an unkindness of ravens

quinze

— quinze ; fifteen —

"WHAT HAPPENED THIS TIME?"

Henri didn't reply to Soren's question straightaway, taking his time to close the door behind him and kick his shoes off. It was obvious which side belonged to who — Soren's was neat and tidy, his books stacked in careful rows and his clothes carefully packed away in contrast to the untucked bedsheets and scattered clothes that Henri hadn't bothered to put away. Already, he knew his wardrobe looked like a bomb had gone off. He found it hard to care. Soren ragged on him about the mess sometimes which was just more incentive to keep it looking like a pigsty.

"Hey," Soren said sharply. "Don't ignore me."

"What do you think happened?" Henri sighed as shoved a messy pile of clothes off the floor and into his wardrobe. "I'm good at pissing people off and they already hate me. You put the dots together."

He turned around to find Soren standing in front of him and rocked back instinctively into the wardrobe to stop himself walking into him. Soren ignored that and studied his face as if searching for something. Henri stared back at him as he raised a hand and ran a light finger along the sore area Jude's fist had caught him. He hasn't seen his face but he was sure there would be a red mark blooming along it that would soon fade to a bruise. The hard look on Soren's face was at odds with the careful way he brushed Henri's face, tracing the pattern of Jude's rage with warm fingers.

"Benjamin?" Soren guessed.

"Jude," Henri said, swallowing around the sudden thickness of his throat. Standing this close to him, it was impossible not to remember what his lips tasted like and his body was straining to cover the distance. "Bringing up your name in conversation is a surefire way to get hit. You should try it some time."

Soren's jaw tightened. "Don't speak to him about me."

"Hey, he said that too. You guys should talk it out — you have more in common than I expected."

"Henri," Soren snapped. "Don't test me."

Henri tipped his head up towards him until their faces were inches apart. "Then tell me what happened between the two of you. What really happened, Soren," he said in a low voice. "Because I don't believe the story the rest of the team are going along with. It doesn't add up."

"Why do you even care?"

"Humour me."

Soren responded by kissing him hard enough that his back hit the wardrobe and his head was tilted back to meet the forceful demand of Soren's kiss. Henri felt the tension and frustration in every line of his body, in the way he pressed himself against Henri, and wondered if this was how he'd kissed Matthias. Full of baseless rage. Henri returned the aggression as he slid his hands under Soren's shirt and dragged blunt nails along his smooth skin, thinking about the fear in Lucas's eyes and the way Jude's hands had wrapped around his throat. He really would have tried to kill him. Henri had seen his expression when he'd said those things to him.

Henri shoved Soren back and scowled at him. "You can't shut me up like that."

"Then how?" Soren's eyes were blazing with a confusing whirl of lust and irritation. "With a knife in your side?"

"I'd like to see you try."

Henri meant to argue his point further but seeing Soren's flushed cheeks and huge pupils was enough to make him hard, and all possibility of conversation flew out of the window. Henri grabbed his face and now he was the one forcing the kiss, biting his lip and slipping his tongue in when Soren's lips parted. He wanted the control and seized it as he let his hand move down, stopping between Soren's legs. The involuntarily moan that left his mouth made Henri shiver with pleasure and he smirked against Soren's lips. Soren must have felt the smug twist of his lips, because he caught Henri's bottom lip between his teeth, in warning or reprimand.