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Lohen has it in him to not reach into his belt for a dagger. It’s easier to just not look, so he stares at the mug he idly swirls in his hand instead. Water, not wine, as he keeps watch tonight. A brand new shipment of dandelion wine arrived just yesterday, with many extra barrels as courtesy from master Diluc for the expedition effort. Despite his strained relationship with the Knights of Favonius, he understands the importance of the mission and the importance of morale for the knights.
Nothing trumps a massive morale boost like three whole carts of barrels top to bottom from the best wine maker himself. After a three and a half week drought of wine, the men were thirsty and who was going to deny them this feast? Certainly not the Grand Master.
From the corner of his eyes Lohen can see him again, casually leaning against the back of a chair someone dragged outside of the main tent. There are hands massaging his shoulder and caressing his chest, fingers pushing under the wide collar of his undershirt then pulling back out. It’s too dark to see who it is and it’s best if Lohen doesn’t know or he’ll never be able to look at them again.
It’s ironic, everyone is too drunk to pay attention to them. Men laugh and sing and dance around the bonfire, they tiptoe and trip over each other and Lohen wishes he was one of them, able to blissfully ignore the scene happening just a few meters from him.
Naturally, he was one of the few chosen to stand watch.
No, not chosen. Volunteered.
He knew Varka would do it himself instead. While Lohen enjoys good wine like most others do, he knows it’s not even a fraction of how much Varka does. The Grand Master's been craving this shipment, talking about it daily, thinking about sending letters of thanks to master Diluc. He’s been dreaming of the wine arriving and Lohen would have to be a cruel man not to volunteer himself and force Varka to be sober.
In his defense, the Grand Master did try to talk him out of it. Said he should go and mingle with the others. Praised his work enough to make Lohen inhale and puff his chest out, and told him he deserved the feast as much as the others did. However, Lohen was set on it. He would stand watch and Varka would drink and everyone would be happy.
Almost everyone.
Varka’s chuckle pulls him away from his thoughts. It’s not the full belly laughter he does that makes his chest tremble every time. It’s softer, lower and morphs into a moan when the irritating man behind him presses a kiss to his jaw. He drapes himself over Varka from behind and Varka has his hand on his cheek, encouraging him to continue. Lohen can hear murmurs but is too far away to actually hear the words.
What a farce.
The offensive man peppers kisses down Varka’s neck, up his jaw and cheek, to the side of Varka’s mouth, and to his credit, he does flinch a little but laughs it off. He presses a hand against the nape of the other, bringing his lips back to his muscular neck. Varka’s other arm hangs from the back of the chair and the mug slips from his fingers, falling to the ground. No one really seems to pay it any mind. Judging from the way not a single drop spilled from it, it had long since been empty anyway. Varka throws his head back, eyes closing shut and ragged breaths coming out against the cold and dry air when the knight started sucking on a spot.
It’s more than he can bear.
Lohen sets his mug down and decides to go for a walk around the base. There are two guards stationed on one side — one Lohen is aware doesn’t drink at all, and another who probably does but got scouted for the watch anyway.
From this high up the mountain, he can see the wide field below with ease. There are traces of abyssal fog, but in this area that’s just part of the scenery. He circles back from behind the trees and remnants of a stone wall, shielding his eyes from whatever is happening inside the camp. Upon arriving on the other end of the keep, he leans against the wall beside another watchman.
“Sir Lohen!” He salutes. “Thank you for the game!”
“Huh?” It takes a while to get what the other man means. Lohen brought in a huge blunthorn rhino a couple of days ago from his patrol. “Oh yeah, of course.”
The watchmen nods. “It really does mean a lot, sir. These rations have been…” he shivers at the thought “I think I’ll pass out if I have to eat another one.” He laughs.
Lohen fakes a chuckle, forcing a smile out.
He’s uninterested in small talk at the moment, so he taps the watchman on his shoulder and thanks him for the good work.
Inside the camp most torches have dimmed out. The main fire still stands, but not as strongly as before. Everywhere he looks there’s someone either passed out or about to, with several mugs left behind on tables or fallen to the ground. Some of the less drunk men help around, carrying their fellow knights back to their tents or cleaning up some of the mess. However, the feast is far from over as there are several groups of men still talking and laughing over drinks.
He tries really hard not to look in the direction where he last saw the Grand Master, afraid of what he’d see — either the chair would be empty, indicating they had moved somewhere more private, or they’d still be there, shamelessly indulging. He’s not sure which one pisses him off more.
Regardless, he’s too curious not to pry. He finds that Varka is still sitting there, though the man who once hanged over his shoulders like a dog in heat is now on the floor, slouched against the legs of the chair. Judging by the wet patch next to his feet, he also emptied his stomach before passing out.
The Grand Master’s head hangs forward, elbows resting on his knees. From a distance, Lohen can’t even tell if he’s still awake.
A knight comes around carrying a jug. He grabs the mug Varka had dropped earlier and fills it with more wine, promptly putting it on Varka’s hands before moving on. Varka then lifts his head, looking around like a confused child. Finally he settles on the drink in his hands.
