Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 175: Noelle

Chapter 175: Noelle

Heaven. That was the only word in Thorne’s mind as his hand found its place on the back of Noelle’s neck, pulling him closer into a deep, unhurried kiss. Thorne had imagined this moment countless times during their separation, thought he’d be desperate and impatient, all-consuming in his need to claim and possess Noelle. Yet, now that he had him in his arms again, those thoughts evaporated. Fast and frantic wouldn’t do. Not this time.

This was different.

Noelle moved, his lithe body shifting to straddle Thorne in the bathtub, as though the closeness they already shared wasn’t enough. His legs framed Thorne’s hips, and their bodies pressed together, the motion sending ripples through the water. It spilled over the edge of the tub, cascading onto the floor in small waves, but neither of them noticed nor cared.

Their lips met again, slow and deliberate, a kiss so rich with emotion it transcended mere touch. Minutes passed, or perhaps it was hours—time ceased to exist. They poured everything into the kiss: the unbearable ache of separation, the torment of longing, the anxiety of not knowing if they would ever see each other again, and the profound love that bound them so tightly. This kiss wasn’t just physical; it was a confirmation, a reaffirmation of their existence, their bond, their unbreakable connection.

When they finally pulled apart, gasping for breath, Thorne’s hands remained steady on Noelle’s waist, his thumb tracing idle circles against the slick skin. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Noelle’s with an intensity that made the Omega’s breath hitch.

Noelle’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his lips swollen and glistening, his expression both dazed and tender. Thorne’s gaze softened, his thumb moving to gently stroke Noelle’s lower lip, a touch so reverent it bordered on worship.

"You’re so beautiful," Thorne whispered, his voice husky and thick with emotion. The words hung between them, not just a compliment but a truth that Thorne had carried in his heart since the day they first met.

Noelle’s lips curved into a soft smile, one that lit up his entire face. There was no teasing in it this time, no witty remark on the tip of his tongue. Instead, it was pure, unfiltered love—a silent acknowledgment of Thorne’s words and all that they meant.

Noelle smiled softly in response, his lips curving in a way that made Thorne’s heart ache. "I could say the same about you," Noelle replied, his gaze drifting over Thorne in the soft glow of the lamplight. His damp blonde hair clung to his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes shone with a depth of emotion that left Noelle feeling both overwhelmed and addicted.His fingers drifted upward, brushing against the line of Thorne’s jaw, tracing the strong curve as if memorizing every detail all over again.

Being the center of such unyielding affection was a weighty thing, heavy enough to make him falter. But it was also intoxicating, something he found himself craving despite the enormity of it.

Thorne’s hand moved slowly, deliberately, to cup Noelle’s cheek. Noelle leaned into the touch without hesitation, the intimacy of the gesture striking a chord deep within Thorne’s chest. The tenderness of it—the way Noelle seemed to melt into his palm—filled Thorne with an unrelenting sense of gratitude and awe.

His fingers trailed lower, brushing the curve of Noelle’s neck until they found the collar that rested there. His touch lingered on the embedded star, his thumb tracing its edges as if committing it to memory. Noelle was his star—his guiding light in every waking moment.

His hand continued downward, tracing the line of Noelle’s damp skin, brushing over his collarbone before ghosting over his chest. His fingers skimmed a hardened nipple, earning the faintest shiver from Noelle. It reminded Thorne of their wedding night, the way he had explored every inch of Noelle’s body, memorizing him in the firelight, staking a claim not just over his flesh but over his very soul.

Noelle said nothing, his breath hitching only slightly as Thorne’s hand traveled lower, venturing across the scarred terrain of his body with reverence. When Thorne’s fingers brushed the jagged scar on his lower abdomen, Noelle inhaled sharply, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

"A bit ugly, don’t you think?" Noelle said suddenly, his voice strained as if trying to downplay the significance of it.

Thorne froze at the words, his brows knitting together in something akin to disbelief. Slowly, he looked up, his blue eyes locking onto Noelle’s emerald ones. For the first time, he saw it—an inkling of insecurity hiding beneath Noelle’s confident exterior. It startled him, pained him, because he had never imagined that Noelle, who always carried himself so boldly, could think so little of any part of himself.

"Ugly?" Thorne repeated, his voice rising slightly with incredulity. "Is that what you think?"

Noelle shifted under his gaze, his attempt at deflection faltering. "Well... it’s not exactly pleasant to look at."

"Noelle," he said softly, though his voice trembled with restrained anger.

Before Noelle could respond, Thorne rose abruptly from the tub, water sloshing over the edges. He grasped Noelle by the wrist, pulling him gently but firmly to his feet. Without a word, Thorne grabbed a nearby towel, wrapping it around Noelle and beginning to dry the long, waist-length raven hair that cascaded down his back.

"Thorne, I—"

"Don’t," Thorne cut him off, his tone sharper than he intended. He continued his task with focused precision, his hands moving methodically as he squeezed out the excess water, smoothing the strands with care. Only when he was satisfied did he finally toss the towel aside.

He barely spared a moment to run the towel through his own damp hair before he guided Noelle out of the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows across the walls.

Thorne led Noelle to the edge of the bed, pressing him gently to sit. Then, without hesitation, he knelt before him, settling between Noelle’s legs. Noelle’s breath caught in his throat as Thorne placed his head against his inner thigh, his arms loosely encircling Noelle’s waist as if grounding himself in his presence.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with unspoken emotion. Thorne finally exhaled, his breath warm against Noelle’s skin.

"I’m sorry," he said at last, his voice low and hoarse.

Noelle blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked, startled by the unexpected apology.

Thorne lifted his head slightly, meeting Noelle’s gaze with an intensity that made his chest tighten. "I often talk about how beautiful you are," Thorne began, his tone laced with self-reproach. "I didn’t realize it might have given you the wrong impression—that I’m obsessed only with your outer appearance, that my love for you is... shallow."

"Thorne, I know—" Noelle started, his voice soft.

"Noelle." Thorne interrupted, and the sound of his name on Thorne’s lips made him fall silent. Thorne rarely called him by his given name. He was always my star, a term so deeply entwined with their bond that hearing otherwise felt foreign. The simple utterance struck a chord deep within Noelle, and he felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes.