The world outside kept spinning, but inside the gallery, time had folded in on itself. Between the scent of oil paint and skin, between the strokes of tension and soft touches, Riven and Cassian had carved out a space untouched by doubt.
But silence has a way of stirring embers.
Cassian leaned against the wooden frame of the studio door, watching Riven mix colors with almost aggressive precision. His bare back flexed with each movement, streaked with faint nail marks—leftover echoes from last night. From them.
"You're avoiding me," Cassian said, voice low.
"I'm painting," Riven muttered.
"You're running."
Riven's hand stilled on the palette knife. "You think you've burned your way in. That just because I let you touch me—claim me—that everything's fine."
Cassian crossed the room in three strides, spun him around, and pressed him against the paint-stained wall. "No," he said, eyes burning. "I don't think that. But I also know what I feel. And I'm not the only one on fire here."
Riven's mouth opened—anger or denial, he wasn't sure—but Cassian kissed him. Hard. Like he was tired of talking. Like he needed to anchor himself in the heat between them.
And Riven kissed back. With teeth. With need. With the desperate fire of someone afraid of losing what he never believed he could have.
Clothes were torn—not taken off. The kind of undressing that came from impatience, from friction, from want sharpened by emotion. They collided on the floor, breathless and half-mad, all raw edges and no apologies.
Cassian's voice broke as he whispered against Riven's throat, "You make me lose control."
"Then lose it," Riven breathed.
And Cassian did.
The heat was primal. Every thrust, every gasp, every grinding touch stoked the flames of something deeper. They didn't just move together—they collided like stars. Scorching. Reckless. Infinite.
Their bodies burned, but it was the ache in their chests that seared the deepest. Every sound was a plea. Every climax a confession.
When the fire finally ebbed, Riven lay tangled in Cassian's arms, chest still heaving, skin slick, soul exposed.
"You scare me," Riven whispered into the hollow of his throat.
Cassian tightened his hold. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."