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Logan kisses like a symphony.
All is a rush at first – the hubbub of everyone finding their seats as the show starts, the bickering and fiery retorts the prince and the musician hurl at each other. Anyone else would flinch away from the insults spewed, but Roman knows there is no venom in them, no malice in the nicknames that they bandy back and forth.
Their words shine like thick velvet curtains lit by the glow of spotlights, and the curtains pull apart, their words fading away as Logan, eyes bright and blazing, pins him against the wall.
It’s show time.
“Has anyone ever told you,” he murmurs, voice low and melodic as he traces a finger along the curve of Roman’s cheek. “That you are insufferable?”
“You,” Roman offers with a cheeky grin. “Six times a day, at least.”
Tension hums in the air like the opening notes of so many cellos, deep and quivering, as Logan’s hand slides along his face, eventually trapping his chin between Logan’s thumb and forefinger. He tilts Roman’s head up, so he has to look into those dark blue eyes, bright with intensity.
Logan will leave no doubt who the conductor of this performance is.
“Well then,” he says, and Roman can hear the roll of bass drums in the rumble of his voice. “Perhaps you need another reminder.”
Roman can feel his knees go weak, can feel shivers running up and down his spine at the overture alone. “Please.”
For a moment, all is quiet as the audience settles down. For a moment, there is a perfect, pure anticipation.
Logan’s mouth quirks in the tiniest, smuggest smirk.
And then Logan surges against him, hitting Roman with finesse and passion and precision, singing together with all the power of a full orchestra. The song roars into being as Logan’s lips move against his, cymbals crashing as one of his hands winds through Roman’s unruly hair and woodwinds harmonizing as his other hand slips under Roman’s shirt to thumb at the edge of his hipbone.
Logan sweeps a hand across his back in a rush of warmth, smooth and graceful as a swish of the conductor’s baton through the air, and Roman can feel his skin coming alive at the other’s command, sparks leaping down his spine vertebrae by vertebrae.
Logan pulls back just long enough to let Roman gasp, just long enough for those dark blue eyes to take him in – lips swollen and hair disheveled and cheeks flushed.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs into Roman’s ear, voice running the musical scale with laser precision. “I’m unsure as to the scope of your understanding of just how gorgeous you are, My Prince.”
He punctuates his words with brief, light nips and kisses – staccato, pianissimo notes of a keyboard – around Roman’s ear, down the slope of his neck, at the place it curves into his shoulder.
Roman can’t help the noises he makes, soft gaps and murmurs of appreciation at the skill of his very own orchestra, especially when Logan slots a thigh between his legs and presses closer.
Roman is pressed into the wall like an audience member blown back by the sheer force of sound, his mind blank but for the crisp, clear pleasure of the music, Logan’s music playing, just for him.
And, really, that’s what it is that curls Roman’s toes and sets his heart pounding like a drum and sets orchestras to playing in his ears – Logan.
Logan, his nerd. Logan, his rival. Logan, his love.
Logan, his.
Maybe, Roman thinks, a stray idea wiggling its way in between the melodies and harmonies and pleasing dissonances Logan is playing against his skin, a bit of audience participation is in order.
His hands wander to Logan’s waist as Logan takes his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs playfully, light and airy as a flute. He finds his feet as Logan rubs circles into his shoulders. He tenses as, with a fierce blare of trumpets, Logan sinks his teeth into the crook of Roman’s neck, pressing countless soft kisses like the clink of a triangle into the bruise as an apology.
And, just as Logan’s hands settle on Roman’s shoulders, Roman flies into action, flipping them around.
Time for a standing ovation.
Roman presses himself into Logan, heat burning from their thighs to where their lips are surging together. He licks into Logan’s mouth and tugs on his hair, just the way Logan likes it.
Logan gasps, and it is music.
He slows as the frantic hum of instruments softens, music turning tender, gentle. His hands cup Logan’s face delicately, as if there isn’t a more precious thing in this world, as if there’s nothing more beautiful than that music, that musician.
With a last slide of skin, they part.
“Insufferable,” Logan says again, nothing but love shining in his eyes as he smoothes Roman’s wayward curls off of his forehead.
“Only for you.” Roman leans into the touch, words seeped in tender affection.
There’s something silent in their exchange, an unspoken truth that even the swelling of the strings can’t express.
Neither of them are very good at saying those types of things. Neither of them have had enough practice breaking down their walls, letting themselves be vulnerable.
But that’s okay.
They have their own way of saying I love you.
And, as Logan leans in for a last, lingering kiss, in the back of his mind, Roman can hear violins singing.