Chapter 6 #3
Falk, he found, had very nice lips. They were soft, plush against his own. His skin was so thin at his mouth, his lips so tender, that he could feel Falk’s perfectly—could feel them mold to his own.
Falk’s hand came up to cup the side of his face, tilting Ren’s head to one side so he could press their lips together easier without their noses colliding.
Ren didn’t have to pretend when his fingers curled tighter into Falk’s shirt, didn’t have to fake the little whimper that left his chest, or how he lifted himself slightly onto his toes so he could press harder against Falk’s mouth.
The slow drag of their lips was almost lazy, like they had all the time in the world, with the smallest bit of desperation beneath. Ren wondered how long Falk had wanted to kiss him like this—how long he had wanted to kiss Falk like this.
Ren made a quick, surprised noise as Falk’s arm tightened around his waist, pulling him even closer.
His other hand moved from his jaw to press on Ren’s scent gland.
It made Ren dizzy, a strange, foreign pleasure pulsing through his veins at the touch.
When his lips opened on a soft whine, Falk’s tongue slid over his lips.
It was like he was asking for entrance, rather than just pushing his way in.
Ren wanted to let him in so badly.
But he couldn’t let a chance like this go.
As he opened his lips, as he let his tongue brush against Falk’s, he moved his foot. To Falk, it probably seemed like he was trying to push in between his legs, trying to press into his crotch and feel if he was hard. But a split second later, he had his ankle wrapped around Falk’s calf.
Ren pulled back from their kiss. Falk’s heavy breaths rough against his skin. He wondered what Falk saw in the split second he opened his eyes—wondered if he saw the helpless plea beginning for forgiveness in Ren as he pulled with his ankle and shoved Falk’s chest at the same time.
Falk gasped as he slammed into the ground. The chain holding Ren hostage was forgotten in what seemed to be ages ago, and Ren had no trouble pulling it from Falk’s grasp.
Ren didn’t stay long enough to hear Falk’s gasps of pain.
He took off running, the jangle of the chain loud in his ears as he ducked and jumped through the trees and undergrowth.
His panting breath was loud in his ears.
His heart slammed in his chest as he got further and further away from the clutches of his prison.
Ren threw himself onto the first path he found, far easier to navigate without so many trees in the way, and took off in the direction opposite of the castle. He didn’t care where he went at this point, just so long as he was going somewhere.
He couldn’t even feel the pricks of pain in his feet which he was sure were bleeding by this point.
He couldn’t feel the burning air in his lungs or how his legs screamed at him to show them mercy.
He pushed himself—faster, faster, faster—like how he did up on the cliffs.
He couldn’t have them break down on him now.
Something slammed into his back. Ren screamed
His legs weren’t strong enough. They had already been struggling trying to propel him forward and immediately collapsed at the impact.
Ren slammed hard into the ground, tumbling over himself a few times. He could already feel the bruises forming and the cuts digging into his palms and knees before finally being pressed into the ground by a solid weight on his back.
Ren groaned, head spinning, as a hand scruffed him hard on the back of his neck, fingers pressing into his scent gland cruelly as they held his face in the dirt.
He struggled for only a moment before whining loudly. Hard, thick thighs held down his hips, the weight solid on his back even as he tried to buck out of the hold. He couldn’t even move his arms with how they were folded so awkwardly beneath his body.
He panted, the Wolf on top of him breathing just as hard, for several heartbeats. Now that Falk had caught him, Ren wondered if Falk would beat him, if he would chain him up, if he would drag him directly to Oren.
But Falk did none of those things.
All he did was force Ren to his feet by the hand on the back of his neck, and grabbed the chain that was connected to his cuffs.
Ren kept his eyes downwards, trying to ignore the pricks of frustrated tears threatening to spill over. He had been so close.
He was right in the assumption that his knees and palms were covered in blood. Red stained his new pants and blood was dripping down into the cuffs at his wrist. Falk normally would have softened, would have helped him or at least gone easy on him.
But his wrists were tugged forward hard enough for him to yelp. And when Ren looked up, all he saw was the Warrior who had been tasked in guarding him. His jaw was tight, his gaze forward as he hauled Ren along even though his knees kept trying to give out.
When Falk finally looked at him for more than a moment, Ren was able to catch his gaze and his heart clenched painfully at the hurt and betrayal he saw there.
So, he kept his eyes down as he was led back to the castle.