Work Text:
1
It comes as no surprise that Flins finds himself at Piramida once again after a particularly terrifying letter from Nikita, hand-delivered by the responsible Illuga at the last time of his visit.
Dear comrade,
How fares you at the Final Night Cemetery? Illuga has been rather busy with maintaining the operations of the new lighthouse up north at Kipumaki Cliff and I know my boy would run to you the moment he's free but he isn't always so and regretfully, neither am I. As such, I would like to interest you once again about the prospect of having your very own companion, warm and loyal, to keep you company at all times.
Warmest regards and wishing you good health,
Nikita
The letter had been left forgotten along with a picture of a small puppy, in favor of its diligent courier who was pale-cheeked from the cold with wind-tousled silvery hair, who the fae had lavished with a hundred kisses until said courier finally wriggled away, red-faced and panting.
"Mr. Flins, this won't do! I really tried convincing dad you don't need a puppy but he never listens!" Illuga complained as he leant his head against the taller Ratnik.
"Oh? Regretful as I am to turn down the well-meaning efforts of the dear Starshyna, I would also like to express my deepest gratitude to my precious nightingale who had risked the trials of wind and water just to deliver to me such warm tidings." The fae brought them both into the lighthouse and laid the captain on soft quilts, himself climbing atop and pressing more kisses, both gentle and urgent, onto the neck of his beloved.
"Ah! Sir Flins, wait! I haven't finished," Illuga was breathing hard, trying to focus even as his skin was sucked on, the scarred surface tingling under the attention of a wet tongue. "You really need to visit pops soon, he's getting worried about you again, a-and it's nearly our monthly assembly too. You still have two outstanding reports by the way."
Flins continued his exploration down to the captain's toned torso, biting lightly at the tense muscles under. "And is there any way I can convince my young master to overlook such misconduct?"
It was truly unfair to the now gasping young man, who was trying not to allow a single sound escape his throat. "Mhm... No, I've got to be fair. Rules are rules for a reason."
"Understood. In that case, dear Master Illuga, please punish me as you see fit. Your humble servant is yours to command."
"You're incorrigible!” Illuga had an arm drawn up to cover his eyes, “Don't think you can get away with it just because we're l-lo..."
"Because we're what?" Flins had prodded along with a light nudge with his knee to the captain's growing need.
"Ahh- we're, mmm... Please, not there, Sir Flins!"
"It is important to exercise clarity and truth when writing reports, I believe it is much the same for when we are making criticisms on our colleagues with regard to one's work ethics."
"Oh gods, spare me the speech, you damnably eloquent fae." The young master had completely surrendered to the sly fae, his body pliant and voice ragged.
"Mm, I suppose that is a commendation on my skills in communication, and some sincere gratitude should be in order, don’t you agree.?" Here, Flins suitably increased the pressure between the young master's legs, earning a drawn-out whine that had been very desperately suppressed.
They had a deliciously enjoyable evening that day, and the images of his young master resurfacing in his mind right now is doing Flins no favor as he leans against the steel railing of Piramida's upper platform. Illuga is still speaking to another squad's captain, and if he recalls, Sargeant Marushkin is looking for him after that too, but nobody is looking for Flins and so he has the entire afternoon to lounge about while secretly delighting himself with his exceptionally vivid memories.
His meanderings lead him to a group of young novices, all of them girls, and they are giggling and discussing something amongst themselves in a rather secretive manner.
"I told you, the nightmare Orioles have it the best!" A blonde girl declares triumphantly, "They have that cute guy that is really gentle and likes plants, and have you seen their captain?"
Flins pauses, then veers to seat himself at a table some ways behind the girls; a strategic location where he would be at liberty to observe them yet remain appropriately distant. A couple glances more and he recognizes them as Gabieta the Tyrant’s new recruits.
He takes out his pocket knife and bone pieces, proceeding to trace out some lines as he tunes his hearing to be yet a little sharper. It isn't prying, he is a gentleman and gentlemen do not ever pry into the personal affairs of people, least of all young ladies. It is simply an attempt at understanding the younger generation more, that's it.
"You mean Captain Illuga? But isn't he kind of short?"
"What's wrong with being short? Have you seen those biceps?" The voice of the first girl chimes in as she defends the captain empathetically.
"I've got to second that." A new voice interjects, "Last week when we were having combat training, I saw him with his shirt off. Girls, do you know what a washboard is?"
Her statement is accompanied by a series of gasps.
"You saw his abs? He has them?" The skeptical voice cuts in again, "I thought he was real skinny. Huh, guess you never know what's under all these layers we wear."
"You should've seen when he was lifting supplies into the wagon. That jacket doesn't hide much, you know. Imagine being lifted by him."
An odd feeling twists in Flins' chest.
A quieter voice pipes up, "Actually, I think the Starshyna himself looks even better."
A light ruckus breaks out as the group of girls expressed their disbelief.
"No way! He's so old. He could be your dad!" There it is again, the girl with all the criticisms.
"Well, he's really mature and he just has this steady, dependable and calm demeanor. Pity I weren't older, though." The quiet girl speaks up wistfully.
"Okay, that's a bold choice if I were to say myself, but to each their own. Anyway, Galina, you've had nothing but complaints so far about the lovely men of our faction, in this case, let me ask you - who is it in the Lightkeepers that you'd find admirable?"
There is a short pause and Flins sees the girls crowding around a girl with her hair in a short bob, the hairstyle awfully reminiscent of a certain cunning lady who has quite the sharp tongue to rival.
"Come on, say it, there should be at least one guy who fits your preferences." The blonde girl prompts impatiently.
"Do you girls know about that Ratnik that lives alone at the cemetery?"
Flins almost chokes. It appears his efforts to be as unassuming as he can is not as successful as he'd hoped it to be.
"Ahh that one."
"By Kuutar's grace, that man is creepy. He doesn't even look good! What exactly do you see in a ghoulish excuse of a man with perpetual dark eye bags floating about like a ghost? Matter of fact, maybe he's a ghost himself!" The first girl is vehement in her judgement and this earns her a disapproving sniff from Galina.
"He's a real gentleman, and he has actual manners, not like any other uncouth guy here. Also, I'll have you know, he is pretty close with your dear Captain Illuga, so if you would like to cozy up to the captain, you'd best not be so mean about Mr Flins."
The first girl falls silent before the quiet girl speaks up again, "Why is it that Captain Illuga favors the lone Ratnik so much though? I've heard that even the Starshyna himself is pretty friendly to the loner. Isn't that some serious favoritism going on?"
"That's because Mr Flins is a real veteran and his power is one of the top around here." Galina the critic says with a hint of pride in her voice.
"What I'm hearing is that he's another old guy, Kuutar knows how he still looks so young. Do you never find it weird at all?"
"Perhaps all the time away from the sun really does help." Some girl offers hopefully.
"I would bet he's not human. But he's not pretty enough to be a fae so like I said, he probably is some sort of ghost, or a ghoul."
"Ugh, why do you dislike him so much anyway, Monika?"
"He just creeps me out! And like Lika says, it is really unfair that Captain Illuga's attention is all on him. I-- Ow! What was that for?"
Monika hisses sharply in pain.
"Shhh! He's right there!"
"We're fucked." Galina concludes bluntly.
"I don't think he heard us." Lika, the quiet girl, whispers very softly. "But we should be quieter."
"I told you, he's creepy! We've just barely talked about him and there he is!" Monika hisses angrily, her blonde hair swishing as she spares a furtive look in Flins' direction.
Flins finds it harder to suppress his amusement. How would they react then, if they knew the gentle yet strict captain is getting splayed under the stoic and gloomy lone Ratnik every time he visits the dismal cemetery?
Flins carves at the bone in his hand a little harder. What if he tries coaxing a song out of his nightingale tonight here in Piramida? Here, where their brethren mingled and gathered, here where the iron walls are thin enough, they reverberated with every sound?
The girls resume their discussion, huddling even closer conspiringly.
"Look, there's no way he can hear us from here. I'll call his name now and we'll see if he reacts." A brunette with long wavy hair says, and she clears her throat then calls out to him in a slightly louder voice.
Flins continues his work, hands steady and movements unbroken.
"That's very silly of you. Do you think he'd let us know if he really heard us?" Galina rolls her eyes.
"Hey, maybe I want to be heard by him." The brunette giggles flirtatiously, "He does have that sort of dark, brooding charm, like the fae princes we read in the Snezhnayan novels."
"Hands off him, I called dibs already." Galina pouts.
"Enjoy, girls. He's all yours. Kateryna, I dare you to go up to him now and talk to him."
