The black fur slides freely under his fingers - soft, silky, warmed by the sunlight, the heat of the body and his own hands. The spicy aroma of cinnamon tickles his nose and it’s echoed by the coffee astringency - at the very tip of the tongue, with which he, teasingly, touches the inviting parted lips, leaving a particle of his own scent. Mint and pine - is that what he says?

Sensitive ears catch a quiet sigh filled with anticipation. Uncovered, but still restrained, not sure that it should be shown, that now is the right moment, that this is not a fleeting, meaningless touch. In this sigh there is a hope for continuation, a thirst for more, an unspoken request to go further. In this sigh is the desire to possess.

And he is ready to follow it.

He leans closer and touches the soft lips with his tongue again. Closing his eyes, he gently falls into the kiss, allowing to penetrate his own mouth, thus inviting and accepting the rules of the game. Openness and obedience are still unusual for him, so a fleeting burst of adrenaline shoots him when he suddenly finds himself on the ground and thin grasses dig into his back through the nap of the blanket. He catches his breath and freezes for a second, but even this is enough and the kiss suddenly breaks off.

“Everything’s fine? Should I stop?” Anxious ruby ​​eyes look at him with a question and worry, and he mentally scolds himself for an involuntary hitch.

“Don't even think,” he assures, reaching out, “I've been waiting for this all day.”

His words make the desired effect - the anxiety disappears, immediately replaced by that special look, intended only for him, from which his knees buckle every time and his legs literally give up. No one else can look at him with such an open promise, almost a threat to deliver all imaginable and inconceivable pleasure. And, oh gods, every time he surrenders with delight.

The lips touch the lips again, and a moan breaks out as the hot body gets close, pressing him to the ground. In response, he shamelessly spreads his legs, clasps them on the dark back and makes a dash towards - thighs to thighs, groin to groin - warming up the already heated breath, which shifts to his neck.

“I would take you right now.” Sharp fangs bite his skin, and the vibration from this muffled roar sends a wave of goosebumps along his body.

“So what's the problem?” he teases with a grin, “You know,” he whispers in the ear, which almost deliberately ended up near his mouth, “I always have lube with me.”

“Fuck,” a hoarse half-growl half-moan and the oncoming movement of the hips signal that he is almost at the goal, “If you're joking like that…”

“No jokes,” so only the final touch remains, and he slowly licks the tip of the dark ear and whispers hotly into it, “Take me.”

He got his way. The fingers squeeze the fur on his sides harder, the breath on the neck is interrupted for a moment, and then they meet again with gazes, and in the crimson red eyes there is a fire, there is a primeval storm, and he is at the epicenter, in the very heart of the hurricane that is about to take him away if he stays in place. But he himself was the one who awakened it, so the challenge is accepted, and he rushes forward without hesitation, towards the raging element that, no longer holding back, bites into him with a thousand touches and kisses.

Of course, tenderness and affection are in priority, but sometimes he wants it like this - abruptly, unrestrained, rough, as after a dangerous battle, when on a wave of adrenaline you don’t pay attention to hicks and bites, because they are only confirmation of concern, signs of belonging, marks of possession, that each time remind: "You are mine", meaning: "Please, don’t leave me," and this is a selfish feeling that he is the only one who is worthy to wear them, with which he cannot do anything and wants to experience over and over again. Even on calm days like today. Especially on such calm days.

Someone might think that he is addicted. That he fell victim to his own body, which simply doesn’t know what it’s like to not live on the edge. Someone could say that he lost his mind, and it’s crazy to offer yourself so willingly when all that you live for and believe in is freedom. Someone could remind that the one to whom he entrusts himself, in spite of everything, was and will be his main rival, striving to prove superiority in everything.

All of them would have laughed in their faces.

Because yes, he is addicted, he is insane, he has lost, but does at least one of them know what that loss was worth? What exactly did he get in return and how sweet the taste of defeat is? Do they know how long the path was from mutual hatred and contempt, to the restrained respect and hidden interest that replaced them, which ultimately led to something more, through a series of denials of their own feelings and hopes for a response? How long he waited and how much effort was made to make it clear, to convince, to break through the deliberate detachment and feigned cold to that small spark which craved a reciprocal warmth, and how carefully he had to fan it to full fire, sharing only a small part of what he could offer, to not inadvertently extinguish by the pressure of his own passion?

