Chapter 201
Chapter 201
Blue carried the silver tray and empty dishes down to the kitchen, moving quietly through the darkened mansion. As he passed the living room, he paused.
Maren was there, sitting on the large sofa. He wasn't lying down, but sat upright, one arm resting across the back of the cushion, looking utterly uncomfortable and out of place. The entire mansion was quiet, comfortable, and sleeping soundly in beds, yet the Prince of the Sea was forcing himself into a stiff, makeshift imprisonment on the furniture.
Blue dropped the tray and dishes onto the counter with a loud clatter, ignoring Maren.
"You can come up," Blue announced, not looking at him, his voice low but clear. "The room is still... ours."
Maren sat up instantly, the word "ours" sending a dizzying jolt of heat through his body, lighting up the cold void in his chest like a supernova. He turned his head slowly, watching Blue, his green eyes wide with disbelief and hope.
"Blue," Maren began, his voice rough.
"I don't need my roommate catching pneumonia and forcing Nixxon to worry," Blue cut him off, still focused on wiping down the counter. "Go to bed, Maren. Don't be an idiot."
Maren didn't need telling twice. He stood and walked quickly, silently, toward the stairs.
Upstairs, Blue was already in bed, lying on his side facing the glass wall, his back to the room. Maren slipped inside, closing the door softly. He retrieved his pillow from the corner, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He lay down on the floor again, returning to his assigned spot, knowing the bed was too much, too dangerous.
"Maren," Blue's voice came from the bed, quiet and clear.
"Yes?"
"Just come on."
Maren froze. He pushed himself onto his elbows, staring at Blue's back—the line of his spine rigid beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt.
"Are you sure?" Maren asked, his voice thick with apprehension, every instinct screaming at him to climb into that warm, welcoming space, but every shred of learned caution holding him back.
"Just come on," Blue repeated, his voice laced with impatience this time.
Maren didn't wait for a third invitation. He stood, crossed the floor in two strides, and carefully eased himself onto the very edge of the king-sized bed, facing away from Blue. He lay perfectly still, holding his breath, feeling the heat radiating off Blue's back inches away.
The mattress was soft, yielding. The bond, so quiet when they were apart, was now humming, a dizzying, low-frequency thrum that pulsed between them.
Maren lay there for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching into an unbearable tension. He couldn't relax; he couldn't breathe properly. The scent of Blue's skin—sea salt, clean soap, and something uniquely human and intoxicating—was driving him mad.
He finally sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"I can't," Maren muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair.
Blue shifted, turning slightly so he could look at Maren over his shoulder. "Why?" he asked.
Maren turned, the space between them suddenly vanishing. Their faces were inches apart, their hot breaths mingling in the charged air. Maren's eyes, wide and dark, met Blue's searching blue gaze.
"You know exactly why," Maren breathed, the admission thick with desire and fear. The air between them was electric, heavy with the weight of the undeniable bond.
Maren started to pull away, fearing he would break his promise, fearing he would lose control and terrify Blue. But before he could escape the edge of the mattress, Blue reached out.
Blue's hand shot out and caught Maren's wrist—the same wrist Maren had used to grasp Blue's on the beach, the point of their undeniable re-connection.
Maren froze, staring at their joined hands. The electric spark—the zap—travelled up his arm, settling deep in his chest.
"If you don't leave my hand, I will take that as an invitation, Blue," Maren muttered, his voice barely audible, thick with warning.
Blue didn't let go. Instead, he pulled on Maren's wrist, forcing the Prince back. Blue then slowly sat up, their bodies rotating until they were facing each other, pressed close in the centre of the bed. Blue crawled forward, closing the last few inches of space, his face inches from Maren's.
Blue's eyes were dark, serious, and utterly vulnerable.
"You hurt me," Blue whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "You hurt me so bad, Maren."
Maren inhaled sharply, his mind reeling as he finally grasped what Blue was doing. This wasn't denial; this wasn't revenge. This was exposure. Blue was giving him another fucking chance, peeling back the layers of cold distance to show the searing wound underneath.