The brunette twirls her hair, "Don't mind if I do. Look at that, his hair is really pretty. Galina was right, he even sits like a noble."
Out of the corner of his eye, Flins can see a flicker of movement as the young lady stands up and starts walking to his table. Bracing himself for the eventual confrontation, he carries on with his meticulous strokes of knife as he searches for a suitably polite greeting to put forward.
"Hey." The voice that pierces through his focus, however, is very decidedly not feminine. Flins looks up, and sees the young master looking down at him; a rare position to be in.
Illuga leans his hip against the table with one of his hands on a stack of papers he had placed right in front of Flins.
"I told you, you can't escape from the reports. Pops says if you don't finish them by tonight, he would have to employ harsher persuasion for you to accept the puppy."
Flins smiles up at the captain, "Did you tell him I already have my very own warm, loyal and loving companion?"
The bloom of red that spreads across the young man's cheeks and nose is simply delectable. There’s a smattering of sighs from the girls as Kateryna returns to the table, mission unfulfilled, and a positively wicked plan forms in his mind.
"Say, Master Illuga, what do you think if we let the Starshyna know about what's going on between you and me?" He signals a finger between Illuga and himself.
"I guess he already knows but I won't mind telling him if you truly wish so." Illuga replies with a small voice.
"Of course I would. I said before that I'll gladly let all of Nod Krai know about our love." Flins drawls out the last word in a tone he knows would get the younger man's knees weak and sure enough, Illuga gets redder.
"That's really not necessary. Stop teasing me! Do you know where we are?"
"Hm, yes? We are at Piramida, south side platform, second floor. My, what is this, a sobriety check? I haven't been drinking." Flins says with a light chuckle, and he pulls the captain closer with a tug on that taut leather harness, voice low, "Want a closer look?"
By now, Flins is acutely aware of the stares from the girls, both at him and his young master. The captain, perhaps burnt by the intensity of it, pushes himself away from the table, standing off a little further, a frown scrunching his brows and his arms crossed.
"Look at that, you can't convince me there's nothing going on between them." Kateryna says breathily.
"You are insufferable, do you not see how he's literally bullying the captain? The captain looks mad now."
"Oh, I'm sure he's bullying your dear Captain, Monika." The glee in the brunette's voice is unmistakable. "Every. Single. Night."
"Shut up." Galina and Monika say in unison.
"I'm just saying."
Flins can practically hear the shrug in that response. He decides that he likes Kateryna after all.
Before Illuga can say anything, Flins proposes amicably, "What do you say if we went to meet Nikita together now? See if Olav is around too, maybe we can all have a card game together."
The suggestion itself is innocent enough, and Flins pockets his knife and bones. He stands up in a single fluid motion, and puts an arm around the captain’s waist, leaning in close to the young man’s ear, "I promise I'll finish the reports after. You get to discipline me tonight if I don't."
"Should I remind you that we are in public right now?"
"We can change that easily if my dear Master would wish so." He presses a light kiss atop the young man's gloved knuckles.
There is a jolt as the taller Ratnik gets yanked forward a little roughly, "There should be consequences for disrupting public order in this manner, Sir Flins. Given how much your desire to be disciplined is, I can definitely help with that sometime soon."
"Pleasure's all mine, Master Illuga." Flins' voice takes on a huskier tone, "Can I make it any sooner than it is?"
"No, you may not." Illuga releases the buckled cape collar, "Consider this a part of your punishment."
Flins casts a glance at the group of girls, catching their eyes, and against his better reasoning, winks at them as he steers the captain away from the platform.
A cacophony of gasps and curses bursts out from behind them as the girls devolve into pandemonium.
"Did you see that?"
"Oh gods, he winked at us!"
"We're fucked."
2
"Gotta say it's been getting quieter ever since the children started having full-time training."
Olav muses as he throws down a card, scratching at his stubble while he did so.
"Hmm, the older leaves fall and newer ones bud, that's just how life is." Nikita replies, "Was that an ace of hearts?"
The men go back and forth a bit, squabbling over whether it was an underhanded move or not until Nikita conceded and passed that round.
"My, is that the sentimentality of hardened warriors, as they send off the young ones in preparation for future battles?"
Flins keeps his tone light, but it is undeniable that there is a strange melancholy in seeing how time marches on forward, with no regard for the lamentations of mortals.
"Hmph, set that poetic prose away from me before we turn this card game into some old man's nostalgic reverie. Your turn now, Illuga." Olav says with a grunt.
"Uhh... I guess I'll put a pair of sevens here, nothing too special." The young man places the cards down tentatively, at which Olav responds with a "Ha!" as he throws down two kings, "Guess I got lucky this round!"
Illuga groans and gathers the cards into his hands. He swiftly shuffles the deck, finishing with a couple fancy flourishes before dealing them again.
Flins watches the young man’s practiced motions. Maybe he should request the young master to teach him some tricks someday, it would be a useful skill should he ever find himself in need of entertaining his audience, especially when he's dealing with Lady Nefer and company.
Illuga starts the match.
"How many have you even won by now?" The captain grumbles softly.
"Not as much as our good sir Flins here." Olav says with some measure of false modesty.
"I appreciate the praise Olav, but I assure you the champion's trophy would be yours to take by the time we're done."
"You guys are so disgustingly insincere." Nikita says with a withering stare at both men.
"Sincere or not, I have a genuine proposal to make." Olav sits up straight all of a sudden, leaning closer to the table, "Say, my friend, isn't our dear boy Illuga here a rather strapping young lad? Boy, would you be interested in being acquainted to a young lady of respectable upbringing?"
The sudden question leaves everyone speechless, and all eyes were on the young man in an instant. Illuga gapes in surprise, "Me?"
Flins sees the panic in the sudden frantic fiddling of Illuga's fingers as he flicks a corner of a card back and forth. "I... I'm sorry, Mr Olav, but I am just not in a suitable position to agree at the moment. There's much to do as a Lightkeeper and I uh... I think it's fair for someone in our profession to choose not to burden another."
The captain is carefully avoiding his eyes, yet Flins couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Stealing his very own excuse, and so smoothly too, the young master's getting sharper by the day.
Nikita makes no comment for some time, but those knowing eyes raises above his cards to meet Flins' across the table. "I've always lamented the fact that my dear son was stripped of his fate to walk a happy life, free from all this bloodshed and suffering, perhaps if he could be persuaded after all to reconsider his next few decades of life, I would be the happiest father indeed."
Flins curses in silence. Whatever is the old man playing at?
He flicks a card carelessly onto the stack.
"I second that." Olav agrees wholeheartedly, "You don't have to continue in this line if you don't want to, Illuga. You are still young, and my cousin is a gentle soul much like you, both of you have a shared interest in cooking too. Think about it, nobody would blame you should you choose a quieter life. And hey, in a few years’ time, who’s to know, we’d have new mouths to feed and small footsteps to chase after."
If there are any misgivings Illuga felt in that moment, his smile betrays none of it, "Thank you, Mr Olav, but truly, my life is on the battlefield and here with my comrades. Besides, if I were to ever choose a partner, I believe someone within our ranks would be much suited."
He is still staunchly refusing to meet Flins' gaze.
Nikita glances first at his son, then at Flins, finally heaving a big, exasperated sigh and the whole topic ends rather abruptly, leaving a slight awkward tension hanging between the men.
"Now, now my good sirs, it is pointless to try to weave the threads of destiny. What shall happen, would eventually happen, all we have to do is take a day at a time and let the hand of fate guide us." Flins attempts to mellow out the mood. He lays down five cards fanned out perfectly, then makes a big show of reaching for his glass of fire-water with his empty hands.
"You again!" Nikita swears, slamming down the last forlorn card in his hand just as Illuga drops his head into his hands in defeat.
"Me again, regretfully." Flins agrees with not a shred of remorse.
"I need a break." Olav says. He heads out to the balcony and soon enough there's the distinct smell of burnt frostlamp buds.
Nikita joins him, leaving Flins and Illuga to themselves.
The afternoon sun streams through the glass panels, illuminating the specks of dust that floated leisurely about between them. Illuga's crimson earring catches the light, throwing a spectacular array of rose-colored flecks across the grey interior of Nikita’s office.
Flins looks at the captain, who was staring out the window, his gaze transfixed by something beyond. Illuga is as striking as ever, even in the simple way he leans his cheek against his hand.
The silence between them stretches a little longer than comfortable. He follows the young master's eyes, but only the clouds in the bright blue sky stare back at him; that which had captured the captain so is entirely hidden from Flins.
"Whatever it is that had ensnared my dear young master, such that he could not spare this poor fae a single glance?"
