Lucian and Vren seek shelter from the rain. Vren would rather not talk about his feelings. Kissing about them, on the other hand, is very much on the table.
A deep rumble of thunder echoed off the mountainside. The following flash split the downpour in a blinding streak—Lucian blinked rapidly, trying to reclaim his vision from the white spots that danced across it. Slick rock shifted beneath his feet, and cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, yanking him back before he could fall.
“Watch your step!” Vren bellowed over the animal roar of the wind. He jerked his head to the left; Lucian followed his gaze, and a lance of fear jolted through him at the sheer drop not an inch from his boot. He shuffled closer to the mountainside, his thanks swallowed by the storm.
Lost in the Wilds with an assassin, looking for magic that might not exist. What a way to die.
He stumbled after Vren, the two of them forcing their way through the rain until at last they found an overhang. Nothing so fancy as a cave, just a shallow hollow a few feet deep. Enough to take them out of the rain and the worst of the wind.
Lucian stood there shivering, tail wrapped tight around his calf. His hair was plastered to his neck, water dripping from his horns—he couldn’t help the reflexive flicker of fingers along the braid encircling his head. Soaked, but intact. Small miracles.
“Here.”
Vren had his cloak held out. Lucian stepped under the sodden fabric, for though it held no infernii enchantments, the wool of Valloroth kept you warm even like this. He wished he hadn’t lost his. He pressed close to Vren, allowing him to draw the rest of his cloak around them, and drew his cupped hands up between them. A small flame burst to life in the cage of his fingers.
Thunder rolled above them. Lucian could feel Vren’s breath against his cheek, the solidity of his chest beneath his damp shirt. The arms holding the cloak around him were firm and strong, and even though the hands now resting on his back had once held a knife aimed at his throat, their presence brought as much comfort to his heart as they did heat to his face.
He turned his head and met a deep amber gaze as inscrutable as ever.
“Are we going to talk about this?” he asked.
“What’s to talk about?”
Lucian extinguished his flame and put his hand to Vren’s cheek. “Maybe the fact that I’d like to kiss you again?”
“Princeling, don’t—” Vren started, but Lucian silenced his protest with his mouth. He still didn’t count himself much good with this sort of thing, but he liked very much the way Vren’s lips softened under his, the faint scratch of stubble against his skin, the warm breath and the feeling that followed it down his throat and into his chest.
Vren drew back with a sharp inhale. “We have more important matters to focus on. We need to find—”
“—all we need to do right now is wait for this storm to pass,” Lucian said. “So we can either talk about this, or you can kiss me so I stop asking.”
Vren looked at him for a long moment, rain dripping down his face. Lightning split the sky once more, and then his mouth was on Lucian’s again.
Hardly surprising. The Wraith hated talking.