The rain hadn't stopped in days.
It pelted down over the blackened stones of the southern fortress, hissing against torches and drowning the cries of the wounded. The war had begun—not in declaration, but in fire. And Riven stood in the heart of its fury, soaked to the bone, hands still trembling from the last kill.
He barely heard the footsteps behind him over the roar of the storm. But he felt them.
Cassian.
"You shouldn't be out here," came the low, gravel-edged voice. "You're bleeding."
Riven didn't turn around. "I've bled before."
Cassian stepped close, close enough for the heat of his body to cut through the icy rain. His gloved hand reached forward, gripping Riven's wrist, and pulled him out of the storm and into the shadowed alcove of stone.
"You bled for me this time," Cassian said, voice rough. "And I'm not letting it go unnoticed."
The torchlight flickered off Cassian's damp skin. His eyes—those molten steel irises—burned with things Riven couldn't name anymore. Fury. Regret. Need.
Riven's chest rose with a breath that stuttered like a dying engine. "You didn't ask me to save you."
"No," Cassian said, stepping closer, "I didn't."
And then, without another word, he gripped Riven by the wet collar of his tunic and crashed their mouths together.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
It was teeth and stormlight and weeks of lost time. It was blood still warm between them, armor clinking against leather, and a desperation neither could mask.
Riven gasped into the kiss, opening to Cassian's heat as the prince pressed him back against the rough stone. Their mouths devoured each other—biting, tasting, breathing into the hollow ache left by every battle fought side by side and every night slept apart.
Cassian's hands slipped beneath Riven's ruined tunic, dragging it upward with urgency. His fingers traced the new scar above Riven's hip—still angry, still tender.
"You did this for me," Cassian whispered against his throat. "You nearly died again for me."
Riven gritted his teeth. "You're worth dying for."
Cassian growled.
"No," he snarled, and suddenly his hand seized Riven's jaw. "I'm worth living for. And I want you to prove it."
Riven didn't answer. He grabbed Cassian by the waist and shoved him back into the stone wall opposite, water dripping from their tangled hair. And then he dropped to his knees.
Cassian's breath hitched.
The storm howled outside, wind rattling the fortress walls as Riven's mouth found the fastening of Cassian's battle leathers. The scent of war clung to both of them—ash, sweat, blood—but beneath it all was him. The man Riven had fought beside. Fought for.
He undid the bindings with trembling fingers, lips brushing over the lines of taut muscle, and Cassian's hands found his hair—gripping tight, guiding, grounding.
"Riven…" Cassian hissed.
What followed wasn't a soft reconciliation.
It was furious. Desperate. A claiming.
Cassian's head tipped back as Riven took him in with slow, merciless precision—tongue circling, throat working as he drew him deeper. The sound Cassian made was torn from somewhere guttural, animal. One hand slammed to the stone behind him, the other never letting go of Riven's dark hair.
The heat between them built fast, unbearable.
Cassian's voice cracked as he spoke, "Gods… you'll be the death of me."
Riven drew back just enough to say, "Then let me kill you slow."
Cassian's knees nearly buckled as Riven took him again, this time with intention.
No teasing. No mercy.
Just tongue, heat, and the kind of control that made Cassian forget everything—the war, the betrayal, the bodies they'd burned behind them.
His head hit the stone wall as he moaned aloud. Rain still battered the ruined tower, but inside the alcove, it was only fire. Riven's grip was unrelenting, fingers digging into Cassian's thighs, holding him open, holding him there.
Cassian's hips jerked helplessly with every slide of wet heat.
"Gods… Riven… fuck—"
The name came out broken. Pleading. Raw.
Riven looked up at him, eyes gleaming with a hunger that bordered on feral. Then he pulled back, stood, and shoved Cassian against the wall hard enough to make the prince gasp.
"Turn around," Riven commanded, voice husky.
Cassian obeyed without question.
Armor hit the floor. Tunics were yanked down, leather peeled from sweat-slicked skin. The chill of the stone was nothing against the burn between them.
Riven pressed his chest to Cassian's back, lips at his ear. "Tell me you need this."
Cassian shuddered. "I need you."
That was enough.
Riven gripped Cassian's hips, guided himself against the cleft of his lover's ass—slowly, deliberately—and pressed in. The stretch stole Cassian's breath, forced his palms to the wall as he arched his back, panting.
Riven groaned. "You're so tight... gods, Cass..."
Every inch was a battle. Every inch won was a reward.
Once fully seated, Riven paused, both to let Cassian adjust and because he was hanging by a thread. Then, with a low, throaty growl, he began to move.
It was punishing.
No slow build. No gentle rhythm.
Riven took him like the battlefield demanded it—rough, consuming, desperate.
Cassian met every thrust, gasping, grunting, eyes fluttering closed. The sound of flesh on flesh echoed with the thunder outside. Hands clawed at stone. Words lost meaning.
Only sensation remained.
"Harder," Cassian begged.
Riven gave it to him.
He drove in deeper, faster, until Cassian was nearly sobbing with the intensity. Until the pleasure curled in their spines and lit up their nerves like wildfire.
"You're mine," Riven growled.
"Yes… gods, yes..."
Cassian came first, without warning. With a hoarse cry, his body clenched around Riven, dragging him over the edge. Riven followed with a strangled curse, pouring himself into his lover as he collapsed forward, catching them both.
They stayed like that, trembling, gasping against each other in the dark.
The war raged outside. But in that moment, within bloodied stone walls and beneath the fury of heaven, they were alive. Together. Unbroken.
Even as the world around them burned.