Illuga does not turn. "It must be nice to be free, imagine being a cat, with not a care in the world. Or perhaps, like those finches right there, look at how sweetly they are nuzzling each other, oh-- there they go."
The captain finally tears his eyes from the window.
Pale yellow eyes meet lilac and rose ones, and Flins sees the twinkle in it subdued.
"Is there something troubling you?"
"Not really." Illuga glances at the window again briefly, then at the cards on the table.
Liar.
"Then why is it that you avoid my eyes? I've dearly missed those sparkling blues and reds, like how the kuuvahki currents affect the tides, so does your gaze tug at my flames."
"That's really cheesy, Sir Flins." Illuga darts a look at the balcony, then back again at Flins, a strawberry hue creeping up his cheeks.
"I was under the impression that it is to your liking, Master Illuga."
"I don't dislike it." Another glance to the balcony, "But such things are better said behind closed doors."
"We can change that if you would so wish."
"There's no need to trouble yourself." Illuga says softly, "I think I should fetch another bottle of wine for pops and Mr Olav, see if there's more fire-water for you too, Mr Flins."
There's a sharp screech as the metal chair is pushed back, then a brush of cold sheepskin leather against black and purple velvet. The nightingale is gone in the blink of an eye.
Flins retracts his hand, the words in his throat drying up. Olav's suggestion weighs ever heavier on his mind, and the sharp, icy sensation of something unpleasant buries itself ever deeper in his core.
3
Evening arrives in the form of endless conversations over dishes of roast meat and berries, flowing cups of mead and a very unexpected furry guest adorned in gold and emerald.
"Ashru, come here." A lady similarly dressed beckons to the kitty who is currently tip-toeing around the fae and his glimmering blue lantern. Ashru ignores the command and hisses at the flickering lamplight.
"Lady Nefer, you have my sincere apology for disturbing your companion. Perhaps it is time for me to take my leave?"
"Not a chance, or is it that you have something to hide that you are so wary? There's an air about you that reminds me of Ashru when he sits in a corner quietly licking his paws after knocking over one of my vases." Nefer's brilliant emerald eyes sweeps upwards, piercing through her long lashes.
The head of the Curatorium of Secrets cuts a striking figure among the dull and drab Ratniki that milled about, and more than a few searching glances have been thrown this way since she strutted into their mead hall just as the feast began. Flins is certain she enjoyed the admiring stares she got as much as the fearful shrinking away of some of his colleagues who knew better than to garner her attention.
"I prefer to think of myself more as a carefree, aimless butterfly flitting among the headstones of the cemetery. Did you know, they are much associated with death and the afterlife?" Flins throws a subtle glance all around, neither Nikita nor Illuga was to be seen, and the Lady Moonchanter who had arrived with Nefer is currently entertaining some of his colleagues at the far side of the hall.
"You're running from me. But don't worry, quick and nimble as Ashru is, I always manage to catch him eventually." Nefer picks up the ruffled cat and places him in her lap.
"Hm, I believe there is little proof to your claim, Lady Nefer. What great secret can a humble Ratnik like me harbor when you already know the truth of my origin?"
Nefer swirls the mead in her cup, her voice low, "You tell me, Kyryll."
"I'm afraid that's not a name for you to call upon."
Nefer arches an eyebrow. The edge of frost in the always polite Ratnik did nothing to deter her. "Then who is it for?"
"You know better than to pry for information so straightforwardly, my lady."
"Tsk-tsk, it's not called prying, can't we just have a friendly chat over some good food? I didn't think you'd be so averse to some genuine connections between old acquaintances. Or perhaps, our traipse together on a life-or-death mission is barely enough for camaraderie?"
"You wound me, dear lady. We are certainly comrades-in-arms and I'd never say no to some drinks with such fine company as yours. But I also happen to take into consideration the advice of my fellow friends and it is just appropriate for me to adhere to the number one piece you've given us, that is - anything unknown comes at a price for it to be known."
"You can be really stubborn sometimes," Nefer scoffs lightly and gives Ashru a scratch under the chin, "Don't you agree, Ashru? Doesn't Mr. Lightkeeper resemble a particular vexing 'someone'?"
Ashru meows in agreement.
"I would say it's an honor to be likened to one as illustrious as our good Ratnik here." A gentle voice drops in gracefully just as Lauma sits herself across Flins, right next to Nefer who now sports a scowl.
"Aren't you off having fun with the Lightkeepers?" Her tone is accusatory.
"I sense a mild disturbance here and Ashru has been making some very interesting commentary on your conversation, pardon the unintended eavesdropping." The Moonchanter nods at Flins, placing a platter of fresh fruit on the table, "Some refreshments, I hope it's to your delight."
With Lauma here, Nefer appears to be a little less aggressive in her digging, but Flins still has his guard up. One can never tell what would happen when these ladies are around.
"I am gladdened to see you in better spirits now, Mr Lightkeeper. I pray the frogs are singing again and the mice happily scurrying through the flower mounds at the Final Night Cemetery?"
Flins is fairly sure these ladies are running a secret operation of intel collection, a very effective one in which they both put up a front of competitive rivalry all while conspiring together behind scenes.
"Why, thank you for your concern, my dear lady Moonchanter. Things have been better ever since your visit, much thanks to you, and with the full moon looking down upon us, such good tidings are evermore overflowing."
Lauma's eye curves into a happy crescent as she breaks into a gentle smile and reaches out to hold Flins' hands in her own, "Oh, you're too kind Mr Lightkeeper. I bid Kuutar shine upon you even as your light guides the others."
"Another victim of the Lady Moonchanter's charm." Nefer curls her fingers and looks at her intricate manicure, "There are many yet who are vying for her favor, and some too that wish for yours."
Flins throws a look around again. The familiar figure with gleaming silver hair is, thankfully, still absent, but he promptly disentangles his hand from Lauma. "It is simply a delight to be graced by two outstanding ladies in just a night, but I'm inclined to heed the warning of the ever-perceptive Lady Nefer. Before this poor Ratnik gets devoured by the envy of his colleagues, it is best he makes his exit and allow the fine ladies some better company."
"Envy of your colleague, Mr Flins. Isn't that the burning gaze of the Captain of the Nightmare Orioles I spot there?" Nefer looks over Flins' shoulder.
"Young master." Flins greets the newcomer of their company. Some dark flames are brewing within his core. This does not bode well.
Illuga has a faint rosy tint spread across his cheeks. The reddish-brown ends of his hair sticks to his neck, a faint sheen of sweat trapping them.
"Enjoying yourself without me, Sir Flins?" The captain slides in beside Flins. He sounds a little different, as if some shackles that bound him had fallen apart, and he pokes a finger at Flins' cheek.
"I saw you, you're sooooo chummy with Lady Lauma." Then, coming to some sudden awareness, the young man pulls away and faces the Moonchanter instead, "Sorry, I meant no offense to you, Miss Lauma. Thanks for keeping Mr Flins company, and you too Miss Nefer. What brings you both here?"
"It has been some time since we last convened, I bring news from Hiisi Island and future plans of closer collaboration." Lauma says sweetly.
"I heard that there's something fun going on here, so here I am." Nefer says mysteriously.
"Meow!" Ashru adds assertively.
"Ashru!" Catching sight of the cat, Illuga abandons his spot beside Flins and walks over to Nefer instead, "May I?"
"Don't drop him."
"Ashru says he likes the captain's warm fluffy jacket more than your thin silk skirt."
"Nobody asked."
Illuga holds the kitty to his chest closely and presses his cheek into the cat's soft fur, "Oh, Ashru, aren't you the sweetest. But Miss Nefer, I'm sure you're still his favorite! I have an idea, how about I give you an old coat of mine? It's lined with the same material as this coat I have on."
Nefer looks at the fae spectating all in silence, "A very kind offer, Captain, but I'm afraid I have to decline. After all, I value my acquaintance with one of the strongest of the Lightkeepers."
Illuga tilts his head, his mead-stained lips parted slightly in confusion. "Who? Me? I'm not the strongest."
Even with half his mind lost to a few tankards of mead, the young master is still as caring and adorable as ever. Flins just wants to kiss those soft lips, savor the lingering aftertaste of honeyed mead and berries, and steal him away into the night to somewhere where only he gets to hear his beloved nightingale's song.
Nefer laughs a little, "Don't undersell yourself, Mr Captain, or some with unsavory intentions might swoop in for the discount." She raises her cup at Flins, "Though, I doubt they'd get any closer so long as the blue flame burns." She drains the cup and stands up in a languid stretch, "Come on, Miss Moonchanter. There's still business to talk with the Starshyna. I'll come back for Ashru later, don't lose him."
"Farewell my good Lightkeepers, may moonlight guide you."
With the two women gone, Flins is left with a tipsy captain and a sleepy kitty curled up in the captain's lap. Illuga has his head propped against an arm on the table, his eyes closed.
"Young master." Flins shakes the young man's shoulder slightly.
Illuga lets out a little groan. He turns to Flins, one eye still closed. "Sir Flins. I missed you, where have you been?"
The flame in Flins' lantern flickers. Flins leans closer to Illuga, "I'm always here, with you. Now, would you come with me back to your quarters? You need to rest."
"I'm not tired." Illuga's voice is petulant in a way his sober self would probably detest. "You lied, I was drinking and drinking and there's just so many people, but it's never you."
Flins' flame is turning a colder shade of blue. "My apologies, my dear Ilyusha. I was preoccupied." He longs to scoop up Illuga and hold him close, but there are too many eyes here and more than a few who are glancing at them questioningly already.
"Hmm..." Illuga pouts, and turns away to hide in the crook of his arm, "Yeah, I know. I saw you with the ladies. Rollon can't stop asking me if I can persuade you to introduce him to the Lady Moonchanter. Must be nice to have so many fair ladies hanging around you."
"I care not for them the way I do for you, they're merely acquaintances of mine."
"And so was I until I decided to make all those trips to the Final Night Cemetery, until I decided to return with the promise of more stories, and stay for cards and fishing, and cook all those dishes you never really liked." The young man's voice is hoarse with restrained sorrow. "I thought I had you all for myself, I thought I had accepted completely that your manners and flattery are for all to share and not me alone, but I guess I just overestimated myself."
The glow around the fae dims as the flame in the silver lantern diminishes to a weak flare. "I was under the impression that you knew me better than most, and that superficial compliments hold as much value as dust on a windowsill."
He should be angry. Flins thinks that there should be some anger warranted now, but all he feels is an empty hollow as he faces the tensed back of his lover, with not a single fissure for gentleness to seep in.
"Nobody would take it badly, not when you always say it like you mean it. And I'm one such fool to be trapped in those honeyed words."
Illuga with his sullen voice and hunched figure paints the perfect picture of a wounded lover, but something finally snaps in Flins and the ugly snake of rage rears its head. This feeling, which had been dormant for so long it feels foreign to even comprehend, creeps out to lace his voice with acid.
"Then, why don't you make your claim? Show every single living soul here that I belong to you and you alone? I've given you permission to do so, laid my soul naked for you to see, yet you never took the chance."
Illuga remains quiet. Ashru, probably disturbed by the commotion, has now opened his eyes to fix the fae with a baleful glare.
Getting no response from the captain, the burning fury in Flins dies down as quickly as it flared up. The icy shard within him is piercing, and his flame is now nothing but a pitiful wisp coiled tight on itself.
"I figured." He says coldly, and melts away into the night, leaving the captain to simmer alone in all the revelry and merriness of the night.
4
"How long are you going to torment my son like that?"
The Starshyna lights a rolled cigar of frostlamp buds and takes a long drag.
The two men are leaning against the banister on the west side platform, the statue of Solovei towered over them.
"All suffering is of one's own choosing." Flins replies detachedly.
Nikita gives him a long look. "You're angry. I don't think I've ever seen you angry for as long as I've known you."
"Now you have the privilege of it, then."
"Look, I really don't know what's wrong with the both of you. It is expected that Illuga cares far too much about the judgment of his colleagues but it is surprising that you'd choose to be intolerant about it."
"Do you mean to put the blame on me?"
Nikita takes another long inhale. The smoke that tumbles out form lazy swirls in the chilly night air. For a long time, neither man said anything.
"We humans are short-lived, yet more often than not we spend our time mulling over petty, trivial matters. When I was young, like most other young men, I'm a fool with nothing but an absurdly big ego and, like most other young men, this huge ego is also so inflated it's as fragile as a bird's egg."
"I'm not a young human man."
"No, but Illuga is. As selfless as that boy is, when it comes to matters of the heart, we revert to our basal instincts. That's not to say he is an arrogant fool, but do you know what happens when you put too much importance in the words of passing folk?"
It is a rhetorical question and Flins knows it. Nikita sighs, the look in his eyes waning to a far point into the past, "Even a harmless comment could be taken in a terribly wrong way, more so open insults that cut sharp and sudden as a shaving blade when your hand slips, and a cut on your face for all to see leaves you minding the cut more than you should even a long time after."
An unspoken heaviness drapes itself around them.
Nikita flicks the end of his cigar absentmindedly, he resumes, "You are well-respected even among our ranks. Illuga is an up-and-coming squad leader, still yet to gain the full acknowledgement of some. It is tougher still he happens to be my ward, and I happen to be the Starshyna."
Flins has a crystal-clear idea of what Nikita is getting at. The conversation of the girls he overheard that afternoon is proof enough.
"Simply put, he does not want to be perceived as being under your protection or receiving overt attention from you. He has enough accusations of being promoted to his current position just because of me, and suffered far more still to prove his worth to be where he's at today. Besides, he probably doesn't want to cause you any problems either."
"He could have said so, I would've done something to ensure that not a single word of idle gossip reaches his ears about us."
"I have no doubt you have the power of doing so should you wish it, but that's exactly what Illuga is avoiding. He wishes to stand on par with you, shoulder to shoulder, in a way where it won't diminish either of your standings."
The anger in Flins is cooling to resentment and frustration. Or perhaps, it is helplessness he feels. "Then, do tell, what do you think I should do in this case?"
"That's for you to decide. You can go to him now, help him back to his place and have a good talk when he wakes, or do something drastic to show everyone what he is to you. Alternatively, you can do nothing and perhaps tomorrow, the matter would be forgotten yet remain a prick in your hide, or anything between you and him would become nothing but a wishful dream."
Flins sighs, uncharacteristically morose, "You humans, more than a couple centuries I've mingled with your kin, yet every time I pride myself in uncovering a facet of humanity, I get hit by something that proves the opposite."
Nikita reached for another cigar, lights it, and brings it up to his lips again. "Come now, human or fae, what does it matter? You and I both know that there's little difference to speak of when it comes to love."
They look out to the misty darkness beyond, illuminated only by the radiance of the Pillar of Embla. Above them, the moon has now shifted its angle slightly such that Flins is no longer obscured by Solovei's shadow.
"I take it you've made up your mind about what to do." The Starshyna slides his old friend a long look. "I really have my faith in you, don't let me down this time, my friend."
Flins murmurs his assent, and holds out a hand.
"What is it?"
The fae gestures at the cigar dangling from the man's fingers.
"It won't do you any good, you know?" Nikita grumbles but still takes out a box and hands it to Flins who took a slim, rolled up tube from the packet and nips it between his lips.
Nikita lights the cigar with his flint.
"My thanks to you, allow me to light your next with my flame too." Flins takes a deep breath and frostlamp smoke fills his insides. Like most other materials for human consumption, it had entirely no effect on him whatsoever, yet the action himself brought him some odd sense of calmness.
"Don't you ever drag my boy into this." Nikita crushes the burnt cigar.
Flins takes his cigar between bony fingers, "You don't have to even worry about it." And that's true, Illuga was too self-punishing to find escape in any form of substance. Back when he suffered the ultimate defeat and lost most of his comrades, the pain was enough to bring a man to his knees yet the captain resolutely abstained from the comforts of alcohol or the numbing spell of frostlamp cigars. For him, only accepting suffering in all its agonizing glory grants him the right to move on from it.
“I don’t mean just this. Don’t take my son just for a spin around your dazzling magical world of insubstantial flames only to forget about him when time passes and he becomes like me; old, wrinkled and worn.”
Flins opens his mouth, ready for a retort. But, looking at Nikita’s weary face lined with anguish, he swallows his words. “Did you really mean what you said to Olav back at our card game?”
Nikita extinguishes his cigar. “I know it hurts if I said yes, but no father would want to see their child suffer more than they should. He has a hard life already, and my biggest wish is for him to lead a happy and simple life. Though, perhaps it is not his fate in this life to have both. I would be lying if I said I never knew of the way his eyes light up whenever your name is mentioned, or the way he always finds roundabout ways to ask me about you, or even the way his gaze trails after you whenever you step into the room. It won’t ever be simple with you, but he will not ever be happy if it is not you.”
Truth be told, it is a wonder that Nikita hadn’t outwardly opposed their relationship. It is only, and only, the hidden mercy of the stoic Starshyna who will always have a soft spot for his precious son that allowed Flins to have his blessing.
“Then I think it should be made known that Illuga is to me, the very heart that beats within your chest. I’ve made a promise to him that even if I cannot shoulder the pain of mortality even as we fight side-by-side in battle, nor let myself be marked by time, at the very end of the road, we shall lay down to rest together.”
“I don’t doubt you, my friend. In the end, I suppose I’m somewhat glad it is you who I’ll entrust his future to. Now, I suppose you should act on that promise and at least take him somewhere warmer. He’s had quite a few drinks.”
So Flins snuffs out his half-burnt cigar and disappears into the shadows, leaving the old Ratnik to his own thoughts in the night breeze that is beginning to stir around. What could be on his mind is easy to guess, perhaps the forgotten regret of losing his first love when she died in battle before they could reconcile from a particularly rough argument, or his loneliness when Sigurd fell too and he had to take up their old friend’s mantle despite all his grief. A thousand recollections to reminisce, and not a mote of power to turn back time.
5
Illuga is fast asleep in his awkward, uncomfortable position exactly where Flins has left him some time ago. Ashru is nowhere to be seen, and that is a worry the fae should deal with Nefer after he sorts out this troublesome quarrel with his little nightingale.
The crowd in the mead hall has thinned out, and those that remained are mostly drunk or lost in reverie. Nobody is paying attention to what’s going on in a dreary corner of the hall. The young master has obviously cried himself to sleep, with dried tear-streaks on his cheeks and corners of his eyes. The crimson cross on his ear lay dull and lifeless against his cheek.
Flins sits carefully beside the captain. Illuga did not stir. Flins sighs and quietly unfastens his cape and drapes it across the young man’s shoulder. The movement, soft as it is, still elicits a small sniff from the sleeping man and silver lashes flutter as he opens his eyes.
“Sir Flins? Is that you?”
“It’s me.” Flins feels like tearing himself to shreds. “I’m here. Let’s go home.”
“Sir Flins.” Illuga is a little more awake now, his eyes tear-shot and voice muffled from a stuffed nose. “I thought you left me, that you weren’t coming back. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you angry.”
His voice is pinching into a sob again and it makes Flins’ chest tighten painfully.
“I will never leave you, Illuga. I promise. I am sorry to even have done that, but I’m here to take you home. May I have your permission?” Flins reaches out a hand to brush away the moisture gathering at the corners of those beautiful eyes. Illuga does not shy away, but his tears surge yet more ferociously.
“I didn’t mean to do that, I know I’m stupid and cowardly, but I swear I won’t do it again. Just, please don’t leave me alone again, I don’t know where to find you when you do.”
The fae is ready to extinguish himself right there and then. How can he demand Illuga to acknowledge him as a lover in front of all when all he did was hurt his sunshine?
“We will talk again tomorrow when you wake, I won’t be going anywhere except be by your side. You have my word for it. Aedon can peck my flame out if I so much as move out of your door. Now, let’s take you home, shall we?”
Illuga wipes messily at his eyes and nods. He stands on wobbly feet, and Flins holds him closer to steady him.
“May I carry you back?” Flins whispers.
Illuga takes the offered hand but slings an arm over Flins’ shoulders. “Don’t worry, I can manage.”
So, Flins puts an arm behind the young man’s back and they start walking, their gait awkward as one exceedingly tall man drags along a shorter one as carefully as he can without making every step a jostle.
“How much have you drunk, young master?”
Illuga answers with a vague hum.
“This is more than just tipsy. Who made you drink so much?”
“Mmm… nobody, I just figured most people tend to be livelier when there’s alcohol, and some don’t really loosen up around me if I don’t drink, but it is fine, the taste of honey from this barrel is pretty strong…”
By the time they reach Illuga’s house with its little mailbox and warm, inviting lamp by the door, Illuga is already half-asleep again.
“Young master, we’re here.” Flins gives a gentle shake.
Illuga wakes and rubs at his eyes. He yawns, then fishes out a key from his coat pocket and attempts to stick it into the keyhole. Flins takes it from him and Illuga stumbles through the open door, falling with a slump onto his bed.
“I’m so tired.” He says weakly.
“Just a moment more.” Flins assures the young man, and begins removing the heavier layers of clothing until Illuga is left in his knitted vest and trousers. “I’ll keep watch over you, now sleep, my love. I’ll be here even when the sun rises.”
“Thank you, Mr Flins. Good night to you.” He squirms a little under the soft quilts, then lifts a corner of the covers up, "I know you don't need sleep, but won't you have a short nap with me at least?"
Not for the first time, Flins is sure that even without the surrendering of his true name to his love, this precious soul has long had complete command over him. He removes the many layers of his attire and climbs into bed to lay next to Illuga, who is turned on his side now, looking at him with an unreadable expression.
"I didn't expect you to really take up my offer."
"You know I'm a slave to your desires." Flins sweeps aside the silver strands falling over Illuga's eyes, and kisses his forehead tenderly.
"Hm. Liar." Illuga shifts to lay on his back.
"I never lie." Flins replies, but the other man is already drifting off again.
This is the first time they shared a bed at Illuga's place. The soft mattress is much more welcoming than the thinner one back at the lighthouse, paired with the rugs on the floor and all around the walls, they make this small room a warm, cozy haven.
In a corner to Flins’ right, his lantern glows a soft purple, mixing with the warm golden glow from Illuga’s own lantern, illuminating the young master’s peaceful visage in a lovely shade. Flins runs an adoring finger across a soft cheek, he should really put in more effort to visit Illuga here in Piramida.
The young man’s chest rises and falls gently as he sleeps, and Flins takes the time to openly savor the many wonders of his dearest. Illuga has a good physique; the perfect exhibit of a mortal’s reliance on raw power of flesh and bone, paired with his shorter stature, it gives him a slightly stockier frame than Flins' own angular, slim build. In sleep, all these planes of sculpted strength are relaxed, free from their waking tension, and he feels softer yet to Flins' touch.
Flins runs a hand lightly through his lover's hair. It has always been something that catches his eye, those silver strands bright as moonlight. A bit of copper-colored strands lay hidden at the very ends, much like those red flecks in those periwinkle eyes, as modest as their bearer himself. There’s a faint smell of mead and crushed pine all about, and Flins presses his face closer to the captain’s hair.
His lantern flickers, throwing a glint off of something on the nightstand. It is a picture, colors slightly washed out, framed neatly in a wooden square carved with a date. Within it, a very young Illuga had fallen asleep on a bench with his head on Nikita’s lap, the latter’s face one of suppressed excitement; probably the day Illuga called Nikita “dad”, perhaps the first time the lost child had finally decided to accept Piramida as his new home and the Lightkeepers as his new family.
He looks the very picture of innocence, and an image comes unbidden to Flins’ mind as Olav’s words at their card games return to memory, of children with silver hair and eyes of some non-descript color, or of children with blonde or black or brown hair, with those unique, twinkling multicolored eyes, playing together as Flins stands obscured in the shadows to the side. And he would stand like that, watching over them, as the years pass and seasons turn, until that silver halo and multi-hued eyes no longer appear in the little ones that play beside gravestones marked with a nightingale.
A fate that Flins has pictured countless times, when he looked at the young man’s unguarded smile as he reels in a catch at the lighthouse, or when his brows scrunched together in focus as he contemplates his next hand in cards, or when he falls asleep at the table with a quill in his hand and half-written reports beneath his head; a fate that Flins had convinced himself he would be content with, a fate that Flins had selfishly stolen from the young man, and the flames within Flins’ core lurch in a terribly aching manner.
Illuga shifts in his sleep suddenly, as if troubled by the fae’s own turmoil, and he clutches onto Flins' purple shirt, pressing his face to it and nuzzling a little with his nose.
Flins freezes. He hopes he hasn't accidentally awakened the young master. Thankfully, Illuga promptly releases his grip on the fae' shirt and his hand falls limply against his chest instead.
Night terrors are no stranger to Lightkeepers, and Illuga is not a soul fortunate enough to escape its clutches. Flins has heard of the young captain's night terrors from Nikita, even before he knew him as a close friend. The much-tormented warrior would sometimes wake up thrashing and screaming, then fall into a somber silence for a long time after waking. It is never easy being a Ratnik, and some do in fact lose their minds after some time.
Later on, when Illuga began to spend nights at the Final Night Cemetery, Flins himself has sometimes heard labored breathing and tormented, muted groans when the young man slept as he kept watch in his lantern form by the bedside. It is only until very recently that Flins finally gets to hold him close like this as the hours of the night trickle by, and it appears to dispel the nightmares most of the time.
Sleep tight, young master. I’ll be here to guard you in your dreams.
Flins dearly hopes that his presence would be of service tonight. He caresses the young man's cheeks, branding that perfect image of snowy lashes resting on soft skin into memory.
