Hi again! Hope you enjoyed part 1. I'm impatient as hell, so things are already heating up in the bed chamber! Enjoy!
As the heavy door shuts behind Kyan, the room falls silent, save for the soft ticking of the mantel clock. Nate's legs almost give out beneath him, his heart pounding like a military procession in his ears. He clutches the table's edge, his knuckles white, trying to steady his breathing.
He had imagined many things over the years--many stolen glances and fleeting touches--but nothing quite like this. Nothing quite like Kyan's lips against his or the intensity in the prince's gaze as if nothing else mattered but the space between them. Or lack of it. Nate's chest tightens painfully at the thought, his mind racing between elation and sheer terror.
This isn't real, he tells himself, but his body betrays him. His lips are still tingling from the kiss, his tongue still electric in his mouth where it had tangled with Kyan's, his skin still flushed where he'd touched him. The warmth of Kyan's arm around his waist, the taste of his mouth--it all burns through him like wildfire.
Nate paces the room, his feet nearly silent on the plush rug. He clenches his hands, then opens them again, shaking them out as if trying to rid himself of the feelings bubbling under his skin. "You're an idiot, Nate," he mutters under his breath. "A fucking idiot. He's the prince--the prince. And he's getting betrothed in hours." He's... he's everything you can't have, he doesn't say out loud.
But it's no use. The words echo hollowly in the vast room, and the loneliness seeps in like a fog. No matter how many times he tells himself that nothing can happen between them, the memory of Kyan's closeness pushes those thoughts aside, leaving behind only the yearning. Nate grunts, slapping himself across the cheek with a blunt crack, muffled by thick rugs and curtains in the otherwise stone room. He collects the leftovers of their breakfast, piling it up on the platter and returning the cover. He returns the unchosen jewellery to the various racks and hooks, and takes to wiping down the mirror. Anything to distract him, anything to hold back the panic and longing boiling in his stomach.
Nate suddenly had this dark paranoia, a large, evil thing that barreled towards him from the unknowable future. His breath is ragged as he busies himself meaninglessly with cleaning and tidying. His eyes burn.
When there's nothing left to tidy, he slides down a corner of the room, hugging his knees to his chest and breathing as deeply as he can to abate whatever hysteria had him in its grasp. He closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, and after an amount of time he couldn't possibly measure, he stands, finding his breathing slowed, even. The shadows cast by the light of the window had moved, so time had in fact passed.
Kyan's scent still lingers in the room--a mixture of fresh linens, woodsy oils, and something uniquely Kyan. Nate turns his head, and his gaze lands on Kyan's enormous bed, the silken sheets still tousled from where the prince had slept just an hour earlier. The sight of it--the mundane, unmade bed--is like a punch to the gut. The longing overwhelms him.
Almost without thinking, Nate finds himself moving toward it. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, the sheets soft under his palms, and the scent of Kyan hits him all at once--comforting and dizzying. He closes his eyes, fingers brushing against the rumpled fabric.
He lays back, rolling his face into the pillow, breathing in Kyan's scent. It's intoxicating, and Nate feels the front of his pants tighten as blood rushes from his brain. The feel of Kyan's lips, the years of unspoken feelings--it all crashes over him like a wave, drowning his sense of restraint.
Slowly, hesitantly, Nate shifts, sitting upright with his legs bent and his back resting on the pillows. His hand drifts downward, fingers tracing lightly over the front of his trousers. He closes his eyes, letting his mind drift back to the kiss--how Kyan's lips had felt, how his hands had roamed over Nate's back, pulling him closer.
Nate moans as he pushes against his bulge more firmly. His breathing quickens, his hand slipping under the fabric pulling his throbbing dick free of its restraint, and he lets out a shaky breath. The sensation is almost painful in its intensity, but he can't stop. Not now. Not when every nerve in his body screams for release.
Nate's eyes are squeezed shut, his movements slow and deliberate, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He's too far gone to hear the door creak open. Too far gone to notice the figure that enters silently.
"Kyan..." Nate whines, sliding his hand up and down his shaft, so aroused by his own memory and imagination that precum leaks down his length.
"Nate?"
The voice, soft and disbelieving, cuts through the haze, freezing Nate where he lies. His eyes snap open, his breath catching in his throat. Prince Kyan stands in the doorway, his expression one of shock, his eyes wide, lips parted as if he doesn't quite know what he's seeing.
Nate sits quickly upright, his heart leaping into his throat, panic flooding his veins. He tries to shove his dick away, tries to sit up properly, but his limbs feel heavy and clumsy. "My--my lord, I--" He doesn't know what to say, words caught between an apology and an explanation that won't come.
But Kyan's gaze is riveted on him, and for a long, breathless moment, neither of them moves. The air between them is thick, electric, and Nate's entire body burns with embarrassment and longing all at once.
Kyan takes a step forward, then another, his eyes darkening as they move over Nate's flushed face, his heaving chest. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and Kyan's lips curve into a small, almost hungry smile.
