Imperfect

Riven whispered again, "If you want me to leave..." 

Riven barely had time to process Soren's expression before he felt a hand cupping the back of his neck, pulling him closer with a firm yet almost desperate touch. His breath hitched as Soren's lips crashed against his, rough and possessive, leaving no room for hesitation.

He refused to let Riven finish that sentence.

Water sloshed around them as Soren pushed him to the edge of the bathtub, his body pressing firmly against Riven's. The cold porcelain against his back contrasted with the warmth of Soren's soaked shirt, clinging to his sculpted chest and shoulders.

Riven's hands instinctively gripped Soren's arms, feeling the tension in his muscles as if he was barely holding himself together.