Blood of the Unforgotten

Ru stared into Heise's eyes and saw himself reflected in the shimmering droplets sliding inside them—his own distorted image dancing as if from a hazy, feverish dream. His feelings and thoughts were a tangled mess. Should he laugh? Should he collapse? Should he set the room on fire?

No. What Heise said wasn't devastating.

It was hilarious.

A slow, dangerous smile stretched across Ru's face, sharp as a crack in porcelain.

That smile made Heise pause. He didn't speak. He did not release his hold.

And Ru didn't pull away. He closed the distance between them like a serpent wrapping around its prey—smooth, intimate, and deliberate. One hand slid up Heise's back, the other pressed to the silk at his waist. He didn't tremble. He didn't blush. He radiated a tension that felt too calm—too calculated.

Then, Ru brushed his lips against Heise's. Not soft. Not hesitant. There is just enough pressure to feel a sense of power.