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Emotion is such strange relief, afterwards.
Mithrun wipes away tears, the ghost of laughter still lingering in his chest. So there was hope, after all. There was something to look forward to, even afterwards, even as broken and empty as he was. There was still some use to be made.
“I’m happy,” he repeats, in quiet awe.
The apprehension on Kabru’s face fades and softens into something more fond. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says, sincerely.
And then he’s wrapping his arms around Mithrun all of a sudden, the warmth of it enveloping gim, and surprise rushes out of Mithrun in a soft gust of air. Kabru’s hands are on him, holding him tight and close, his head tilted down and pressed against Mithrun’s cheek. Lingering, as Mithrun doesn’t pull away.
Mithrun laughs softly again and leans his head against Kabru’s shoulder, touching the leather of Kabru’s armor with mild curiosity before putting his arms around Kabru properly. It was very nice.
Something stirs in Mithrun’s chest.
After a long moment, Kabru pulls away from him, and he steps back into his body, feels the bite of the cold beneath his feet, seeping through the cracks in his uniform. The large tallman shirt—Kabru’s—that he was wearing did nothing to stop it. It was an underlayer, meant to be worn close to the skin. Mithrun plucks at it, remembering the warmth of Kabru’s arms.
“You’re frowning, Captain,” Kabru says. “Don’t you think it’s time for a break?”
Mithrun looks dubiously at the ice underneath their feet. The meat. He had been tasked with carving the chimera up, a request from the adventurer who had ultimately driven the demon away. He had set his sights on finishing this, at least, and maybe the meal, but maybe there was enough left in him to continue past that.
“It will take time for everyone to cook what you’ve already cut up,” Kabru points out, reasonably, persuasively. His face is very close.
On an impulse, Mithrun grabs him by the strap of his armor and pulls him down. One brush of Mithrun’s lips against his, Mithrun’s open mouth against the gentle curve of Kabru’s, just to test.
Just to taste.
He lets Kabru go and nods. “Okay. Let’s rest,” he says, and Kabru, looking rather thunderstruck, follows him.
-
When the feast starts, the food that comes to the Canaries’ table is not the dizzying array Mithrun half-expected. There was an enormous steak, some kebabs, pie, stew. All of it was rather heavy fare for elven stomachs. Mithrun takes note of the mood around the table, something he used to do on instinct. It feels like stirring a numb limb back to life. He looks into their faces, their body language. At least they do not all resent Mithrun for the bargain he made; they would likely all have been pressed into it anyway, after all that had happened. The queen would have made sure of it.
He had promised Kabru that he would eat, and eat heartily at that. The new king of the island approaches with the half-elf woman, declaring his intentions for something or other. He wasn’t paying that much attention.
Mithrun carefully selects a kebab.
There was some sort of commotion going on with Pattadol and the half-elf and the king, when Mithrun takes his first bite. The meat is charred on the outside, covered with glaze, and juicy and tender inside. It was, Mithrun decides, not bad.
He chews steadily through the kebab, each of the three pieces of meat. He’s picking the skewer clean when the others decide to walk away, Pattadol raging after them. The queen pops in on the fairy and gives her own opinion, but Mithrun has a fork, and then a forkful of meat. This one goes down easier than the first.
It’s a long time before he lifts his head again, and sees the elves all slinking off to their tents and back down to the docks to bunk down. Some, the ones that had simply passed out on the grass after what had happened, were waking up and taking their seats at the table. The sun has already set.
“Time for a break?” Kabru says, emerging from the shadows. He looks tired as well, but he musters a smile when he sees the empty plates in front of Mithrun. “Glad to see you’re keeping up your end of the bargain, Captain.”
“I still can’t taste,” he says. It was true. He couldn’t describe any of the dishes he just ate, but he knew, vaguely, what he was supposed to be perceiving—the sweetness of the glaze, the savor of the meat, the textures on his tongue.
“I think it will improve,” Kabru says, optimistic as always. He puts a hand on Mithrun’s shoulder, warm through the thin linen of his shirt. Mithrun stares at it, the blunt cut of his fingernails, the little calluses on his knuckles. “Do you need help getting to sleep?”