And how wonderful it is to burn now. Together.

“If you don’t get the lube right now, I’ll fuck you dry.”

The menacing warning unceremoniously rips him out of his thoughts, forcing him to chuckle. No, no matter how long he keeps waiting, no matter how much patience he tries, it won’t come to this: for all their mutual love for thrills, compulsion and pain are the last things they wish for each other, never going beyond the invisible line that at first glance, might seem easily surmountable for both of them. A little more strength, a little more speed - the edge is always close, but they skillfully avoid it, each time passing an inch from the abyss, falling into which they would destroy the fragile trust that has been established between them. And which they do not want to lose.

“Why such a rush?” He can't resist a tease, taking out an inconspicuous bottle from the quills, and, like a bait, swinging it aside before it is impatiently torn from his hands.

“We're outside if you didn't notice,” the cap clicks openly, and after a moment he feels a viscous cold on the fingers touching the entrance, which immediately slide inside, pulling out a sharp sigh from him.

“And miles away from a- ah!” he doesn’t hold back a moan when they bend exactly in the right place, “Any city,” he continues with a gasp, arching towards another greedy kiss on the neck, “I didn’t choose this place for nothing.”

“So you were going to seduce me from the very beginning?” a deceptively displeased rumbling, with the low notes he likes so much, accompanies the third finger that has penetrated inside, and he bites his lip with impatience.

“Don’t see you’re against it,” he squeezes out on the last volitional effort, but then the fingers make another push, and he can’t hold it anymore, “Come on already, damn it!”

He doesn't have to ask twice. A second - and the moist emptiness, abandoned by the previous invaders, is occupied by a new heat that slides inside in a single, sharp impulse, and he moans in a long, loud voice, not afraid to be heard by anyone else, because this moan is only for the two of them, only for him, and the only one who can overhear them is the wind. No one will interfere, no one will interrupt their defiantly daring dance in the open air, by which they defy common sense and cold logic, as always taking a rash risk for the sake of thrill. Addiction? Madness? Yes, a thousand times yes! But also…

This is how he feels alive.

Skin to skin, heart to heart, one for two air, one for two heat: they move in a single rhythm, in unison of moans, in the resonance of bodies trembling in impatience, and all this - that recently seemed an impossibly distant, crazy dream - fills him with completely new will to live. Not only for himself, not only for others, not only for the whole world.

But also for him.

And for the sake of these moments of solitude at the edge of the world, belonging only to the two of them.

Hot breath becomes ragged, movements - more and more abrupt, and he realizes that the end is approaching, which is no longer in his power to postpone.

“Hold on, wait, I’m…” he begs in the intervals between kisses, but the rhythm only accelerates, pulling out a new moan from him, through which he hears a hoarse:

“Me too.”

And at the same moment the world around explodes and disappears.

Consciousness loses control over the body for a few seconds. He gasps for air, sucking it into his lungs as if for the last time, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and from the remnants of feelings the mind tries to reassemble reality. Rapid breathing in the neck area, the weight presses him down from above, and all that a sensitive nose can catch is a bright tart-spicy aroma. Coffee and cinnamon. Cinnamon and coffee.

Coffee.

Cinnamon.

Shadow.

“You're heavy.”

There is a chuckle in response to his complaint, and the weight disappears from his chest, rolling to his side. They lie near each other for a minute, lazily watching the running of the clouds, while the last rays of the sunset disappear over the horizon. And then at the same time they rise and cross their gazes.

“I hope you have also prepared something to not make us run back like this,” it feels like one can kill with the sharpness of that sarcasm, but he knows that this is only a feigned discontent.

“Nope,” he declares carelessly and breaks into a cheeky smile, “The return transport is on you.”

“Idiot,” a soft and gentle grin becomes his reward, and warm fingers are affectionately intertwined with his.

A flash of Chaos Control - and they go.

Home.