"Blue..." Maren's voice broke. He reached out and hauled Blue close, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. He buried his face in the soft crook of Blue's neck, inhaling his familiar, intoxicating scent.
"I swear to the gods, to the sea, and to my own life, I will never hurt you again," Maren vowed, his body shaking with the force of his emotion.
Blue didn't relax into the embrace, maintaining his rigid distance, the words tumbling out, fueled by three months of silent pain. "I felt every minute of it, Maren! I felt every lie you believed, every time you looked at her, every moment you forgot me—"
Maren's control snapped. He pulled back just enough to capture Blue's mouth, cutting off the rush of agonising words. His kiss was not demanding or possessive, but an act of frantic, desperate apology.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Maren murmured against Blue's lips, the apology lost and mingled between scorching, hot kisses that carried the weight of his guilt, his remorse, and his undeniable, surviving love.
Maren pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against Blue's, both of them breathing raggedly, the air thick with desire, regret, and the amplified hum of the reawakened bond. Maren's golden eyes searched Blue's, looking for consent, for any sign of retreat.
Blue didn't retreat. He lifted a trembling hand and gently cradled Maren's cheek. The tears he had fought back finally spilt over, tracing hot paths down his skin.
"It has to mean something, Maren," Blue whispered, his voice raw. "More than just the bond. It has to be forgiveness." He sobbed.
Maren closed his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to Blue's palm. "It means everything," he swore. "It means I'm begging for a chance to worship you, to spend the rest of my life proving I'm worthy of the love I almost destroyed."
He pulled back, his movements suddenly slow and reverent. This wasn't about passion or urgency; it was about healing, gentleness, and penance.
Maren didn't rush to take; he focused entirely on giving. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from Blue's cheeks, his touch feather-light. He pressed his lips to Blue's injured wrist, a silent, humble apology for the physical harm.
"May I?" Maren murmured, his eyes asking the ultimate permission, his hands hovering over Blue's waist.
Blue nodded, a single, silent tear escaping.
Maren lowered them onto the soft mattress, their bodies finally settling, side-by-side. He didn't dominate; he followed Blue's lead, his every movement a question, a plea for acceptance. He began by tracing the lines of Blue's face, his jaw, his neck—re-learning the geography of the man he had once known, now etched deeper by pain.
He slowly moved down, pressing soft, reverent kisses to Blue's shoulders and chest, a soothing balm on the emotional wounds. The urgency in Maren was replaced by profound tenderness, his touch more worshipful than lustful. He focused on Blue's comfort, ensuring that his weight was never crushing, his touch always gentle.
As Maren devoted himself to Blue, the residual coldness Blue felt began to thaw, replaced by the profound warmth of feeling seen, cherished, and desired without demand. This wasn't the selfish, quick pleasure of the past; this was a slow, agonizingly beautiful reconnection of two souls.
Blue finally let his hands find Maren, pulling him closer, anchoring himself to the source of his pain and his ultimate healing. The act was a communion, the quiet desperation of two mates finding their way back to equilibrium.
"Never hurt me again, Maren," Blue whispered into Maren's ear, biting his lip to keep it from trembling.
Maten locked his eyes on Blue's, "Never, my Blue, as long as I breathe," he caressed Blue's cheeks, his fingers trembling slightly, "Hurting you is hurting my own self. I can't. I love you –"
"Maren..." Blue gasped, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
He'd dreamt of this moment for three months, imagining how it'd feel to have Maren hold him in his arms while softly confessing to him.
It was better than he'd imagined.
Maren inhaled shakily, "I speak the truth, my love you more than the air I breathe. Without you, I'm nothing but a shadow; you're my essence." He whispered against Blue's lips.
Blue snuffled, "You speak like an artist," he managed a small chuckle through his tears.
Maren smiled softly, "Not an artist. In love with an artist." He whispered.
Blue suddenly wrapped his arms around Maren's neck and pulled him down for a soft, deep kiss. His tongue rolled in and tasted the sweetness he'd almost forgotten.
"God... I missed you, Maren," He murmured, shakily, burying his face in Maren's neck, inhaling the manly scent he'd missed so much.