“Mm.”
Kabru helps him up, and Mithrun realizes how long he’s been sitting in place. His muscles ache vaguely, as though far away.
“Where do you sleep?” Kabru asks, and Mithrun gestures vaguely over to the regulation Canary tents. His own was set up only for one person, a relic of the time he still had fits and violent nightmares. Kabru pulls the tent flap aside for him, then crawls in himself.
Mithrun’s sleeping potions are scattered haphazardly inside, but Kabru ignores it in favor of tucking Mithrun into his bedroll, seating himself beside Mithrun as he kneads at the knots in Mithrun’s back. It had become an unspoken thing during the time they had spent in the dungeon—Kabru’s nightly ritual of figuring out what exactly would help Mithrun fall asleep.
Mithrun hadn’t even known he could, without the potions or the spells. But Kabru’s hands on him feel… better, than he has in a while. More comfortable. More present.
Kabru’s fingers dig into a particularly stiff muscle, and Mithrun lets out an involuntary noise. A gasp. Kabru’s face turns a becoming shade of red, and for the first time in forty years, Mithrun finds himself taking an interest in it.
He thought—he had thought—that all of that desire had died the same death as the others. But Kabru won’t meet his eyes, and Mithrun sees in the flickering mana-lights the curve of his eyelashes and the dark flush over his cheeks, the plumpness of his lip caught between his teeth. Kabru is warm against him. Kabru always was warm against him.
Was that something Mithrun could want?
His eyelids are drooping now, and Kabru is slowing, laying Mithrun back with a fond smile. It’s still cold under the covers, and Mithrun grasps at him, without thinking. Kabru’s hand covers his, the heat of it warding off the chill.
“Captain?” he says, softly.
Mithrun doesn’t know what to ask. His mouth refuses to give voice to his thoughts. He almost doesn’t remember what it was like to feel that way, to want.
But he likes Kabru’s hand there, on his.
That was new.
“I’ll go now,” Kabru says, drawing away. “See you tomorrow?”
Mithrun watches him leave, the fabric of the tent flapping behind him. A vague sense of discomfort lingers long after Kabru has left.
-
Pattadol is all apologetic the next day, flustered and begging for forgiveness. She follows Mithrun all the way back to his tent. “I’m so sorry, Captain Mithrun, I should have ensured that the correct potions were set up. Please let me accompany you and cast the sleep spell today.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“I know that Sir Kabru has been assisting you still,” she laments. “I’m sorry it came to that point.”
“It’s fine. He’s offered to help me again.”
“You don’t have to accept if you’re just being polite. I can go give him a talking-to,” Pattadol says, and Mithrun huffs, quietly amused. He hasn’t had to be polite in decades, not since the demon. He remains silent.
“…Well, you just give me a call on your fairy if you need something!” she says eventually. Mithrun watches her leave as well, but the sight of her retreating back doesn’t involve the same feelings of discontent that Kabru did.
Kabru, who would arrive soon. Mithrun puts his hand on his chest, wondering if it was the anticipation making his heart beat faster.
He had been wondering, ever since yesterday, if it was something he could pursue. If it was something he could desire. He thinks of Kabru’s lips on his, warm and soft—just a taste, he remembers thinking, just to see—and then he’s thinking of Kabru’s breath on his and Kabru’s hands hot against him, the sweet flustered look on Kabru’s face when he had accidentally coaxed a sigh out of Mithrun.
It would be good. He knows that much already. Kabru carries himself that way, aware of his own attractiveness and knowing how to wield it. A boy like that, looking like that, slinking around an active dungeon for four years after leaving the stifling environment of the elves—he would be experienced. Mithrun was sure of it. A memory surfaces, all of a sudden. They had bathed together in the dungeon, and Mithrun had watched water run in glimmering droplets down Kabru’s skin, pooling in the hollow of his throat and sliding in rivulets down his abdomen and the curve of his hips and thighs. He’d fill Mithrun up so well.
