How to Train Your Channeler

[Oriena]

Sasha stared at her like he was weighing which version of Oriena he’d summoned, and for a heartbeat she was certain she knew how this went. But there was no tentative brush of fingers. No soft slide upward, no careful exploration of the place where his hand already rested and where her pulse was still betraying her. The realisation hit her sideways and sharp: that some treacherous part of her was waiting for the gentler answer. For the soft, almost reverent way Sasha touched when he forgot to armour himself. It was never strategy on his part, nor restraint. It was instinct. Something he did without knowing it mattered; an honesty offered without awareness, let alone leverage.

And Ori hated herself, just a little, for wanting it from him.

The thought barely had time to finish before he grabbed her collar and pulled her in. There was no hesitation in Sasha now. No question, no apology, no check to see if he’d guessed right. He chose – and the honesty of it sparked in her like a match to dry tinder. The kiss landed hard, all heat and intent, and it tore a feral sound from her throat she didn’t bother to swallow. This she understood. Force. Pressure. Desire that didn’t ask permission.

Her body answered before her mind could interfere, and she didn’t stop it. She let the device fall from under her arm, the bundle thudding forgotten to the floor, freeing both hands without hesitation. Ori leaned into it, heat answering heat, teeth and breath and pressure speaking a language she knew how to answer. Weeks of borrowed time burned electric through her veins, the sharp, visceral awareness of someone who’d been living too long with the promise of oblivion. The last time they’d been together Ori had been looking to burn out – to disappear into recklessness and wake up empty. Now she was too present for that, too aware of the way her body responded to him, of the way his honesty pulled at her more viciously than any calculated dominance ever had.

Her blood was running hot, nerves singing, not with anger but with the sharpness of being alive when she hadn’t expected to be. She felt the difference in him. Not just the hardness of the kiss, but the intention behind it – the choice. Sasha wasn’t apologising with his mouth. He wasn’t asking to be taken. He wasn’t asking anything at all. He was just acting without questioning the cost, and it mattered more than Oriena wanted it to. She stayed in the moment far longer than she intended. Long enough for the heat to spiral, for the tunnels and the memory of death to fall away. Long enough to feel painfully, vividly alive.

When she finally broke herself free, she didn’t step away. She stayed close, breath still ragged, her forehead nearly touching his. Her eyes were dark, focused and alive in a way she didn’t bother to hide as she searched his face. There was something different in him: something steadier, bolder. Fire she recognised and liked far too much. She could make some guesses as to why. Her lips curved a wicked grin. “I’m not wrecking another pair of pants for you,” she murmured, but the promise in her gaze left no doubt that if he pushed, she wouldn’t resist. “You think you can hold it until I dump this where it needs to go?” Her foot tapped the bundle she’d dropped, though she barely opened up any space between them. She didn’t clarify what she meant by it.