in the intensity of Ivah's eyes, the way Ivah is looking at him like he's the most important thing in the world. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't even get a chance to start before Ivah is kissing him again. Bellamy has to kiss him back, and keep kissing him, maybe never stop. Ivah is so warm against him, still holding Bellamy against the door like he's something worth protecting, and he's the only thing keeping Bellamy from sliding to his knees with the overwhelming intensity of want coursing through him.
Bellamy feels like he's burning up from the inside, heat building and spreading through his entire body the longer they continue to kiss. Every touch of Ivah's hands, every soft sound Ivah makes, every gentle bite to Bellamy's lower lip sends sparks racing along his nerve endings.
Ivah's hands find the hem of Bellamy's tunic and he tugs it up slowly, giving Bellamy plenty of time to object. When Bellamy onlylifts his arms to help, Ivah pulls it off completely and lets it fall to the floor.
Then Ivah is pulling his own shirt off, and Bellamy's breath catches in his throat because he's seen Ivah’s chest before— but never like this. Never with permission to look, to touch, to appreciate the way the late afternoon light from the window highlights every line and curve of Ivah's torso.
"I want—" Ivah starts, then seems to change his mind about what he was going to ask. Instead, he leans down to press a kiss to the hollow of Bellamy's throat, right at his pulse point, and Bellamy's head falls back against the door with a soft thud.
"Yes," Bellamy breathes, not even sure what he's agreeing to, just knowing that whatever Ivah wants to do to him, Bellamy wants it too. "Yes, whatever you want."
Ivah lifts his head to look at him, eyes dark with want but still careful, still checking. "What I want is to make you feel good," he says simply. "What I want is to take my time with you, learn what you like. If you'll let me."
Bellamy's heart does something complicated in his chest, desire and gratitude all tangling together until he can barely breathe. "Ivah," he manages, and then he's pulling Ivah down for another kiss because words aren't enough for what he's feeling.
This time when Ivah presses closer, Bellamy can feel more of him—the warmth of his bare skin, the way his breathing has quickened, the careful way he holds himself like he's trying not to overwhelm Bellamy with his size and strength. Bellamy wants to tell him that he doesn't need to be quite so careful, that Bellamy trusts him completely, but Ivah seems to understand anyway.
Ivah's hands map the new skin he's revealed, fingers tracing patterns across Bellamy's chest and sides like he's memorizing every inch. When his thumb brushes across Bellamy's nipple, Bellamy gasps and arches against him, and Ivah makes that soft sound again, the one that makes Bellamy feel like he's coming apart at the seams.
