"Armor," Elian gasped against Cassian's lips, his fingers slipping on the buckles. "It's too much. Take it off."
Cassian stepped back just long enough to tear the buckles free himself. The steel breastplate and pauldrons hit the dirt floor with a loud CLANG, leaving Cassian in a dark, sweat-dampened undershirt that clung to every ridge of his chest and abdomen.
He surged forward again, grabbing Elian by the waist and hoisting him effortlessly onto the war table. Parchment maps crumpled beneath Elian's thighs. Wooden troop markers scattered to the floor, forgotten.
Cassian stepped between Elian's spread legs. His large hands gripped the lapels of Elian's charcoal tunic, unfastening the buttons with urgent, trembling fingers. He shoved the fabric off Elian's shoulders, along with the fur of the Warlord's Mantle, leaving the thick fur pooled on the table beneath Elian like a makeshift bed.