Mithrun swallows. Presses his hand below his stomach, feels the emptiness there. Yes, that was something he could be able to desire.
-
It was the last day of the feast. The resurrection process on the poor chimera-girl had started, and Mithrun had delegated the supervision to Pattadol and the hands of the elven healing specialists. He is just leaving the building when he spots Kabru in the distance. He lengthens his stride into something more purposeful. The crowd parts before him.
“Kabru,” he says, and Kabru turns to him. The first shock of seeing his eyes—such a bright shade—has faded, but this time Mithrun feels an undeniable thrill, low in his gut. His uniform is suddenly too constricting.
“Yes, Captain?” Kabru says.
“Come with me.” What remained of the forest was only a few meters away. They could discuss things in relative privacy. He takes Kabru’s arm and starts walking him there, determined to pursue this. They are barely hidden by the screen of trees and branches when Mithrun pulls Kabru down for a kiss.
He lingers this time, savoring the little gasp Kabru lets out, the soft warm plushness of his lips, the way his eyes widen in surprise before he starts kissing Mithrun back. Mithrun, emboldened, licks into Kabru’s mouth and delights in the sweet, scandalized noise that Kabru lets out. Kabru’s hands move politely to Mithrun’s waist—and then all Mithrun can imagine is riding him, Kabru’s surprised flustered face beneath him and Mithrun’s hands spread out on his chest, what a pretty picture—Kabru’s grip on Mithrun’s waist as he rolls his hips and takes Kabru to the hilt—please, all the way inside, filling him just as he’s craved—
They only pull apart because they’ve run out of air. Kabru’s color is high, and his lips are reddened and sheened with spit, and Mithrun can want this. He’s almost sure of it. He just needs to say so.
“Is this going to become a habit, Captain?” Kabru says, sounding bewildered. His hands are still on Mithrun’s waist, and he’s breathing a little too hard. “I’m not complaining,” he adds quickly. “This is just—new.”
“I am exploring a desire,” Mithrun announces.
“Oh!” Kabru lights up then, and he beams at Mithrun, drawing him closer. Mithrun can feel his own heartbeat, thudding in his chest. “You’re experiencing—that’s great! I’m so happy for you—”
Mithrun looks up at him. “Will you help?”
Kabru gives him a sunny smile. “Consider me at your service.”
He bends to kiss Mithrun again, one hand underneath Mithrun’s chin, tilting his face up. Mithrun pulls him down closer, wrapping his arms around Kabru’s shoulders, one hand in Kabru’s hair. It’s grown a little longer now, the curls at the back of Kabru’s head tickling his palm.
“Let’s have sex,” Mithrun says, when they break apart again, and Kabru’s eyes go wide.
“What—um—”
“I think you heard me the first time.” Satisfaction curls in his gut as he watches Kabru fluster, the sudden speeding of his heartbeat and the way he stares at Mithrun like seeing him for the first time. Mithrun feels something stir inside him, some throb of unmet need that burned through him and left him empty and aching for it.
Kabru grimaces. “I have something to do—”
“Later then. It’s settled,” Mithrun says, mostly to himself. “Meet me at my tent.”
Kabru blushes and nods. Was this what hunger was, then—that raw nervy ache in Mithrun’s gut? He forces himself to be calm, watching Kabru walk away. He uses every last drop of his patience.
And then Kabru is out of sight, out of earshot, and desire attacks Mithrun with a vengeance. It is no gentle recovery. He’s sure he’ll go mad if he didn’t slake it—if he didn’t have Kabru’s hands on his skin, or if he didn’t run after Kabru and demand to be taken at once, on the ground, on the dirt—
Now, his body screams, so loud after years and years of nothing. Now, now, now, now—
He all but collapses into his tent, the teleportation magic too shaky to do much more. His knees buckle as he crawls into his bedroll and strips. First his tunic, then his leggings and the armor, leaving the neckpiece. He pulls on the shirt that was too big for him—Kabru’s shirt, he thinks in a flurry—before collapsing.
