Work Text:
Silas swallows nervously, presses his teeth so tightly together that he can feel his jaw scream, feel his teeth threaten to shatter. He doesn’t dare breathe, not when the other boy’s face is inches away - too close by any measure; if he were to breathe, he’d practically be breathing into Leo’s mouth, and that thought leads to mental images that he really doesn’t need, so he just grits his teeth harder, digs his dull fingernails into his fleshy palms. Every muscle in his body urges him to screw his eyes shut, tear them away from startlingly sharp amethyst, but there is an immutable sense of forfeit in such an action, and if Silas has learned anything as a knight, it would be that forfeiting should never be an option. There’s a battle going on here, he can feel it in the electric charge of the air between them, the adrenaline-fueled staccato of his pulse. Silas isn’t going to lose.
“You seem tense,” the blond breathes, voice stained with the teasing lilt of a chuckle. His breath is warm over the skin of Silas’s cheeks, heady and instilled with the scent of the honey caramel he had eaten with lunch, and it makes his head spin. Silas resists the urge to lick his lips, but he inhales sharply, unable to help the stutter of his breath, the twist of his stomach.
“H-hardly,” he grinds out, fixing the other boy with his harshest glare. It’s weak, at best, but there’s little room his mind to pay any heed to that, too clouded with the scent of ozone and parchment that clings to Leo, with traitorous ponderings of silver-sharp wits and the agile silver tongues that often accompany them. There must be caramel on that tongue of his still, honey stained on the surface of those lips, and maybe, he stares a little, bites down on the inside of his cheek and absently flicks his tongue over his own lips. There’s no sugar painted across the surface of them, but there are the remnants of apple, crisp and tangy, and the way he can’t help but imagine the taste as sweeter makes his pulse shake. “A good knight is never not alert,” he says, true in everything but practice; his mind is so hazed over, so dizzy and clouded by honey-coated lips and amethyst eyes, that the room could start burning, but the only thing he’d be alert to would be the way blond hair turned gold in the new light.
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” Leo quips, chuckling lightly. That warm breath over his cheeks again, and Silas fights off the urge to let heavy eyelids flutter shut. There is an undeniable magnetism in the air between them – a niggling force that whispers fire-hot palms against his skin and golden-silk hair between his fingers – and ignoring it has become more and more of a conscious effort as time goes along. Leo regards Silas with scrutinizing eyes, so unblinkingly intense that the knight wonders if those are really his knees shaking, his head growing light, and if the other boy can see it, too; he feels like an open book before Leo, laid bare so that he might have no secrets that the other couldn’t glean off the surface of his red-flushed skin. And then, amethyst eyes blink, and the scrutiny is gone, replaced by something different, lighter; a dangerous smirk curls up over the prince’s lips, and Silas knows it’s dangerous because his breath leaves him at the sight, constricting his lungs and forcing him to suck in a sharp gasp. He swallows thickly, and it tastes like adrenaline, infusing his blood and screaming at immobile limbs, frenzied thoughts. He wants to move, to shake this dumbfoundedness from his bones and do something; Silas stares at amethyst eyes and smirking lips, and he aches for- needs- wants—
“Prince Leo,” he whispers, hating how breathy it comes out, how timorous and weak. “You’re a bit... i-in my personal space. Too…Too close.” His warm breath reflects right back at him, off the porcelain surface of Leo’s cheeks, just like the breath that passes Leo’s own lips as he talks, words and the sweet scent of honey so close he can practically taste it. The thought leads to terrible mental images and he knows his cheeks are flushed a brilliant red before he feels it, hot and restless just under his skin.
“Sir Silas, I don’t think you know too close,” he replies lowly, voice rumbling through the air and into Silas’s ears in a way that makes him think, yes, thank you, he does know, and it’s them right now, so close Silas can count the individual eyelashes over Leo’s eyes, see the flecks of violet and ebony that hide in the amethyst of his irises. Slender fingers wrap around his wrists and Silas freezes, startled-deer eyes and trapped-rabbit pulse, and those sharp, glinting eyes make him feel like the prey in the claws of the predator. There is that intrinsic, vociferous curiosity in Leo’s eyes, the one incongruous to the genius prince, but there is something else in there that sets it alight; the prince could easily be the predator because Silas knows that look in his eyes: dangerous, enthralling, hungry.
“I really think I do,” he insists, tugging weakly away at his wrists. Their proximity is distracting; so potent is the scent of parchment and ozone that effuses from the blond that Silas can’t even pretend that he doesn’t revel in it anymore, want to cling to it and drown in it. He tugs half-heartedly at his wrists again, but instead of letting go, the prince takes a small step forward, brings his face so close that their noses bump. Silas rears back, red faced and biting back a yelp, but the other boy stays silent and stares.
Gone is the smirk from Leo’s face, the dangerous edge in his amethyst gaze; he simply stares, unfocused eyes and parted lips, a look so distant and faraway that, while the pounding in Silas’s chest never fades, his apprehension does. The knight finds himself staring a little, too, cataloguing this new softness in the blond’s demeanour: the absent flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks; the faraway haze in his eyes as he could be looking at him, into him, through him; the slack set of his lips, painfully softer without the sharp edges of a smirk pulling up at them. Verdant eyes fixate dizzily on those, trace the shape of them and the swell of each curve. Silas licks his own lips, and some fuzzy voice in the back of his mind wonders why he can’t yet taste honey and caramel when Leo’s mouth is just there, just inches away. Less than inches, maybe. Silas leans closer.
And then, Leo blinks. Amethyst eyes snap back to reality, but not to verdant irises. The other boy is too busy gazing intently at Silas’s own mouth, and the realization makes his breath catch clumsily in his throat. The sudden action doesn’t break the boy’s trance, but he does blink again, the distracting flutter of golden eyelashes, and when Leo wets his lips, Silas swears he feels his heart stop. He sucks in a sharp breath, and Leo’s gaze flies up to his at the same time that Silas screws his own eyes shut, twists haphazard fingers into the fabric of Leo’s collar and wrenches him forward.
Their mouths meet like fire and gunpowder: painfully, searingly explosive. Silas swears he can feel Leo smirk against his lips, only faintly, before he smooths the expression away with his tongue, reveling in the taste of caramel that still clings to the boy’s lips, even sweeter than he could have imagined. It’s addicting, and he presses himself even closer, revelling in the drunken swirl of parchment and ozone that float in the forefront of his mind. He could stay like this - drowned in the hazy heat of Leo’s skin, the caramel taste the clings to his lips - and be content, but the other boy proves bolder, resting one hand against his hip, tugging restlessly at the hem of his tunic. His fingers are hot, charged as the lightning that hides in the spines of his magic tomes, and Silas is sure it is Thunder in the tips of Leo’s fingers, arcing under his own skin and sending his nerves abuzz. The prince’s other hand easily finds Silas’s head, threading slender fingers through his hair; the ministrations are dizzyingly featherlight, sending any remnants of coherent thought down the drain and Silas shudders.
At that, Leo chuckles lowly, biting sharply at the swell of Silas’s lip; he inhales sharply, gasps against the other boy’s mouth - the taste of caramel is still there, sweet on the tongue that swipes against the broken skin of his lips - and verdant eyes fly open. Silas’s first instinct is to backpedal away, so he does. What his first instinct fails to account for are the fingers twisted into his hair, wrapped around his waist, and he falls to the ground just as Leo does, back slamming against the floor and the other boy right atop him, forcing the air straight out of his lungs. Their mouths crash against each others again, teeth clacking clumsily and Silas bites back a curse and sugar-stained memories: agile fingers through his hair and low chuckles vibrating pleasantly against his lips. The single point of contact is gone soon after it appears, and Leo’s hands are on either side of Silas’s head, leaving a safe distance between them. The knight has to force himself not to focus on the heavy breaths that fan out across his face, the way amethyst eyes fixate on his mouth and how that realization makes thinking hard.
“Prince Leo,” he breathes, “I...” He trails off, breathy words fading into breathy exhalations, and Silas tries to rein in the stubborn shortness of his breath, the hammering in his chest. He swallows thickly, the fading taste of sugar still faintly on his tongue, and resists the urge to let his eyes flutter shut, to tilt his head up and steal the rest of the caramel taste from Leo’s mouth himself. He settles for licking his own lips, swiping away the fading remnants of barely-there sugar, and tears his gaze away from Leo’s mouth and to his eyes. Sharp eyes soon follow suit, flickering up to his, and Silas blinks against the sudden scrutiny of them, effectively losing his train of thought.
“Um,” he starts eloquently. Leo eyes him quizzically and Silas grabs desperately for coherent thoughts. “You- You taste like caramel,” he blurts.
Leo blinks. Silas mentally curses: his utter lack of tact, his lack of articulation, and the painfully warm flush he can feel humming under the skin of his cheeks. Amethyst eyes stare at him unblinkingly, and it takes a conscious effort not to squirm under such an intense gaze. He’s prepared for no small amount of ridicule from the sharp-witted prince, quick diatribes and teasing laughter, and when a smirk pulls up at the corner of his lips, the knight tries not to grimace.
“Like caramel, you say?” he echoes in amusement. Leo leans down on his elbows, bringing his face so close that Silas can count the flecks of onyx that litter amethyst irises, can taste the honey-caramel in hot breaths over the skin of his lips. The other boy’s mouth brushes his as he speaks, and it’s hard to concentrate on the words that follow when there is electricity sparking at every place they touch, tingling and buzzing restlessly under Silas’s skin. “I could have had caramel earlier,” the prince says whisperingly, confides against the curve of his lips, “but why don’t we try once more, just to confirm,” he mutters, eyes heavy and half lidded as he absently licks his lips. Silas swallows, feels his mouth go dry.
“Y-yeah," he agrees numbly, verdant eyes drooping shut. "Once… once more."
With that, Leo slides his mouth over Silas's and the knight winds arms around his neck, tracing the seam of his lips hungrily with his tongue. An appreciative hum ebbs past the blond's throat, vibrating pleasantly between their lips, and when Silas pries those lips open, the hum devolves into a moan, low and hot between the curves of their mouths. The taste of caramel is heavy on the other boy's tongue, hazing over any lingering thoughts that stray past the soft skin of Leo's lips, how the fine hairs at the base of his neck feel like silk and how Silas wants to thread his fingers through the rest of it. He does just that, and the prince hums; the thin smirk that curls up at his lips is felt more than it is seen, and Leo pulls back just the barest fraction of a centimeter, breathes huskily between their mouths, "Keep doing that and I don't know how much longer I'll be satisfied with just your lips."
Bleary verdant eyes open to half-lidded amethyst and dilated pupils, pleasantly scarlet cheeks and the lazy upward curl of his raw red lips.
"I think I'd be okay with that," he murmurs. A languid smile plays at Silas's own lips, and he curls his fingers into silky blond hair, traces feather-light fingernails over the other boy's scalp. Leo's breath catches, and he tightens his fingers. "I like the taste of caramel anyway," he adds, an afterthought and a breathy laugh all in one, warm against both the prince's cheeks and his own. Amethyst eyes regard him gaze nothing short of lascivious, and when Leo kisses him again, Silas is sure to commit the taste of caramel and the brush of feathery bangs against his forehead to memory. Not that he isn't given many other chances to do so in the future.