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They’re almost at the border when Scar grabs his arm. They’ve run halfway across the server, Jimmy and Tango’s ranch in flames behind them with its owners hot on their tail, and Grian’s exasperation is starting to turn into genuine fear as the border starts to shimmer in the distance. He and Scar are on their yellow life: they’ve tasted death, and the thought that they might again, very soon, has suddenly become very real.
‘Scar—’ he starts, as he’s yanked off to the side—he’s had enough of Scar and his harebrained ideas today; the only thing they should be doing right now is getting away—but Scar ignores him.
‘This way!’
And before Grian can get another word out, Scar takes a sharp right and jumps. Grian has just enough time to see a yawning gap in the ground before Scar’s grip on his arm tightens and he’s yanked headfirst into nothing.
There’s a second of freefall where his stomach swoops, the absent muscles of his wings flexing desperately, and then he lands on top of Scar with a sharp oof and all the wind is knocked out of him. For a second he just lies there, heart rabbiting, blinking away panic. When he opens his eyes he realises he’s lying on top of Scar, face pillowed on his chest. Grian jerks his head up quickly, glad it’s too dark for Scar to see him flush, and looks around. They’re in what appears to be a very small cave. It’s dark and cramped and smells vaguely damp, lush and wet like there’s water and undergrowth nearby. They’re both breathing hard, filling up the small space. When he starts to roll off Scar, Grian immediately hits a mossy wall. He tries to sit up and bonks his head on the ceiling.
‘Scar,’ he hisses, putting the full weight of his annoyance into the word, ‘what the hell is this?’
‘It’s a cave,’ Scar says brightly.
Grian can’t work out whether he’s being unhelpful on purpose or whether he genuinely thinks this is useful information. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Scar is being real or putting on a show. Right now, Grian doesn’t particularly care. ‘I can see that, thanks—what are we doing down here?’
‘We’re hiding,’ Scar says, and Grian can see his face dimly in the dark. He’s smiling. A surge of something—irritation, want—runs through Grian, bolstered by the adrenaline. He ignores it.
‘They are gonna find us, Scar, and kill us.’
‘No they’re not,’ Scar says, still unconcerned. ‘I scoped this place out the other day—the entrance hole is invisible unless you’re looking for it. They’ll run right past us, as long as we’re quiet.’
Grian’s irritated retort is already on the tip of his tongue as he looks up, examining the gap they fell through. He remembers it being pretty big, but only a sliver of light is making its way through. And he can’t see Tango or Jimmy peering down at them just yet. Reluctantly, he swallows his jibe.
When he looks back down, Scar is grinning up at him, smug as a cat with the cream. Grian feels a strong urge to wipe that look off his face. ‘Don’t think that’s put you back in my good books,’ he says. ‘It’s your fault we’re in this mess in the first place. Why on earth did you burn down the ranch?’
‘They killed my pandas,’ Scar says plaintively. He does not look suitably ashamed. In fact, aside from a flicker of sadness at the mention of his pandas, he looks rather pleased with himself.
Grian can think of many things to say to this, but the jellie-pandas have been a long-running sore spot between them and he has no desire to reopen that can of worms. Although technically he does have them to thank for Scar’s heroic water bucket clutch earlier, which had been…quite something to witness, even while Grian was fearing for his own life. No need to mention that to Scar, though—god knows he doesn’t need encouraging—so Grian settles for pressing his lips together and giving Scar a look.
Scar just yawns, shuffling about like he’s trying to get comfortable. Grian raises an eyebrow. ‘What now?’ he hisses.
‘Now we wait,’ Scar says. He’s trying to put his hands behind his head, but his elbows won’t fit in the cramped space. It doesn’t stop him from trying, though, with what Grian considers a lot of unnecessary bicep flexing in the process. Grian sighs and looks away. With the position he’s lying in, though, the only natural place to look is at Scar’s chest—and he has a feeling Scar will notice him staring in this cramped space. He shuffles backwards, trying to sit up, but his back hits the wall of the cave far too quickly for comfort. If he sits back, he ends up hunched awkwardly forward, crouched between Scar’s legs. The only comfortable position is lying down, same as Scar, except the only place Grian can lie is directly on top of him.
