Cassian didn’t dare respond to Vince’s whisper, which traveled like ice over his arms and shoulders and lifted goosebumps as it went. He couldn’t respond, lest the wad of fabric from his shirt slip down and make audible every outcome of Vince’s fingers on his skin. Instead he ground his teeth further, glowered at Vince with darkened eyes that spelled out fuck you in return to that mischevious little smirk. He wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to make Vince flinch, make him burn red again, render him speechless (among a wide variety of other things he wanted to do to him– none of which was conducive to their current position outside in public).

It was impossible to get closer, yet it was still not enough. His tugging on Vince grew more insistent as he felt the sting of nails dig into his shoulder. The way Vince faltered, however brief, did not go by unnoticed. It extracted a new kind of heat from deep within his belly, a small feeling like triumph. It drove his knee wantonly forward between Vince’s legs to dig into the earth behind them and rock with more intense friction. Turns out that making haste would not be an issue for them– though he wanted so desperately for this moment to linger indefinitely. The last time. That’s what he said. That would be the only way to resist his newfound addiction to the sound of his own name, uttered in soft pants between distressed noises against his neck.

His free hand left its bruising vice on Vince’s hip to hold the back of his head against where his neck met his shoulder, a feeble pillow against the earth behind him. Mostly, Cass wanted to hold him there, to feel his breath against his racing pulse. His other hand continued to explore Vince with brazen, eager insistence, moving at double pace to the rhythm of their hips against each other. The action gave him a sense of purpose and focus. A way to come back down from his ledge of coming undone, which he desperately wanted, because Vince needs to fall off the ledge first he decided ruthlessly. A strange shape of vindictiveness for all he’s done to him, maybe. A look they shared as Cass felt the other shivering against him. His shirt finally left his mouth, daring to whisper in a grating voice against Vince’s ear. Careless to the words that were coming out of his mouth, brain drugged by the sensations that wrapped around them. “You wanted me to touch you like this,” he hissed, though not uttered as a question, aching to hear his agreement all the same, somewhere in between the sounds of his name. “I’m here now…”

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