The palace was quiet that night.
Too quiet.
No guards at the door. No courtiers whispering in corners. No scrolls to read or blades to polish. Just the dim crackle of a fire, the soft hiss of rain sliding down stone, and Ilyan standing by Kael’s chamber door with his hand on the handle.
He didn’t knock.
He opened it slowly and stepped inside.
Kael looked up from where he sat at the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, a scarred hand wrapped around a cup of untouched wine.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
Ilyan moved toward the hearth—toward the light—until the flames painted his skin in shadow and amber. He turned, shoulders square, chin lifted.
“You don’t look away when I undress.”
Kael set the cup down.
“I never have.”
Ilyan reached for the sash at his waist.
Untied it.
Let the robe fall.
It slipped from his shoulders like water and pooled at his feet, leaving him bare. Bare in a way no court had ever seen. Not vulnerable. Not nervous.
Offered.
Kael stood slowly.
Approached.
He didn’t touch him at first. Just circled him—one step, then another. His breath roughened. His eyes dipped down, hungry but held tight under control.
Then his fingers brushed Ilyan’s ribs.
Light.
Testing.
Ilyan didn’t flinch.
Kael stepped behind him, hands ghosting along his hips, mouth near his neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
“No.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
Kael’s hands flattened against his stomach.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Kael turned him with a firm hand on the shoulder and kissed him. Deep. Long. No teasing. Just yes.
And Ilyan moaned into it—body arching, mouth parting, arms wrapping tight around Kael’s neck like he never planned to let go.
They moved to the bed together—Kael lowering Ilyan down gently, spreading his thighs, kneeling between them with something almost reverent in the way he looked at him.
“You’re sure?” Kael asked.
Ilyan reached down.
Gripped his cock.
Lined it up.
And whispered:
“Take me. Now.”
Kael entered him slow.
A single push.
One deep, breathless stroke that made Ilyan gasp and dig his fingers into Kael’s forearms.
Kael held there, panting.
His voice cracked. “Fuck—you feel like you were built for this.”
Ilyan laughed. Then moaned. Then said, softer:
“I was built for you.”
Kael moved.
Not rushed.
Not delicate.
Certain.
His thrusts were deep and even, cock dragging along Ilyan’s walls, pressure perfect, pace timed to each drawn-out gasp from the man beneath him. Their bodies met in quiet rhythm. Sweat built slow. The sheets twisted. Ilyan wrapped his legs around Kael’s hips and pulled him deeper.
Kael groaned.
“You’re taking me so well.”
“You’re filling me so fucking deep,” Ilyan breathed.
Kael reached down, wrapped a hand around Ilyan’s cock.
“Come for me.”
Ilyan did.
Hard.
All over his stomach and Kael’s hand, his back arching, mouth falling open in a shudder that looked like worship.
Kael followed seconds later, spilling deep inside him with a raw sound, burying his face in Ilyan’s neck, body trembling.
They stayed like that.
Connected.
Breathless.
Kael didn’t pull out.
Ilyan didn’t ask him to.
And when the fire dimmed, when sleep tugged at them, Kael whispered into Ilyan’s hair:
“I won’t ever take less than all of you.”
Ilyan smiled.
“Good. I don’t want to be spared.”