‘Budge up, Scar,’ he mutters, shuffling about. Scar wriggles backwards incrementally, then settles into basically the same position as before. ‘Scar, Grian says, ‘seriously—there’s no room.’
‘I am budged up,’ Scar says. ‘This is a little cave. That’s what makes it so sneaky to hide in.’
Grian rolls his eyes, which is lost on Scar in the dark, and kneels up precariously. His knees are shoved in-between Scar’s legs and he can’t sit up properly, meaning he’s entirely too close for comfort as he bends over Scar’s body. He ignores it—or tries to, anyway, which is impossible when Scar is taking up all the space in the cave, warm and breathing and just being Scar, right there, close enough that Grian can’t help but be intensely aware of him. He reaches forward, searching for the wall of the cave behind Scar’s head, making sure there isn’t any extra room that Scar’s not telling him about. Sure enough, though, his fingers hit moss pretty much immediately.
Bent over like this, his face is almost directly above Scar’s. Grian can hear him breathing—could feel it, faintly warm on his face, if he stopped and closed his eyes. Could lean down and kiss him, if he wanted to.
Scar is right. There’s no more room.
He sits back, hunched over awkwardly, ignoring the raised eyebrow that he can feel Scar giving him. ‘Satisfied?’ Scar says, and Grian swallows. He is anything but.
Grian’s not ashamed to say that he thinks Scar is hot. That over the course of double life, he may have sprawled on a chest a few times and watched Scar build, shirtless in the sun, and admired him. That he’s flirted, a little, and sometimes in conversation has acted like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. But. But, the one thing Grian always needs is an exit strategy. He’ll be as coy as he wants, will enjoy the sight of Scar and the thrill of their two hearts beating as one, as long as he can vanish at any moment with a cheeky grin and a flutter of wings.
Now his wings are clipped and he’s stuck in a two-by-one block hole with Scar, with nowhere to go until Tango and Jimmy give up on trying to kill them. And knowing Tango, that could be a while. Grian can feel the inside of Scar’s thighs pressed against his ankles, and that alone is giving him a dangerous number of ideas. Heaven knows what he’ll come up with if they’re trapped in this cave for much longer.
‘Grian,’ Scar says, ‘you don’t look very comfortable.’
He's about to tell Scar that he’s perfectly fine, actually, when there’s a noise from above them. Scuffling, footsteps, coming from somewhere to their right. Getting closer. Grian shuts his mouth, stops breathing for a second. He feels Scar tense up beneath him. The footsteps are moving around them—lost, or circling?
Red death, red death, the red death is coming—it’s so close, he can taste it—
Grian stares down at Scar and they make eye contact, trapped, no way of fighting their way out if they’re found. Good plan, he wants to say to Scar, but instead he breathes shallowly through his nose.
‘They were here,’ Tango says, so clearly that he could be in the cave with them. Grian jumps violently and loses his balance. He falls forward onto Scar’s chest and freezes, biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to stay silent. Footsteps crunch directly overhead.
‘They’re not at the border.’ Jimmy’s voice. They must be stood almost directly overhead. Grian is very aware of his sudden proximity to Scar: they’re chest-to-chest, face-to-face; Grian can feel him breathing, fast and shallow. ‘They could’ve pearled out.’
Scar’s face is shadowy beneath him, his wide eyes luminous. Grian tries to match the rhythm of Scar’s breaths, tries to stay quiet despite the dizzying thump of adrenaline through his system.
Below him, Scar’s lips part. Shh, he mouths, just a suggestion of a word, and Grian feels the exhale on his face. His heart skips a beat again, for an entirely different reason. He nods and closes his eyes, pretends he’s scared of death when actually he’s scared that Scar will see his expression.
‘They would’ve used pearls earlier if they had them,’ Tango says. Grian’s body is flush with Scar’s, all the way down to their tangled legs. ‘No—they must be close.’ Neither of them move a muscle. Grian can feel Scar’s stomach muscles flexing and unflexing slowly underneath him. He doesn’t know if Scar is aware that he’s doing it, or that Grian can feel it. Grian does know that he should really be thinking of something other than Scar’s abs at a time like this, but he can’t seem to help himself. The imminent death just makes his awareness sharper, everything narrowed down to Scar, Scar, this hot, infuriating guy with a death wish who Grian is bound to, body and soul.