His mind returns to the conversation with Nikita a few hours back. Will he still love Illuga, when Illuga's skin begins to sag and is no longer radiant, when his cheeks get hollower as age claws into him? Frankly, Flins can see no possibility in which he would not find this man perfect and lovable as he was this very moment.
An eternity he has spent searching for peace, and now he has it so close to him right here in his arms; the reason he ultimately accepted that it is better to exist than to succumb to oblivion.
He places a hand on Illuga's beating heart, the pulse so steady and soothing. Nikita was right, there is too little time to spend on trivial disagreements and waste their time being upset. Flins fancies the hardest part of giving his love to someone settled after crossing the chasm of yearning but it appears the many tribulations of love only truly start after that point. However, Flins thinks as he hugs his beloved closer, there’s nothing to fear when he has his sun beside him to weather the storms.
6
Flins is in the middle of laying out some jam and bread when a rustle of sheets sounded from the bed, followed by the pattering of footsteps and running water from the sink. He takes the kettle off the stove and pours out the bubbling water into a pot of icelea leaves and dried lakkaberries.
When Illuga comes out of the bathroom, his hair is an endearing tousle of silver, its ends dripping. His face glows with a faint sheen of water, though his eyes appear still puffy and bloodshot.
"You're up, young master. Good morning. Dawn is breaking beautifully out there, and I hope your dreams were just as pleasant?"
Illuga yawns and shuffles back to the bed, burrowing under the covers once again. "Good morning too, Sir Flins. That’s the best drunken sleep I’ve ever had. Though, how long have I been out for?"
"Approximately seven hours, if my timepiece is to be trusted. Are you hungry? I made breakfast."
The young man pushes himself up on his elbows, looking at Flins with half-lidded eyes, "Thank you, I'm famished." His stomach growled in earnest agreement, but he collapses back on the pillows instead and wraps the blankets around himself, "But if you don't mind, is it okay if I ate a little later? I just want to lay here a little more. It's so warm..."
"Of course, young master. Or would you like to have breakfast in bed?"
"It's okay, I'll have them a little later, though..." Illuga pauses, biting his lower lip as he looks to the side, "Would you come lay with me a little, please?"
What an endearing sight. It hasn’t escaped Flins’ notice that whenever Illuga visits the lighthouse, perhaps due to his identity as a guest, the captain had never dallied when he woke, often busying himself as soon as he tumbles out of bed.
Flins unties the laces of the apron from around his waist and drapes it over a chair, "Perhaps I can interest the young master in having me for breakfast?" He walks over to where Illuga laid, and bends down to level their gazes.
"Must you tempt me when I'm barely awake?" Illuga complains softly even as he leans into a slow kiss. Their lips meet each other in gentle pecks and a mingling of breaths, getting hotter when Flins darts his tongue out to swipe at his lover's lips and tease further in, with one hand behind Illuga's head, bringing them closer.
"Mmm," Illuga moans, yet by sheer power of will, the young captain places a halting hand against Flins' chest and pulls himself away from the intimate kiss with a frown. "Sir Flins, have you been smoking?"
Flins curses his lack of forethought. Does the scent of frostlamp buds linger that long?
"Yes, regrettably. I had a... lapse in judgement when I was having a discussion with Nikita last night. Does it bother you? I'll go wash it out now."
"Not as much as I'd have thought, you're always surrounded by those flowers at the cemetery anyway. But if I were honest, I still prefer your natural taste of sea salt and something smoky. Incense, perhaps?" Illuga tucks a lock of midnight-blue strands behind one of Flins' ears and pulls the taller Ratnik down to lay over him, "Though, what is it you were talking about that warrants a smoke?"
Flins cards his fingers through silver and crimson strands, "Just this and that."
Illuga sighs, "I don't suppose it is about me? I'm really sorry about what I did last night. Gods... I really have to go properly apologize to Miss Lauma and Miss Nefer."
Flins pauses his movements, "So, you do remember what happened. On the contrary, I believe it is me who has much to make amends with, to you, especially. I admit I'm well aware that customs and norms have shifted since the times of the Belyi Tsar, and common flattery in court is certainly up for deeper speculation in everyday conversations. To that, I cannot promise I might be able to completely change my demeanor entirely, but I'll be sure keep in mind some boundaries when interacting with others."
Illuga looks abashed. "Well, it was my fault for not being open and upfront about the nature of relationship, instead choosing to be bitter and rude when there was no real reason to, nor do I have any right of being jealous whatsoever."
"Nonsense, young master." Flins kisses the beauty mark below Illuga's left eye, "I understand now that you had your reasons for keeping it covert. I'll wait for however long it is until you will be comfortable to bring it to light. In the meantime, I assure you that you'll have my complete attention, and I shall not lavish a single morsel of it to anyone else aside from you."
"That's unfair, isn't it?" Illuga hesitates just for a moment, but conviction fires up in his eyes, "I've decided, I've got to get over this fear of judgement. After all, there will always be rumors and people will always talk. All this time I avoided your touch whenever there’s someone else around… Gods, I am so sorry. I thought I was protecting you from malicious scandals but in truth I was just worried about myself."
Flins frowns, "Do you truly mean it? I would not wish for you to place a burden upon yourself when you have not fully surmised the entirety of all the outcomes."
"Yes! Yes, I'm sure of it. And, I'm really, really far too selfish to hide you any longer. I want to let them know that you belong only to me, and me alone." The young man's voice trembles with desperation, and his eyes glass over with shame.
"I don't like it when they ask me if I want somebody else. I don't like it when you shower another with too many praises, and I don't like it when Miss Lauma holds your hand so casually, or when you butter up just about anyone you meet in generous flattery. I know you don't mean it but I just..." His voice cracks and he wipes at the corner of his eye furiously.
"I'm sorry." Flins whispers, and he offers a kiss upon the young man's troubled brows, "I promise, you have me all to yourself. I'm yours, and only yours."
His hands move to cup Illuga's cheeks, and he makes another trail of kisses down the wet path carved out by tears.
"Don't let them touch you."
"I won't." Another kiss on silver hair.
"Don't say that they are pretty."
"Never would." A third kiss on reddened ears.
"Don't look at them with admiration."
"My eyes are only for you." Flins whispers, and he falls deep into Illuga's pleading gaze of amethyst and cinnabar.
"I'm sorry, I know I'm being awfully demanding but I just don't want to feel this jagged thorn in my heart any longer."
Flins takes Illuga's hand in his and presses it to his cheek, feeling the young master's warmth against his own colder skin. "Then ask me whatever your heart so desires. You're allowed to be demanding in any way you want, in any way you need. I'm ready to fulfil every wish of yours, and even more than that."
The young master has always been obstinate when it comes to his troubles, putting upon himself every responsibility, whether or not it was his to shoulder. And Flins thinks it is quite enough of that self-imposed suffering. He hopes now more than ever that Illuga will relent, allow himself to be a little less selfless, be a little less willing to ruin himself for the convenience of others.
But the young master is still facing him with downcast eyes.
"I don't want you to think that I'm a burden."
"You're not a burden when I'm the one that's begging for you to take my hand. Lean on me. Please, I want to be your light just as you are my salvation. Can't you indulge me this one time, Ilyusha?"
The affectionate title makes Illuga widen his eyes slightly and he shifts his body slightly, trying to be subtle.
Alas for him, nothing escapes the fae and the young man gives a muted yelp as Flins surrenders his weight onto the quilt-covered figure below.
"Answer me, Illuga. Will you let me be your light? "
Illuga exhales heavily, his characteristic blush creeping up his neck to spread over his face, "Y-yes. I will."
"Then command me, make your demands of me, I want to satisfy you."
The air in the small room turns balmy and spicy with a hint of something sweet. Illuga has his hands around the older Ratnik's neck and his lips brushing timidly against Flins' lips.
"I want you to call me like that again." Illuga whispers.
"Ilyusha." Flins breathes, and his fingers lace into the young man's hair, as if they would meld together, "Ilyusha, my love, my sun, my treasure. Call on me too, I want to hear my name in your voice."
"Sir Flins." Illuga obliges with a small shudder as Flins runs a hand down his torso.
"Wrong." Flins nips lightly at the captain's ear.
"K-kyryll?"
"Yes, say it." Flins tears off the quilt in a flourish, removing the offending fabric between them and slides a hand below the knitted vest, pushing it upwards to uncover the expanse of beauty hidden beneath. He leans down and suckles a kiss upon his nightingale’s neck, right where it pulsed with every heartbeat. And next he knew, his hips are met with softness as Illuga wraps his legs around it.
