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“Teach me.”
We’ve been standing here in my room for hours now, restoring the Noctis while moonlight spills across black lacquer and tarnished silver detailing that looks older than half the academy itself. The curtains shift softly in the night breeze, and a bottle of whiskey sits open between us with two abandoned glasses beside scattered tools and dust-covered cloths.
Rowan is still focused on the bow, a small crease between his brows as he studies it with complete concentration. He hasn’t stopped touching the instrument since we brought it back to the mansion, and I haven’t stopped watching him.
Finally he looks up, blinking slowly as if only now registering my words. “What?”
“I said teach me.” I gesture toward the Noctis. “Mom gave up after three lessons. Maybe you won’t.”
A snort escapes him, but he keeps staring at me like he’s trying to decide whether I’m serious.
“I’ll sit here.” I drop into the chair and spread my legs comfortably, grinning when I catch his eyes flicking toward the bulge pressing against my pants before jerking back up to my face.
Light. I’m already hard. Apparently the combination of Rowan, whiskey, and watching him obsess over the Noctis is enough to wreck my self-control.
Rowan hesitates, adjusting his grip on the bow before looking back at me. Something cautious passes across his face which, frankly, only makes me want him more. “You’re impossible,” he mutters.
“And yet you keep ending up in my bed.” My mouth lifts before my gaze drifts back toward the Noctis between us. “I could ask whether this thing is part of whatever the hell you came to Sero looking for.”
“I...” He stops, the word dying in his throat.
My grin fades. “Or whether it has something to do with whoever was following you.”
His eyes drop to the Noctis resting between his hands, thumb sliding slowly across the dark wood before lifting back to me. “Don’t do this tonight.”
I hold his gaze. “Perhaps you’re right. If I start tonight, I’m probably not going to stop. Now come here, mouse, and teach me how to play this instrument. After all, it’s yours now.”
Heat flashes across his face before he finally crosses the room toward me, the oversized sleeves of my shirt hanging over his hands while moonlight catches softly against his hair.
Fuck me, I could watch him walk around my room forever.
Rowan steps directly between my spread legs and carefully hands me the Noctis first, treating it with almost painful reverence as I settle the instrument awkwardly against myself.
He rolls his eyes, but I catch the corner of his mouth twitching before he steps behind me instead. The second his body brushes against my back, my brain stops cooperating.
Rowan reaches around me slowly, one hand covering mine against the neck of the Noctis while the other adjusts my grip on the bow with impossible patience. “Relax your wrist,” he murmurs near my ear.
I don’t think he realizes what the fuck that voice does to me. Or maybe he does.
His fingers slide carefully between mine, guiding the movement inch by inch until the bow finally settles properly against the strings, and all I can focus on is the warmth of his chest against my back and the soft concentration in his breathing every time he moves my hands.
“Like this.”
My heartbeat stutters when his mouth nearly brushes my throat, and my voice is rough when I say, “Mouse, I’m already so fucking hard, and we haven’t even started.”
“Stop,” he breathes, the command undermined by the way his body gives in to the proximity. He goes still behind me, and then I feel his heartbeat stumble against my back.
For a second, neither of us moves. The bow slips against the strings, pulling a low, unsteady note from the Noctis that hangs between us in the twilight of my room.
Rowan exhales shakily behind me. He tightens his fingers over mine and guides the movement slower this time, and another note unfurls through the room, smoother now, deeper, its resonance lingering long after the sound itself fades away.
He reaches around me again, fingertips brushing over the side of the Noctis before adjusting something near the pedal assembly. “Easy. Luneth hates it when people push too hard on the left side.”
He freezes, heat already crawling up his neck like he knows exactly what he just said. But I heard him loud and fucking clear, and nothing, not even his pouty mouth, can stop the smirk pulling at my face.
“Mouse. Did you just call the Noctis Luneth?”
“No.” He shakes his head, cheeks still flushed.