Oil. He needs oil.
He gropes for the bottle, shivering as the chill of the air cuts through him. No matter. Kabru will be warm. His thighs fall open instinctively as he pours oil out into his palm.
He bites back a moan as he starts to work himself open. It’s been too long, his trembling fingers clumsy as they press into him. He’s gasping at once, already thinking of Kabru inside him, how it would feel, how he’d spread his legs for it—
A sound from outside, and then the tent flap opens. Kabru pokes his head in, and his whole face goes red as he takes in the sight.
“Captain—” he stutters, unable to rip his eyes away. Mithrun huffs softly and adds another finger.
“Are you going to join me?” he says, and then Kabru is closing the tent behind him, settling on the balls of his feet as he takes the sight in. He’s not in his armor anymore, Mithrun notes approvingly. Less trouble for him, less to take off.
Mithrun tugs his fingers out, wipes them perfunctorily on the corner of his bedroll. It’s less preparation than he’s used to, but he can’t bring himself to waste another second. He was chasing desire now, and it doesn’t seem elusive anymore, not with Kabru’s eyes gone like that, the blue of them swallowed up by his pupils, not with the way his lips part, revealing the hungry dark of his mouth.
“Well,” Mithrun says, swallowing all of his hesitation. “What are you waiting for?”
Kabru surges forward then, a low wounded noise in his throat. Mithrun pushes himself up onto his elbows and meets him halfway, and then it’s Kabru’s tongue in his mouth and Kabru’s hands on him, all of the fabric of the shirt bunching into folds as he grasps. Mithrun can’t stop looking—Kabru’s hands are larger than his, and they span all the way around Mithrun’s waist. Mithrun puts his arms around Kabru’s neck, delighting in it.
“Don’t be shy,” he murmurs in Kabru’s ear. He wraps his legs around Kabru’s waist, pulling him down to the bedroll. “I’m ready for you already.”
“Gods, Captain, you’re going to kill me,” Kabru says fervently. “Give me a minute—”
“But I need you now.”
Kabru kisses him again, first on the mouth—Mithrun shudders and clings to him, reveling in the way his body responds to it—and then drifting down his jaw, light fluttering things all the way down. Mithrun is about to cry protest when Kabru pulls open the laces of his neckpiece, nipping gently at the exposed skin.
All right, he thinks. He can allow this to go on a little longer.
Kabru sounds as desperate as Mithrun feels, making soft noises against Mithrun’s skin that drive Mithrun wild. He had his suspicions that he’d enjoy doing this with Kabru, but he couldn’t have imagined this.
And then Kabru is reaching down, fumbling with the laces of his trousers, and Mithrun’s heart races in anticipation. Yes, yes, yes—
He reaches down and strokes Kabru with his hand still slick, and Kabru lets out the prettiest little noise. Oh, he’s large. Mithrun wasn’t sure he was remembering correctly; he thought that wishful thinking had clouded his head. When he takes hold of Kabru and guides him where he wants, though, lets Kabru press up right against him, slick and open and wanting—
Kabru’s face goes red. “Captain, please—”
“Now,” Mithrun insists. “Inside me now.”
He rolls his hips forwards and frowns at the resistance. Kabru looks even more flustered as Mithrun spreads his legs further and does it again. He takes maybe an inch of Kabru this time—just enough to make Kabru whimper—before he’s forced to stop, panting for breath and squirming at the stretch. All of his frustration rises up within him, years and years of deprivation, and he can’t even—
“Captain,” Kabru says, and Mithrun groans. “We can do something else if you’re having trouble—”
“No. I want this.” He tugs at the first handhold he finds—Kabru’s hair, it turns out—and Kabru gasps, his hips bucking on instinct. Mithrun lets his head fall back, lets himself feel it. It’s so much, the stretch of it, the ache—like his very breath is knocked out of him.
His voice comes out breathless. “Kabru—”
Kabru whimpers against the ruin of Mithrun’s ear, his tongue hot and swift as he licks along the ragged edge. Mithrun clutches at Kabru’s shoulders and muffles his cries as best as he can. He didn’t think Kabru would be so large.
