Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 34: War is Coming

Tristan froze.

He'd prepared himself for several eventualities after calling the youngest faerie prince a tosspot. Shouting. Stomping out of the drinks tent. Possible attempted murder. But this. This hadn't even crossed his mind.

Owain's mouth was hungry and demanding. Tristan half-collided with the drinks table, sending a bowl of lime wedges crashing to the floor. Owain's hands sunk into his hair. His body was fever-hot, burning through Tristan's white shirt, and it took everything within him to string a single sentence together.

Tristan pulled back, his chest heaving. "What are you doing?"

"You asked me what I want." Owain's blue eyes glittered. "I'm showing you."

He yanked Tristan's tie off, throwing it on the lawn. Owain's mouth fell to Tristan's neck, kissing a blazing trail down to his collar, and Tristan bit down on his hand to stifle a groan. Fuck. Owain was unfairly good at that. It ought to be a crime.

"This doesn't make sense," Tristan managed, his voice strangled. "You said— You told me—"

Owain's voice was hot in his ear. "It doesn't have to make sense."

He started on Tristan's buttons next, undoing them with expert fingers. Owain's mouth followed every button, kissing and sucking and licking. Tristan's head went back, his mind pleasantly fuzzy. Gods, he wanted this. He'd wanted it for ages. And it felt so—

No.

No.

Tristan shook his head. He turned the situation over in his mind, examining it like a broken clock, trying to connect the wires and make it work. It didn't make sense. Owain didn't get involved with humans. So why...?

"Tristan?" Owain murmured.

Tristan swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Stop overthinking," Owain murmured, his fingers raking his stomach, "and kiss me back. I'm getting offended."

"Oh," Tristan managed eloquently.

He kissed Owain tentatively. Slowly. The faerie prince tasted like pink lemonade and champagne. Owain murmured encouragingly, sliding Tristan's hands up to his back. The muscles flexed and tensed there, sending a surge of heat through him. Tristan's hands slid lower, and Owain groaned.

"Don't." Owain's face tensed. "I'm trying to be gentle with you."

Tristan held his gaze, squeezing.

Owain's eyes darkened. He could see the moment that the faerie prince's control broke: one moment, Owain was standing in the circle of his legs, his hands resting lightly on Tristan's hips; the next, he'd pressed Tristan flat against the table, sending drink umbrellas and glasses tumbling to the floor.

Owain's hand fisted in his hair, his mouth hot on his lips. Tristan's body bucked automatically, seeking purchase, and Owain let out an agonized groan. Tristan's heart raced in his chest. Heat spread to every part of his body, searing him from the inside.

More, Tristan's body purred. Closer. Harder.

He pulled back, gasping.

"Wait." Tristan pressed a hand to Owain's chest, his heart slamming. "Stop."

Owain stilled.

They observed one another. Owain's mouth was swollen from kissing, plump as summer cherries. His silk suit was creased where Tristan had pulled at it. Fuck. He looked sinful. Which was exactly, Tristan thought, forcing himself to sit up, why this couldn't carry on for a moment longer.