“Ahhh… Kyryll, mmmmh—” The archaic name rolls off the young master’s tongue much like beads of honey, and Flins closes in to capture them with eager lips. His hands are busy now, fiddling with pink nubs perk in the air even as he lavishes kiss after kiss all over Illuga’s beautiful lips and neck.
“Oh, gods, I need you. Please, I want more of you.” Illuga has his head thrown back, his silver crown a halo upon the sheets and his chest rising and falling in an enthralling rhythm.
“Mmm, my pleasure, young master, just tell me what to do. And remember, I’m willing to do anything, anything at all that you ask for.” Flins moves down now to focus his attention on the young man’s reddening chest, his tongue twirling and licking, causing a cascade of stifled moans from his lover as Illuga bites into the back of his hand.
“You know what I want, stop being a tease. Kyryll, please—” Illuga’s voice drags into a whine and he jerks his hip up a little, trying to gain some friction on his rapidly growing desire. His hand creeps down to where his need is peaking, trying to palm at himself a little but Flins catches it swiftly along with the other and brings it high above Illuga’s head, pinning both hands against the headboard.
“Hmm…” Flins hums, delighted. “Patience is a virtue, young master.” He looks down at the trembling figure below, a hot, tantalizing melted mess, and feels his flames rushing south in an intense torrent. Keeping one hand firm on the young master’s locked ones, he reaches for his belt with another, the silky ribbon threading between his fingers deftly as he knots Illuga’s hands together.
“I don’t want to be virtuous, just do to me what you always do. I can’t wait anymore.” Illuga pleads, his eyes filling with tears again. “Kyryll, please, I beg you.”
As tempting as it is to yield to his beloved’s plaintive begging, Flins casts his gaze around, landing finally on the leather harness that Illuga wears over his vest. The leather is cold after a night of hanging on the dresser’s door, and he makes no attempt to warm it as he wraps it around Illuga’s breast, fastening it just enough to push the ample muscles together into a captivating sight with the swollen buds peeking out under the edge of taut, brown leather.
“Ahhh…” Illuga looks down at his bound form, his mouth parted adorably in needy gasps, and blushes furiously as he notices the burning gaze sweeping over him.
The devious fae is on top of the caged nightingale in a flash, trailing along the young master’s abdomen with unhurried motions, taking care to savor each rise and dip of flesh, all while keeping his pale-yellow eyes on wet, lilac ones. When those pretty eyes began to close in bliss, Flins sends just the lightest tendril of his power into the harness, and drowns in the enchanting melody of sweet surrender just as Illuga throws his head back under the merciless onslaught of electricity tingling over his chest.
“You’ve got to be more specific, my dear Ilyushenka.” He chides lightly, sending yet another electrifying pulse as he traces a fingertip lightly over the faint, silvery scar that spans the warrior’s body, continuing on downward to where the proof of arousal pushes against the sturdy fabric of black trousers, pleading to be freed, and stops just above it.
“My, what do we have here?”
The young man is drooling now, his hair unkempt and falling over teary, unfocused eyes, his chest heaving. “Nnnnn… enough, just touch me please, down there. I need you, please Lord Kyryll.”
The fae swallows hard at that title. He takes a step back to admire his masterpiece. His chest is fluttering with a non-existent heartbeat, the flames within his core swirling and raging. How could someone be so utterly captivating, so beguiling, that his very soul is threatened to be pulled from him?
Illuga is coming undone so beautifully under his every touch and kiss, and Flins knows he’s teased his lovely nightingale enough, it is time to reward his poor, sweet darling.
“I suppose I have no choice but to heed my young master’s wishes.”
He speaks with a deliberate slowness, watching the heat spread over Illuga’s body as pale skin flushed red, and he brings his hands to the buttons of his purple shirt. Illuga is watching him through misty eyes, thighs spread apart shamelessly. Flins takes his time undressing, working those long, slim fingers in that way he knows Illuga loves.
As the last piece of clothing falls away and the fae’s lithe body is revealed, the young master thrashes against the bonds on his hands. “I want to touch you.” He implores with pretty eyes looking up at Flins, so sincere and eager.
“And so you will. You’ve been so good, so patient. I am truly sorry to have made you wait.” Flins unties the belt, and then the harness. His skin burns with fervent touches as Illuga runs adoring hands over the planes of his body, pulling him closer roughly as like a drowning sailor holding onto driftwood. “You’re making me lose my mind.” He whispers into the young man’s ear and smiles as Illuga attempts to grind his hips upwards against Flins’ own raging desire. They kiss again, lips interlocking in urgent sucking and biting, and Flins finally makes good on his promise.
With a particularly worshipping kiss upon the hollow of his neck, Illuga cries out, his body tensing as a violent shudder ran through him and he lays pliant on the bed, breathing heavily, gasping in shock from his unexpected release.
“Did I do a good job?” Flins murmurs, nuzzling at Illuga’s neck, to which the young man gives an unintelligible mumble. And it is now that Flins finally decides to strip the young man clean, revealing a still dripping, twitching shaft and shy hands fly down immediately to obscure it, thighs closing in on each other.
“Ahh… don’t look. Don’t look at me like that.” He turns away in embarrassment, and the red cross on his ear catches Flins’ own lamplight, throwing a dazzling display of colors over his naked body.
“Like what?” Flins reaches down and dips between demure thighs, moving his hand up and down his lover’s length, and his precious nightingale bites onto his shoulder sharply as a wail is unceremoniously muffled.
“Oh… Kyryll, I can’t, it’s still too sensitive.” Illuga sobs, trying to stop the fae’s masterful strokes.
“Would you like me to stop?” Flins asks, voice low and tender, his hands slowing down accordingly, but never leaving the searing skin of his young master.
“Mmnnn, I don’t know. Ah… it feels so good.” And once again, the young master surrenders to the fae. Illuga has his hands on Flins shoulders, gripping tightly as Flins pries his knees apart. There’s a sudden motion and he is forced to let go as Flins grips at his thighs and bends down lower.
Wet, luscious noises fill the room as Flins takes the young master in his mouth, working his tongue along the heat and over the tip. The young master tastes like pine amber overlaying a faint musk of sweat, and Flins reckons himself a starved beast who has stumbled into a feast. He gorges himself on it, devouring this delectable meal in greedy mouthfuls, until a tell-tale hardening prompts him to let go of it, and a long line of his drool mixed with his young master’s juices is all that’s left between his lips and that quivering head deprived of its final satisfaction.
Illuga whimpers pitifully. “Why did you stop?”
“It’s bad manners to wolf down your food at a banquet.” Flins licks his lips, then pulls a pillow over to cushion Illuga’s hips, and he leans down again, fingers prying soft flesh wider apart as he buries his face into the valley between.
There is a small cry of shame and gratification when Flins begins to tease at the opening that is fluttering invitingly. He lengthens his tongue, pushing it deeper into the wetness until it brushes against that sweet spot, and his love arches off the bed with a tremulous cry. He tightens his hold on the young man’s supple bottom, kneading slowly and firmly as he tends to that secret garden.
Illuga is weeping again, clear rivulets streaming from his eyes as he clamps a hand over his mouth. The suppressed whines and keens are doing something to Flins, and the fae finds himself struggling to keep his corporeal form together. Blue flames threaten to spill out of his fingertips and he glimpses flashes of bright blue at the edge of his vision as his hair burns with azure luminescence.
“You’re so beautiful, Ilyusha, my nightingale, my precious nightingale. I need you to see it, see how delicious you look right now.” Flins tears himself away from his love with much regret, grabbing instead at Illuga’s hips to lift him up, and Illuga startles as he wraps his legs around the fae’s waist tighter, twinkling blue eyes widening in pleasured surprise when a certain hardness presses against him.
Flins sits on the edge of the mattress with Illuga on his laps, turning him around until they both faced the mirror propped against the wall beside the bed, and puts his hands below thighs slicked with sweat, pulling them wide apart.
“Do you see it now? How delightful you are,” Flins gives a little bite on Illuga’s neck, “You’re like a rose, opening yourself to me, and I’m the lucky fool to be blessed with such wonder.” The image in the mirror is one that might put a deity of lust to shame, with both men stark naked and those delightful parts usually covered and kept hidden modestly, now exposed in total vulnerability, throbbing and bouncing with every slight movement. “What a great pity a simple mirror shows not the wonders of your soul.”
Flins kisses the scar on the captain’s left shoulder, licking at it ravenously, reverently. “Tell me, how it is that I am so blessed to have you all to me?” He runs his hands over the young man’s chest, squeezing the softness together and toying a little at the spots of pink before wandering down to pinch softly at Illuga’s waist, then to the taut muscles over his stomach, and finally onto those curving hipbones, which Flins grasps forcefully to pull the young man backwards onto his own stiffness. “Can you feel it, Ilyusha? How you make me feel? How broken I am when you’re looking like that?”