“Don’t stop,” he says, wildly. “Don’t stop—”
Kabru looks at him, dazedly, his pretty eyes unfocused as Mithrun tightens around him. Mithrun traces the soft lines of his face, watches Kabru’s eyelashes flutter, and then he’s whimpering as Kabru moves again, and all of a sudden, he’s too full to think.
He pulls Kabru down to kiss, desperate to distract himself from the sensation. He bucks his hips again, gasping for breath, willing himself to take more. At least Kabru holds himself still obediently, squirming as Mithrun works himself down further.
Kabru’s throat works. “Captain—”
“Why are you so big,” Mithrun mutters. He’s trembling too hard to keep going, his hands shaking as he clings to Kabru.
“I’m not, really,” Kabru says, and Mithrun nearly laughs again. It feels good. He splays a hand out low on his abdomen, trying to span how deep Kabru was inside him, clenching around him to try to soothe the ache inside. Kabru turns even redder, unable to tear his eyes away. He lifts Mithrun’s shirt, the better to see, and then his eyes go wide.
“Captain,” he begins, then shuts his mouth and gets his hand around Mithrun, stroking him slow and appreciative, and Mithrun writhes. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this, since he’s enjoyed it, brilliant and sparkling through his whole body.
“I think you’re larger than me,” Kabru murmurs in his ear, breathless.
Mithrun does laugh then, rolling his hips to urge Kabru on. He nearly cries out when Kabru does thrust into him, swearing under his breath. He has no idea how it even fits inside him. “Oh fuck, just give me a minute—”
He lets his head fall back and shuts his eye, taking long, deep breaths. Kabru bends to kiss him—so sweet, at first, and then his mouth is on Mithrun’s neck, then the little triangle of exposed skin at the collar, and Mithrun muffles a moan into Kabru’s shoulder. He tries to relax. Tries to let Kabru take the lead.
He remembers being used to this, before. Elves were easy to charm into his bed, and quite willing to let Mithrun lie back and take pleasure in it.
But Kabru is taking too long, treating Mithrun like some delicate virgin. His shirt is still on, which was completely unacceptable, and Mithrun can’t stop himself from clawing at it, trying to muster concentration enough to teleport it away.
“Kabru, please—”
Kabru looks as undone as him, his color high and his eyes half-lidded as he licks along the exposed skin of Mithrun’s neck, over the scars. He thrusts, agonizingly slow, into Mithrun, and Mithrun sobs at the frustration—the burning need that screamed just beneath his skin. He bucks against Kabru, but Kabru’s weight holds him down.
“Kabru,” he gasps, again, clawing at Kabru’s back. “Move, come on—”
“So demanding, Captain,” Kabru says, smiling.
Mithrun runs his hands through Kabru’s hair, then grips. Kabru moans, sweet and shocked all of a sudden, and Mithrun finally gets enough leverage to take Kabru to the hilt. Kabru lets out a breathless little sound.
“Oh—”
“I want this,” Mithrun says, in case anything was still ambiguous. It feels good, finally giving voice to it. He wraps his legs around Kabru’s hips and pulls him forward, as deep as Mithrun can take him. “Stop playing around and fuck me—”
Kabru does move then, just as desperate as Mithrun is, gripping Mithrun’s waist with both hands. The fabric bunches up underneath his hands. Mithrun groans as Kabru draws away then presses in, brushing against something sensitive inside him—it feels so good, and he tells Kabru so, in between moans—and then he’s spreading his legs, needing more, reeling Kabru down and licking into his mouth.