One tiny movement and he could kiss him. It could be the last thing he ever does. Grian is surprised to find that he wouldn’t mind that. In a way, he likes it: let rigor mortis set in with their lips locked, let their corpses show how Grian wanted him, how finally at the end he had Scar all to himself.
He swallows. Underneath him, Scar’s breath hitches for a millisecond, brief enough for Grian to think he’s imagining things even as he lets his eyes flicker open. Scar’s face, impossibly, is even closer than before. He’s looking up at Grian through his eyelashes and Grian is hypnotized by how Scar’s golden green eyes have turned a deep, mossy colour in this light. He’s used to seeing Scar from a distance, in the sun: this dark, breathless closeness is new. The scars crisscrossing his face have become featherlike shadows, urging Grian to touch. It might be his imagination, but they all seem to lead to Scar’s mouth, drawing the eye inexorably to lips that are ever so slightly parted. Would they be as warm as the rest of him, Grian wonders?
Scar’s eyes are lidded. His breathing has slowed, like he’s not listening to whatever’s going on above them anymore. Like he’s been distracted. Grian realises that his own head has dipped slightly, that he can feel Scar’s breath on his lips. His heart is thumping and he’s not sure whether it’s because he’s so close to death or so close to Scar. He wants him so badly. The extent of it has been creeping up on him the whole time they’ve been in the cave, and now it almost knocks Grian off his feet, the desperate need to kiss him.
Scar’s eyes flutter shut. A second later Grian lets his own eyes close, his heart beating so fast he can feel it in his throat.
Above them, there is the scraping sound of a sword being unsheathed.
Grian’s eyes fly open and he’s already tasting blood, fumbling for his own sword that he’ll never even be able to draw in this cramped space—and then Scar’s hands are on his waist, holding him still. Grian freezes, heart pounding faster than he thought possible, skin on fire where Scar is touching him.
‘We’re not leaving till they’re dead.’ Tango’s voice is venomous, and Jimmy sighs. A couple metres below them, Grian and Scar are frozen in their little tableau. Grian is keenly aware that their lives are in the balance, but his focus keeps narrowing down to Scar, who hasn’t let go of his waist. Scar’s hands are so big and they fit so well, like Grian’s hips were moulded for them. The whole of Grian’s body, shaped for the express purpose of being touched by Scar. The thought makes his skin burn, and he wets his lips without thinking.
When he forces himself to focus, he sees Scar looking up at him with an unfamiliar expression. No, that’s wrong—Scar looks at him like this all the time: dazed, intense, almost pained. Grian has always written it off as Scar’s exasperation at having Grian as a soulmate, but now Scar is staring at him with the exact same face and this time Grian can’t look away.
Scar kisses him. Suddenly his lips are on Grian’s, hot and hungry and it only takes Grian a split second to kiss him back, shock dissolving into desperate heat. He kisses Scar hard, the feel of his mouth on Grian’s like the first food of a starving man, like water in the desert. His stubble scrapes across Grian’s chin and Grian bites back a gasp, is forced to feel it all in silence because death is in the air but Scar is here, right here, burning hot and alive. They kiss desperately, open-mouthed, and Scar’s tongue in his mouth is a revelation that Grian can only deal with by grabbing a fistful of Scar’s hair and pulling on it—and god, he’s wanted to do that forever; Scar’s hair is so soft and it makes Scar arch up into him, muffling a bitten-off moan into Grian’s mouth. Scar’s hands tighten on his waist in return, one of them slipping under his jumper. Grian loses track of the kiss, pants open-mouthed into Scar’s mouth and has to fight hard not to make a noise. His skin is on fire, all the sensation short-circuiting his brain and he’s seconds from throwing caution to the wind and doing something that he guarantees will make Scar make some noise. He’ll take being a red life in return for the pleasure of fucking Scar right this second.
Before he can, though, he becomes aware of a noise from above. A low, murmuring voice—Jimmy’s. He can’t make out the words, isn’t sure he’s interested, actually: Scar is mouthing kisses down his neck and Grian is tempted to lose himself to the feeling, but the razor-edge of danger keeps his eyes open. He has an inkling that Scar is just as aware of Jimmy’s voice, is probably distracting Grian on purpose. That thought drives him dangerously close to losing control. Scar’s stupid risks have always driven him mad—this one, however, Grian is willing to forgive.
