Cass thanked all things holy that Vince focused on the dessert, because he wasn’t sure what he was capable of doing if the young man’s attention lingered on him for even an instant. Something about the way Vince’s fingers twined through his blonde curls in a frustrated pass made the expansive room feel entirely too small and stifling - it reminded him too much of his earlier urge to close the distance between them outside. He bit the inside of his lower lip, lowering his gaze to his lap as bumbling conversation about Deely faded.

At the sound of Vince’s growling stomach, however, blue eyes snapped back up to his friend and regarded him with a frown. It wasn’t as though he had much of an appetite today himself, but the servants were incessant in bringing him three square meals (it would’ve been four, if he hadn’t impatiently shooed them away). “Shit, he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly as he wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t they bring your meals today? I asked them to…” He didn’t finish his sentence, make him feel taken care of, because it felt like a jagged barb now. Cass could’ve taken care of Vince himself today, if he wanted. If only he had the courage.

Still miffed over the thought he distractedly waved the scone away from Vince, shaking his head. “No, no… It’s all for you.” He made the mistake of glancing over as he said this, witnessing the heart-stopping moment icing dripped down a long pale finger that summarily found its home between soft, supple lips. The blonde’s jaw slackened at the sight, eyes glazing over as his mind flashed back to the other thing Vincent recently did with his mouth. It nearly made him groan out loud, blood lit with fire he had never felt before last night. Cassian’s arousal shocked him (though it shouldn’t have, after all he’s learned in the last day), and pulled him away from his momentary reverie with an abrupt clearing of the throat. As though it might offset the embarrassment he angled himself away from Vince slightly, towards the wide expanse of the room to focus intently on the quality of the wooden carvings on the guest room’s dresser and vanity. But even in the dim room, it was hard to miss the blush that twinged his cheeks and ears.

To do something with his twitchy hands, Cassian turned towards the plate and plucked up a grape from its stem. He popped it in his mouth and gnashed impatiently on it, risking an averted gaze to Vincent again. Their eyes met. They were probably thinking the same thing, if he had to guess. How the fuck are we going to manage this?

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