Page 37 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)
He found himself among stacks of books, worn clothes, and an aroma of flowers.
Favian picked up item after item, feeling its surface, its texture.
He brought the garments to his face, inhaled them.
Inhaled Leonardo’s smell, close now, that familiar mix of honey and citrus.
He felt it in his chest, between his legs.
Gods, how had he done it? How had he spent months with the prince in front of him, offering himself, letting Favian know with no room for doubt that he wanted him? How had he not succumbed yet?
The door opened. Favian dropped the shirt. Leonardo entered his chamber and shut the door behind him, only then stopping to look at Favian.
And just like that, Favian was on him.
Their lips crashed together in a whirlwind, mouths hot.
Pushed to the door, Leonardo made a sound somewhere between a moan and a whine. Favian’s hands were on his shoulders, gripping the prince before him as if he would dissipate were he to let go.
Favian had never been this hungry in his life.
He tasted honey. He wanted to shovel spoonfuls of it into his mouth, eat it up until it would spill out of the corners and run down his cheeks.
Leonardo uttered his name, but Favian barely registered it. The prince’s mouth underneath his, the prince’s lips parting for him, all he could do was drown in the sensation.
Leonardo’s hands found his waist, drew him in.
Never before had Favian’s tongue been this eager to leave his mouth, enter another. He licked Leonardo’s bottom lip, then pushed forward, past the prince’s teeth until he found Leonardo’s tongue, tentatively waiting for him.
As he pushed even closer, their bodies flush, Favian felt his erection brushing against Leonardo’s. The gasp leaving Favian’s lips was nothing short of desperate, fingers digging into Leonardo’s back.
Never before had he been this aware of the inches he had on the prince, but now, as he had to turn down his head ever so slightly, Favian suddenly felt the power of his superior height with a novel fervor.
He grabbed Leonardo’s chin, felt the curve of it in his palm, skin so mystifyingly smooth. The motion elicited a gasp, and the prince’s hands stilled on his waist.
Favian turned Leonardo’s head with his thumb, tilting it to give him access to the prince’s neck.
For once, he didn’t think.
For once, he felt .
He felt Leonardo’s tender veins under his fingertips. Felt the body pressed into the door by his own. Felt the pleasure in his cock, the desire to push. Felt the control he held in that moment, the prince in his hands. And he wanted more .
One of his hands began moving, from Leonardo’s shoulder over his chest to his hip.
When Favian hooked a finger into Leonardo’s waistband, the prince pushed him away.
“Favian,” he heaved like he had come up for air. “Stop, please.”
Bewildered, Favian stared at his prince.
“Can we talk about what happened?” Leonardo asked. He was holding his palms up before him, as if to keep Favian at a distance.
“I don’t want to talk,” he replied.
“I can see that,” Leonardo swallowed. He hesitantly took a step towards Favian and offered him one of his hands. “At least sit down with me, please?”
Favian didn’t move. He eyed Leonardo’s outstretched hand, the one that had been on his waist just moments ago.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Favian challenged.
Leonardo dropped his hand. He looked tired. “Of course it is, Favian. Of course I do. I have wanted this for so many years; you know that. But you’re in a vulnerable place, and I—”
“I am not vulnerable,” he countered. The words were too loud when they left his mouth.
“Favian—”
“If I were vulnerable, I wouldn’t have survived twenty-three years in this fucking place,” he snarled, voice hoarse from disuse and interrupted pleasure. He was angry, suddenly.
He was angry and resentful and mortified.
There it was in the prince’s eyes again: pity. He was saying, “I know, I didn’t mean to insinuate—” but Favian interrupted him again.
“You know what, Leonardo, you can shove your self-righteousness up your ass. I don’t need this. I don’t need you.”
He could not look at Leonardo, knowing full well what he would see, what he had just done.
He expected a moment of silence, assumed that Leonardo would need a moment to catch his breath before speaking, but he was mistaken.
“If that is so,” the prince croaked, “then I command you to leave my chamber right now.”
With words he resented from the moment he had spoken them, Favian fled the prince’s room, the prince’s face, the prince’s pain.
Leonardo’s room, Leonardo’s face, Leonardo’s pain.
In his dreams, Favian is water. Waves crashing on shore, tides rising high, high, higher than the cliffs.
Water floods the land, swallows the inn, creeps toward the palace, past the forest, devouring the stable.
He surges through the empty corridors. There are no bodies, no people, no souls.
He hears the faint melody of tears emanating from a small room.
He pushes through the door, splintering wood with the force of the ocean.
A boy sits on a bed, his legs drawn up, his chin on his knees. He is small.
“Why do you cry?” Favian asks with the voice of water, surface rising to meet the child.
“Because I am alone,” the boy replies. He does not flee from the water, does not try to get away.
He relaxes when the liquid touches him, sighs.
Smooth waves rock around the child, lulling him into comfort.
The boy glides from his seated position, spreads his arms, his legs.
Welcomes the water. “Take me with you,” he whispers.
“Your work here isn’t done,” the waves reply.
Now the boy is thrashing, pushing his body through the water. “But I don’t want to work anymore!” he pouts, he whimpers. “I want to leave. Please, let me leave!”
The water says, “I have faith in you.”
The waves begin to recede, sliding back into the corridor.
“No!” the child screams. “Stay! Take me with you!”
He sobs as he follows the tide, swims as fast as he can, not to be left behind.
But the ocean is stronger than a single boy, and so Favian returns to the sea, bequeathing fertile ground. The child will sow the seeds of his future himself. He is stronger than he knows.