“Kabru, Kabru, more, I want—” He cries out again as Kabru drives into him, clenching around him to better feel it. Kabru shudders, his rhythm faltering, and Mithrun claws at him. “It feels good, don’t stop—”
Kabru groans and picks up the pace again, sweat beading up along his pretty face, and Mithrun wants to see him undone and whimpering and falling apart. The force of his desire surprises him, but it’s no less surprising than finally wanting things again, so maybe—
“There,” he gasps, when Kabru gets a particularly good thrust in. “Oh, there—please, Kabru—fuck, just like that—”
“I’m close,” Kabru gasps, and that’s all the warning Mithrun gets before Kabru is shuddering and bucking into him, spilling hot into Mithrun, and Mithrun is sobbing with frustration. He wanted more. He locks his thighs around Kabru, determined to keep all of it inside.
“I’m so sorry,” Kabru pleads, his voice pitching higher as Mithrun tightens around him. He nuzzles against Mithrun’s neck, scattering little kisses over the skin. “Captain, I’m so sorry, you just felt so good—”
Mithrun huffs, impatient. “Keep going.”
Kabru blinks at him. “But—” He slides out of Mithrun, a little, and heat drips out of him, wet and warm. Mithrun puts a hand on the small of his back to stop him from withdrawing further. “Captain. I need a minute.”
Mithrun shakes his head. He’s come too far to stop now.
“I want it,” he says, and Kabru—despite all of his protests—fucks into him, still soft, his legs shaking from overstimulation. It’s not enough, but Mithrun can’t help but welcome the effort.
He slides his other hand underneath the hem of Kabru’s shirt, his fingers dancing on Kabru’s warm skin. “Again,” he whispers in Kabru’s ear, letting the spell take effect, and then Kabru’s gasping as he grows hard again. Yes. Yes. Mithrun takes advantage of his distraction to flip them over, straddling Kabru as he teleports away Kabru’s shirt, and it feels so good to roll his hips down on Kabru and be filled again.
Kabru looks cute, like this, naked beneath him and gasping for breath as Mithrun starts to move. “Captain—” he says, his pretty eyes wide.
“Don’t want to wait,” Mithrun gasps, slamming himself back down. The fullness leaves him shaking. Kabru’s hands go to his waist, steadying him, and Mithrun grabs his hand and moves it over, so Kabru can feel just how deep he reaches. “I need it, Kabru—need you to fill me up—”
Kabru whimpers and covers his face with his free arm, overwhelmed, and Mithrun laughs and peels it away.
“Not fair, I want to see you,” he says, petty again, tossing his hair back. He spreads his legs further and grinds down on Kabru, taking his time with it, enjoying the sensation of being stretched wide. “Fuck, you’re huge—”
He looks embarrassed again, needy enough that Mithrun is compelled to kiss him. Oh, it’s good this way too, Kabru’s arms around him as they move together, his hands in Mithrun’s hair. Mithrun wonders, for a second, if Kabru will look good on his knees, his lips stretched around him, and decides they’ll try that again later. He’ll have Kabru again, until they’re both sore and exhausted. Maybe it would help with putting him to sleep.
“I want your mouth on me later,” Mithrun says, dazed with pleasure, and Kabru nods fervently. He kisses along the shell of Mithrun’s ear, and Mithrun gasps and twitches. “Kabru, you know what I mean—”
“I know,” Kabru murmurs. “I just—you’re really cute, Captain.”
“Not so bad yourself,” Mithrun returns, and he sits up again, the better to see all of Kabru. He likes the way Kabru’s eyes roam over him, how Kabru touches him admiringly, like there was still something left to admire. He would look good on his knees, Mithrun decides as he rakes his fingers through Kabru’s curls. Kabru leans into the touch, smiling, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure, and Mithrun—on some instinct—tugs.
This time he can concentrate on it, on Kabru’s reaction—a loud, shameless moan as he bucks into Mithrun, then a shame-filled glance at Mithrun’s face when he realizes what he was doing. “I’m sorry,” Kabru whispers again, and Mithrun shakes his head.
“You like this?” Mithrun says.
Kabru flushes deeper. “Apparently.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t do it,” Mithrun says, just to tease, and Kabru looks at him with such sweet, pleading eyes. “What if you come too fast again—”
“You can use that spell again,” Kabru says, a little too fast. “It’s okay. You have—you haven’t used much of your mana today, so—please don’t hold back on my account—”
“So polite,” Mithrun says. “Is this how you plan to get what you want?”