As Scar moves up to the underside of his jaw, Grian lets his hand fall from Scar’s hair to the back of his neck. It’s broad and warm like the rest of Scar, his hair tapering off to a little curl at the back of his neck. Even in the heat of the moment Grian notes how the shape of it is intimately familiar: he hadn’t realised that he’s been cataloguing all the little details of Scar, storing up the intricacies of his body during all those sunny ogling sessions.
He pulls Scar closer to him even as he keeps an ear out, straining to make out what Jimmy’s saying up above. …got away somehow, but we can go back and regroup…revenge later…
Grian feels Scar smile against the skin of his neck. Clearly he’s also been listening, not as distracted as he seems. Now their fates rest on Jimmy’s powers of persuasion—personally, Grian isn’t convinced that they’re out of the woods yet. Scar traces Grian’s spine under his jumper. Grian shivers, then pulls his head back so he and Scar are face to face again. Scar’s eyes are all pupil in the dark, like a cat fresh from the hunt. He smiles with red, bruised lips, teeth glinting dully, half a challenge in his eyes like he’s planning how best to eat Grian for lunch. He looks almost drunk. Grian puts a finger under Scar’s chin, tilts his face up slightly and drinks in the sight of him. Scar softens instantly, becoming pliant. Grian smiles at the sight and makes him wait a second before kissing him, slow and a little filthy.
The sound of metal is almost enough to make them break the kiss. It’s a smooth, resigned hiss: Tango is sheathing his sword. Scar squeezes Grian’s hip, light, triumphant. ‘Fine,’ Tango says, ‘but we are so raiding their base.’
Up above, Jimmy laughs. Down below, Grian wraps a leg around Scar’s hip. There are footsteps, sharp at first and then fading, taking the danger with them. Grian stops listening quite so intently, lets the world narrow down—finally, totally—to the feel of Scar, his lips, his hands, every inch of him that’s pressed up against Grian in this cramped little space. This stupid, smart, irritating, sexy man who delights in pushing Grian to his limits: Grian was lost when he first laid eyes on him. And now, when there is no more air to breathe—only heat and skin, Scar and more Scar—Grian knows that there’s no coming back from this. He doesn’t ever want to. They are bound together, inextricably, till death do them part, and right now there’s no better way to celebrate that than by shoving their tongues in each other’s mouths.
Scar rolls his hips and Grian finally lets out the moan that’s been on the tip of his tongue all this time. ‘You,’ he murmurs, close enough for Scar to feel the words rather than hear them, ‘are still in trouble, by the way.’
Scar only laughs, sweet as honey, just as self-satisfied. ‘Still want me to budge up?’ His voice is gravelly and it completely ruins Grian’s train of thought. He manages an unamused eyebrow-raise, which promptly loses its punch as Scar shifts again and Grian’s eyes unfocus. Scar grins and opens his mouth, no doubt to say something smug and cajoling at the same time, but before he can get a word out Grian cuts him off with a kiss. Turns out it’s a lot less frustrating being around Scar when you’re allowed to snog him every time he gets smug. Something about being able to touch and not just look is scratching an itch that Grian’s been ignoring for a very long time.
Now that they’re out of mortal danger—or as far from it as anyone ever gets in these life games—Grian realises that Scar must have been holding back before, because now he’s making noises into Grian’s mouth, little gasps and groans that remind Grian of all the filthy ideas he was having ten minutes ago—ideas he may have been having for a very long time, if the sudden clamour of his subconscious is to be believed. There is so much that he has been wanting to do with Scar—to Scar. Number one on the list is this rather obscene kiss.
When Grian draws back, counterargument very effectively made, it takes Scar a few seconds to form words. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then,’ he says breathlessly, still looking pleased with himself.
This is the sort of challenge that Grian would never usually back down from—but usually he’s stood several feet away from Scar and the air between them is crackling with frustration. Now, hips flush and noses touching, Grian is more willing to forgive. Just this once, he’ll let Scar have the last word.
Still, he takes a great deal of pleasure in wiping the smug look off Scar’s face. He suspects that Scar does as well.