You may, if you want.
Seren’s own fault for asking. Nevander thought Seren was asking for permission, when Seren just wanted clarity. But this will work soon. Surrendering always works. Seren justneeds to stop ruining the moment with questions he doesn’t intend.
Nevander deposits him on the edge of the bed with a new order. “Kneel in the center and wait for me. Don’t touch yourself.”
Seren whimpers with the sudden disobedient throb in his cock. The pleasure of the order makes it that much harder to obey. He scrambles into position, knees spread, fists wrinkling the airy linens.
Nevander’s attention remains heated and close, even as he retreats enough to disrobe. Chewing his lip, Seren tries to focus on the show before him.
Think of Nevander’s quick, confident stripping of his gauntlets. Not Tansy’s false smile on the goldwood boat. Fixate on the shining fall of Nevander’s hair, swept away from shedding armor. Not Edith’s fear and painful hope. Linger on the firm line of Nevander’s cock, more obscene in his leather trousers than it would be bare. Though Seren would like to see—
Nevander pauses, and Seren almost snarls in frustration. He’s so close to forgetting, and Nevander’s so close to being naked. Just those pesky leather trousers.
“What are you waiting for?” Seren asks, and immediately wishes he could take it back.
Not that it would help. Nevander’s already stalking over, frowning in concern. “You’re too tense.”
An apology hovers behind Seren’s lips. He swallows it down. The bed dips. Seren’s heart falters as Nevander slides an arm around him.
“Seren,” Nevander says softly. “I won’t release the promise just because you’re honest, but I’ll have to if I think you’re hiding.”
Enduring alone is a hard habit to break. Seren shudders and leans against his lover. “I’m upset, and I don’t know how to stop,” Seren confesses, closing his eyes. “Help me.”
A kiss feathers his forehead. “You’ve been so strong.” Another kiss. Bare fingers on his cheek. “Cry for me. As long as you need to.”
The command reverberates, and Seren shatters. His breath twists into a whimper, then a sob.
Nevander’s shoulder muffles the next sob. Sheltering arms drag Seren to the pillows. He curls in on himself as grief blossoms like a garden, and each weed and flower has a name. Edith and Alard—the parents who never wanted him. Haelwen—the mother he never met. Zavriel, dead. Briar, missing.
And Calithel, who Seren should have been.
In another world, another timeline, where Haelwen didn’t trade Seren for a human child—
Seren gasps between sobs. Sympathy edges past the pain. He can’t idealize that imaginary life. Zavriel and Briar were already gone when Seren was hidden away. He was always born into a broken family, and he doesn’t know the sort of person Calithel would have been.
Whether he would like that version of himself.
Seren likes himself now, sorrow and all. A garden that flourishes in the light of adoration.
Nevander strokes Seren’s shaking back, letting him cry until his heart quiets and his eyes run dry. As his breathsteadies, Seren wonders whether that other timeline would have held such a haven for him. Nevander is the balance Seren needs. He can rule as king if he has this space to be vulnerable. He can command if he can also obey.
He can be Seren, and Calithel too.
Gentle fingers trace Seren’s tears, followed by even gentler lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nevander says.
Seren’s laugh is watery as he falls back on the pillow. “Like this?”
“Especially like this.” Nevander follows, braced above him, golden hair spilling like a veil. “Raw and true and mine alone.”
Seren basks in the radiance of Nevander’s love—and asks for more. “Can I feel you?”
Nevander’s smile sharpens. “Unravel, my love.”
Seren’s already loosening his shield when the command strikes. He gasps with the force of adoration. The certainty of Nevander’s obsession. Grief and vulnerability transmute into need, and Seren squirms in his unlaced trousers.
“I’m not upset anymore,” Seren manages. Then he whimpers as Nevander cups him through the fabric.