The rain clung to the glass like fingers too afraid to knock, each droplet a quiet echo of a storm neither of them wanted to name. Riven stood at the edge of the massive window in Cassian's penthouse, his reflection faint, haunted—like a ghost waiting for permission to stay.
Cassian leaned against the doorframe behind him, shirt unbuttoned, chest rising and falling with the weight of things unsaid. The silence between them was not empty; it pulsed. Heavy. Heated. Tense. There were no apologies in it, only the quiet knowledge that their fire hadn't burned out—it had merely been waiting for oxygen.
"You're still here," Cassian said, his voice low, rough with sleep and resentment.
Riven didn't turn. "Should I have left?"
Cassian walked closer, slow, measured steps that made Riven's spine tighten. "I wouldn't have stopped you."
"But you would've followed."
Cassian smirked darkly. "And dragged you back by the collar if I had to."
Finally, Riven turned, eyes catching Cassian's. A flicker passed between them—an unspoken dare. The air ignited.
"I'm not your prisoner," Riven murmured.
"No," Cassian said, stepping into his space. "You're worse. You're my addiction."
In a blur, Cassian gripped Riven's jaw, tilting his face up. His lips brushed his once—just once—before devouring him like a man starved. Riven didn't resist. Couldn't. It was always like this—love wrapped in violence, desire tangled with control. Their bodies spoke louder than their mouths ever could.
Clothes came off in a trail toward the bedroom—jacket, shirt, belt, everything discarded like it meant nothing. Riven's back hit the sheets with a gasp, Cassian's weight grounding him, pinning him to the moment. Hands roamed with practiced ownership, relearning scars, claiming new skin.
Cassian's mouth was fire, tongue tracing every curve like a map of things he refused to lose again. "Tell me you're mine," he whispered against Riven's neck, biting down—not gentle.
Riven arched, nails raking Cassian's back. "I never stopped being."
But there was something different now. Every kiss tasted of desperation. Every grip held too long, too tight. As if both knew this could burn them alive again—and neither cared.
Cassian's mouth dropped to Riven's chest, slow and heated, working his way down until Riven was trembling beneath him. They moved together, not just to feel, but to remember. And forget. And claim. And beg.
Later, limbs tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, Riven lay on his side, facing the man who both wrecked and remade him.
"Do you still hate me?" he whispered.
Cassian's fingers ran through his damp hair. "I hate how much I want you. Does that count?"
Riven exhaled shakily. "Then we're both damned."
Cassian's lips brushed his temple. "Good. We'll burn together."
Outside, the storm passed. Inside, the fire had only just begun to rise again.