Kabru looks really good embarrassed. He squirms beneath Mithrun. “I just want to make you feel good.”
Mithrun pulls on his hair again, and Kabru’s so loud he’s sure to be heard outside. Mithrun finds he doesn’t care. He picks up the pace again and Kabru sits up to kiss him. Mithrun fists his hands in Kabru’s hair and tilts his head up for a better angle, and is gratified when Kabru falters and turns clumsy—even more when he moans into Mithrun’s mouth as Mithrun sinks down on him.
“Good boy,” Mithrun says, petting Kabru’s hair, and Kabru nearly sobs as he leans into the touch. He’s so sweet, and he fills Mithrun up so well, and Mithrun wants and wants and wants.
He’s hungry for it, he finds, as he urges Kabru on. “Harder,” he gasps into Kabru’s rounded ear, nipping at the shell of it. “I want to feel it tomorrow, I want to remember—ah—”
Close, so, so close. Mithrun moans and claws at Kabru’s back, riding him as hard as he possibly can, and then he shoves Kabru back down on the bedroll, bracing his hands on Kabru’s waist as he angles his hips just right—just so Kabru can catch on that spot inside him when Mithrun slams down—and then he’s shouting as Kabru grabs him by the waist and grinds right against it.
“Oh, oh, fuck, there—” He’s shaking so hard that he barely notices when Kabru starts to spill inside him, only realizing when it starts to drip down his thighs. “Kabru!”
“Please tell me you’re close,” Kabru gasps, and Mithrun barely has time to nod before he feels Kabru’s hand around him, and then he’s falling apart. Kabru fucks him through it, though he’s clumsy and shaking and oversensitive himself, and he sobs into Mithrun’s shoulder when Mithrun collapses on top of him.
Mithrun just floats in pleasure, basking in the complete utter loss of tension in his body. He’s draped over Kabru, who’s kissing all the parts of Mithrun he can reach—his shoulder, the little visible triangle of collarbone, Mithrun’s neck, his ears. He even presses his lips against the tender eyelid of Mithrun’s empty eye socket, and Mithrun trembles and allows it, breathing in deeply of Kabru’s scent and the heat of the air.
It’s nice, like this. Kabru has his arms around Mithrun, warm and safe, his hands gentle as he turns to let Mithrun lie on the bedroll.
“You’ll have to give me a minute if you want to go again,” Kabru warns him, and Mithrun huffs. The spell lingers on the tips of his fingers, ready to be formed again with a simple word, but he lets it be. He’ll let Kabru rest for now.
“Just a minute?” he says, and Kabru laughs and kisses him again, smiling against Mithrun’s mouth, and that felt good too, to see Kabru free of worry. Mithrun brushes one hand against Kabru’s cheek, biting back a laugh when Kabru shivers, his pupils going wide as Mithrun lets his hand drift down. He remembers seeing Kabru bathe, down in the dungeon, and tracing the rivulets of water dispassionately over the richness of Kabru’s skin. Wondering without desire, idle and empty, and now—now it rages like a flood inside him, drowning out all other thoughts, and he presses himself to Kabru until their bodies fit together without space in between.
This feels natural, just breathing in Kabru’s air without any ulterior motive. He’s drowsy in the way he remembers sex used to make him, a marrow-deep satisfaction that left him drifting. It’s been long enough. He lets himself settle into it, clinging to Kabru without much thought or goal in mind. Just peace.
It’s been so long since he was at peace.
“Why don’t you stay?” Kabru says, softly. “On the island.”
Mithrun expects him to continue, but that is all. The silence lingers between them, not uncomfortable in the slightest. He thinks of the queen, of what was sure to be months, if not years of political turmoil. Of the empty rooms and the barracks waiting for him back at home. The way people stared on the street. Kabru looks surprised at his own daring, but he sets his jaw and looks at Mithrun, waiting for an answer.
“I might,” Mithrun says, keeping his eyes on Kabru. It feels like desire all over again.