“Haah—” Illuga does not answer. He rocks his hips back, trying to push himself more onto the fae. He tries reaching down to attend to his need, but is yet again apprehended by nimble fingers and he voices his dissatisfaction in small whines.
“It’s my duty to serve you, my love. Allow me.” Flins’ words are gentle and promising, yet he did nothing to help. Instead, he binds the young man’s hands together again with his velvety belt and fastens the knot on a conveniently-placed wooden hook above the mirror. The shorter man is now forced to stand on weakened knees, displayed in all his blissful glory of flushed skin and hazy eyes.
Flins stands too, supporting Illuga with strong hands on trembling hips as he rewards his young master with a kiss to his nape. The warm body pressed flush against Flins’ own drives his frenzied flames to burn ever hotter. He lifts his lover off the floor a little, aligning their bodies even better. Illuga is by no means a feather in the wind, with all that sinewy evidence of his physical prowess, Flins is sure the captain could lift him up with ease if he so wished to, and that thought fires up something wild within the fae’s core.
“Pardon the intrusion, young master.” Flins pushes in slowly, coaxing an increasingly impatient and needy melody from his nightingale, until finally both sigh as they connected, wholly and perfectly with each other.
“Kyryll.” Illuga breathes, his head leaning back on Flins’ chest. He looks up, ruby pupils dilated, wide with rapture and wonder as he locks eyes with the fae.
Flins seals their lips again in a kiss. The young man’s pale lips are now a rosy red, plush with vigor and parted slightly as tiny gasps flit through them with every thrust of Flins’ hips. The fae wraps a hand around the forgotten, pulsing yearning of his lover, inhaling sharply as the engulfing warmness around him tightens further still. He steadies his hands, willing himself to focus on their administrations on his beloved’s hot, leaking length as he continues angling at the crux of pleasure deep within.
Illuga cries out, broken. His legs are giving out beneath him, held up only by an arm around his waist.
“Ahh— Wait, wait! It’s too much for me!” The young man’s voice is barely coherent as the lascivious sounds of skin against skin fill the cramped room, the rhythm quickening erratically. “Kyryll, ohhh… Kyryll, I’m gonna—”
Flins loosens a ragged gasp as the picture of ecstasy within the mirror is finished with a splash of white, and for a moment, all he sees is a haze of blue as his own climax tears through his form with his wings blazing out of his back in a thunderous flare, and he empties himself into the warmth of his lover.
In the aftermath of their passionate morning, Flins holds Illuga close to him as they lay on the bed, basking in the warm glow of the midday sun shining through the rooftop window. The tea is cold now but neither made a move to get out of bed. Illuga turns on his side, tracing lazy swirls over Flins’ bare chest.
“You’re divine,” The young man says dreamily, still soaked in contentment. “You’re so damningly perfect it’s unfair.” He moves to outline the older Ratnik’s slightly uneven nose ridge and then over to the contours of his lips.
Flins hums, “It seems you weren’t paying enough attention when we were at the mirror. I should really consider installing one back at my place as well.”
“Now you’re bullying me.” Illuga pouts adorably, “How can I be focusing on myself when you’re right there for me to see?”
Flins rolls over and cages the young man below him, his long blue hair falling around them like a curtain, “That won’t do, young master. I swore to prove with every fiber of my being just how flawless you are to me and I have to deliver on my promises, you know.”
“Maybe you can convince me to give you a chance again?” Illuga smiles in a convincingly innocent manner, with only the twinkle in his eyes betraying his mischief.
“I’d beg for it if I have to.”
“Wanna go for it again, Kyryll?” The young man bends his knee to rub between the fae’s thighs. “Why did you want me to call you Kyryll anyway? I thought you hated that name.”
“Not anymore, not after it has been so lovingly purified by you. Let’s just say, it’s a rite for me to bind myself to you with more than just the present me.” Flins kisses his love again, “Now, is the offer still up or did you change your mind?”
“Please, Lord Kyryll,” Illuga looks through his veil of lashes, “I’m all yours to take.”
7
“Someone,” Nefer begins with a vicious glare at an unmoved fae, “Decided to abandon his poor lover to go cantering off somewhere and also conveniently forget all about Ashru. Mr Flins, what do you have to say about this?”
“I am truly sorry, Lady Nefer.” Flins plasters on a placating smile, knowing full well it would do nothing to soothe the vexed woman. “What ever may I do to compensate you?”
Nefer narrows her eyes, “Hmph, I’ll have your darling for two weeks. Now don’t look at me like that, we need him to show up as the representative of the Lightkeepers to negotiate some weapon source changes from Fontaine, and he’s dealt with those merchants before so they might be more inclined to work in the Lightkeeper’s favor. You don’t want to have to deal with some blatantly rude price increase, do you? These Fontainians can be merciless.”
“Then may I interest you in a candidate change? I believe I am more suited for this role than he is.”
Nefer raises an elegant eyebrow, “Oh? With your social graces I suppose there should be no issue, the problem is that we are talking about your compensation here, and it just wouldn’t do if I don’t flay you off a bit.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Nefer. I’m afraid I cannot consent to it.”
“Archons smite me.” Nefer rolls her eyes, “I’m not sending him off to a den of wolves. If I would argue, I’d even say it does him much good to be away from his patrols and fighting for a bit. Besides, it is not like he’d be gone forever. Ah, did I mention, he’s to be away in Fontaine for this duration. After all, the chosen representative is invited to look at some new technology and all that, I don’t know the details, but I’d say it is very useful for you Lightkeepers, and if all things go well, they might consider opening up a production center here.”
Flins falls silent. It is bad enough that Illuga would be away for two weeks, but he knows it is a great opportunity for the young Ratnik to gain some experience. He thinks of the two gloomy weeks ahead, deprived of his sun, and sighs inwardly. It is a small price to pay, though, he admits, as Nikita’s verdict comes to mind. The young master would like to prove his capabilities, not just as a Ratnik but as an independent adult. This trip would bring him much benefit, and Flins can picture that happy, enthusiastic smile on his beloved’s face when he tells him about this.
“Then, what will it be?”
Flins nods, “So shall it be, I don’t suppose I would be allowed to go as well? In any case, I will remain here in the young master’s stead to ensure his responsibilities are not increased by the time he returns.”
“Tsk, tsk. You are so unbelievably sappy, you know. Archons forbid, so this is what a fae in love acts like.”
“I could say that I’m also fascinated with the way how dignified Sumerian scholars and stately Moonchanters act like when they’re in love too.”
Nefer’s viper-green eyes stabs him with a sharp glare, “You appear less and less noble with every word you utter, Mr Flins. So, before it runs out entirely and you’re demoted to a peasant, let me ask this, what brings you here?”
“I have a personal commission to make.” Flins fishes a round egg-shaped object from his pocket and presents it to the lady. “There’s this object which I need to make some specific modifications on.”
Nefer sucks in a sharp breath, “You filthy fae. You filthy, filthy fae. Is that what I think it is?”
“What do you think it is?” Flins counters, unperturbed.
Nefer grins wickedly, “Why don’t you tell me first what are the modifications you’re hoping to make?”
“As you know, Lightkeepers are not exactly the safest profession. This bauble I’ve acquired is made from high-grade moonfall silver, as you can see, and I’m hoping to commission a suitable mechanic to tweak it so that it may detect signals of the Wild Hunt and employ a kuuvahki barrier around the holder.”
“Oh,” Nefer does not hide her disappointment, “That sounds much less interesting from what I have in mind, but certainly much more useful. It is a very tall order, though, and there’s only one person I can think of which has the ability to do that. Why didn’t you visit Miss Aino first?”
“Ah, I wish to make this a surprise for my beloved, and so it should be an entirely anonymous request.”
Flins is certainly not about to tell the boss of the Curatorium of Secrets about the countless times the Ratniki have evaded the genius mechanic’s classes.
“Okay, I get it. Then, here’s the agreement and also, the deposit you have to make. I just need your signature here.” Nefer jabs a gold-tipped finger at an empty box on the paper. “I’ll take that from you. You can expect to collect it in a month.”
Flins is ready to do anything for Illuga, anything it is indeed, but he could barely suppress the small exclamation of disbelief when he sees the amount listed.
Even so, a fae loves deeply and wholly. And so, with a much lighter pocket and an equally lightened spirit, Flins leaves the curatorium with a special piece of paper in his hand. That is, after all, the least he could do for the light of his life.