??? POV – Jail Cell – First Encounter
The world is a blur of movement. The clang of metal bars. The echo of heavy footsteps. But there is something about the figure across the room that pulls me in - undeniably.
I've seen many men in my life, many faces, many bodies. But this one... this one is different.
He's sitting there, bound and bloodied, like some kind of sacrifice, staring into nothingness with eyes too haunted for his young face.
His body, his form is lean, but there's a hidden strength there, wrapped in sinew and bone. His skin is pale, a stark contrast to the dim shadows of this forsaken prison, but there's something alive in him. Something that shouldn't belong here, in this place of decay.
His features are - how do I even describe it?
Flawless. Soft, yet sharp. The kind of beauty that makes you second guess reality itself.
His hair, dark and disheveled, falls in messy waves, like ink splashed against his forehead. It's too wild for a man, but perfect for him. Eyes, wide and unblinking, hold a kind of restless energy in them, like they're searching for something, or perhaps someone. They don't look at me - yet.
The way he holds himself… there's no fear. Only weariness. Tiredness of a soul that's seen too much.
I want to reach out. To touch, to feel. But I don't. Not yet.
The rope cuts across his wrists, a harsh reminder of the prison he's been thrust into. He tugs at it, eyes flickering to the door, as if hoping for someone or something. Maybe for anyone to come.
I step forward, silent as a shadow, my heart racing in ways I can't comprehend. I can hear my breath, too loud in this space, too harsh.
I want to take my time. To savor this.
But then I see him, the way he tenses when he notices me. His hands, trembling but steady, still tied together. His breath quickens, but it doesn't falter.
His lips are parted slightly, just a touch. And for a moment, I feel it.
A connection. A spark. Something deep, something undeniable.
I don't speak. I don't need to.
Instead, I move toward him, my hand brushing against the cool metal of the cell as I approach. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, my throat tight as I lower myself to his level.
His eyes snap up, catching mine for the first time.
His gaze locks onto me, sharp, calculating and aware. Not afraid. Just... wary.
Then I reach for the ropes.
My hands are steady as I slice through the restraints around his wrists, the soft tension of his body under my fingers almost too much to bear. His skin, soft, yet somehow firm, pulls a strange reaction from me. Something hot, something desperate.
His wrists are bare, pale and marked from days of restraint, but his strength radiates through. He looks at me as if trying to make sense of everything. His confusion mirroring my own.
But there's something more. Something that pulls at me, like gravity itself. He's beautiful. In a way I cannot explain. The curve of his jaw, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the delicate arch of his neck. There's a softness in him, an unspoken vulnerability that calls to me.
My fingers twitch as I finish cutting through the last rope, but I pause.
I can feel the warmth of his skin still lingering on my fingertips, and something inside me snaps.
I should pull away. I should leave.
But I don't.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at him, his chest rising and falling in a breath I can almost feel myself. His eyes, those strange stormy eyes are searching mine.
"Not yet," I think.
Not yet. Not until I know.
Until he knows.
*****
??? POV – Cot Scene
I can't stay away from him.
No matter how hard I try.
The moment the soldier leaves, I feel the weight of the room shift. The tension between us hasn't dissipated. It's still there. Undeniable.
This boy's body, his presence. It has drawn me in like a moth to a flame. There's no escape. Not from the pull, not from the desire gnawing at my insides.
The moment I stepped back, part of me wanted to leave. To walk away and pretend this wasn't happening.
But there's another part of me—one I can't ignore, that says I can't leave him like this.
Not like this.
So I don't.
I turn back toward him.
The way he's standing. His posture sharp but strained, like something is fighting inside him. I can somehow feel it. His heart racing, the pulse of his breath catching in his throat. He's trying to hide it, trying to bury whatever's rising within him.
But I see it.
The way his chest rises and falls irregularly. His body still reeling from the interaction, from the almost-kiss. There's something there, something alive and raw between us.
And I can't hold back anymore.
I move closer, my breath catching in my throat. His eyes flicker toward me, but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to. The connection is there, so thick, so heavy. It's more than just a look. More than the shared space.
It's like—no, it is—a tether pulling me in.
I reach for him, the distance between us shrinking with every step. His breath hitches, barely audible, but I feel it.
And I'm so damn close now. So close I can feel the heat of his body against mine.
I stopped.
His eyes. Those eyes pierce mine. I see everything in them. The confusion. The hunger. The confusion... again. The sharpness that I can feel from him.
He wants to say something, but I see it in the way his lips pursed.
He's holding back.
I don't know if it's fear, or if he just doesn't know how to deal with this, with me. With us.
I won't let him hold back.
I reach forward, my hand brushing against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingers. He flinches slightly, but doesn't pull away.
The moment stretches.
But then he's looking up at me again. His eyes filled with something else now. Something almost fragile, like he's afraid of this, afraid of me.
I bring my hand to his wrist, where the rope had been just moments ago. His skin is smooth, soft to the touch like silk, but there's strength beneath it, raw and untapped. I follow the lines of his wrist, his forearm, tracing the veins under his skin with a care I didn't know I had.
He shudders at the contact, his breath catching.
I can see it. The way his lips part. The way his pulse quickens. The way his eyes search mine like they're begging me to understand.
But I don't understand yet. Not fully.
And that's the part that drives me crazy. The part that burns.
The part of me that doesn't want to let go.
I lean in closer, the distance between us nearly nonexistent now.
His chest is rising and falling with shallow breaths. He's still frozen, like he's waiting for me to make the first move. He wants it. I can feel it in the way his body reacts to mine.
But just before I can close the space, the door to the tent bursts open.
There's that soldier again, breathless, panicked.
"Commander! The Queen—she demands your presence now!"
I pull back.
He does, too.
His face flushes, like he's just been caught doing something wrong - something he's not ready to face yet. The confusion in his eyes is unmistakable.
I look at him, barely able to control the need, the desire to stay close, to press forward. But I can't. Not now. Not like this.
"Fine," I say, my voice rough, edged with something I can't quite place. "Tell her I'll be there in ten."
The soldier nods quickly and retreats.
I turn back toward the man, still standing near the cot, his form still carved into my mind.
My breath is still heavy, my heart still pounding.
But there's something else now.
Something between us that I can't name yet. But I will.
And soon enough, he won't be able to deny it either.