Just as he’s about to throw his head back and down it all in one gulp, Lohen takes the mug from his hands. He looks just as lost, as if he couldn’t comprehend where it went.
“I think that’s about enough, Grand Master.”
Varka looks up at him and their eyes lock.
“Lohen!” Immediately a grin spreads across his reddened face. He lights up like a dog seeing his owner coming back home.
There it is, that full-bellied laughter that gives Lohen the chills. Though right now, it just annoys him.
“Lohen, you’re not gonna believe this!” His voice is more slurred than Lohen remembers hearing it before. Just how much did he drink?
“Yes, yes, Grand Master.” Lohen takes the opportunity, now that Varka is distracted, to grab his arm and pull it over his shoulder, getting him to stand up. His hand grabs Varka by the waist, securing him in place. “You can tell me all about it on your way back to the tent.”
He maneuvers that towering man on his feet, pushing him forward. It takes Varka a while to understand they’re supposed to be walking but eventually he gets the hang of it and stops leaning so heavily on him. Still Lohen holds him, lest he falls on his face.
“Lohen.”
Lohen hums in acknowledgment.
“Lohen. Lohen.”
“Is that all you can say right now?”
“Yeah,” a chuckle. “Lohen.”
“Weren’t you going to tell me a story?”
“Oh, yeah!”
But the story never comes. Instead all that comes out of Varka’s mouth are random noises that no one would be able to understand. Sometimes Lohen’s name makes its way in between the string of slurred words, but it’s impossible to make sense of anything he says.
“Impressive, Grand Master.” He indulges Varka anyway and gets another warm laugh in response.
“Right?”
They arrive at Varka’s tent. Most of the knights share tents with others but the Grand Master and other notable knights have their own. It’s slightly bigger than the common tent, but not luxurious by any means. Varka has never been one to gaudily show off, in any case. He can wear fine suits for grand banquets back home, indulge in expensive belts, bracers and refined armor but when he’s out on the field with his knights, he is one of them.
It’s endearing, in a way.
Lohen pushes the tent open, carrying him towards the thin mattress. It’s even darker inside, though there’s not much point in lighting up the lamp on the corner if he’s just here to deliver the Grand Master to his bed safely. Varka was already in his underpants and shirt, stripped of the knight garb he usually has, even before starting to drink. Therefore there’s no need for Lohen to help him undress.
He tries to be careful when guiding Varka to lay down, but the Grand Master is so inebriated that he trips over his own feet and falls down. The arm hanging over Lohen’s shoulders brings him down with him, making both fall down side by side, facing each other.
Great, just what he needed. Irritation doesn't even begin to describe what he feels. He just wants to go back to his own tent and call it a night, hopefully to forget everything he saw today much like the others will.
Blinking, Lohen looks up at him. Varka’s almost dozing off already, had been on the way to the tent. The smell of wine lingers, but it’s not unpleasant. Maybe it’s because he’s so used to it, but it really does match the man in front of him in every possible way. Without thinking, he brings a hand to his face, a finger hovering over the slight stubble on his jaw.
He pulls away.
Sighing, Lohen pushes him away slowly and turns around to the other side in order to get up, but realizes he can’t move anymore. Somehow Varka’s arms have trapped him in an embrace. He looks back over his shoulder to find Varka’s eyes already fluttering close and a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snore escapes his throat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he whispers to himself.
Lohen’s not gentle when he tries to pull Varka’s hand away but those massive fingers are locked onto one another, keeping him firmly in place. It’s not budging. The rustling makes Varka adjust himself so he’s more comfortable and he lifts a leg over Lohen’s own. That giant of a man now has Lohen fully enveloped in his arms, casually resting his chin on top of Lohen’s head as if he is a plush toy being hugged by a sleeping child.
“Varka, if you don’t move…”
He doesn’t. He can’t even listen anymore, clearly sound asleep.
Despite the circumstances, Lohen could reach into his belt and pull that dagger out. He knows the Grand Master well enough to know that he’d immediately sober and wake up if a knife pressed itself against his neck.
He could do that.
Behind him, he can hear Varka mumble something unintelligible. The chest against his back is warm, vibrating with it.
“Too restless,” somehow manages to escape the Grand Master’s lips.
Lohen gasps when the arms pull him in impossibly closer. All of Lohen is pressed tightly against Varka, too constricting and warm. Worse yet, Lohen is still mostly fully dressed. He’d removed his cape and armor prior to the gathering, but kept the too heavy boots in case he needed to spring into action.
A drop of sweat rolls down his nape, under the choker. His back feels humid from his own sweat and possibly also from Varka’s shirt. It was unbearable.
“Old man, it’s too hot. Let me go.”
More slurred words. Once again Lohen tries to pry those arms away from his torso but Varka refuses to let him go.
Then, he freezes.
The Grand Master digs his nose in his hair, inhaling deeply. He makes his way down, brushing his nose against Lohen’s nape.
“Old man…”
Varka slurs another something and softly touches his lips to the skin there. The hot breath sends chills down his spine. He peppers small kisses to Lohen's nape as if it was the most normal thing to do.
“I’m not one of your companions, let me go.”
Unsurprisingly, Varka shows no sign of stopping. He kisses and nibbles the skin, cleaning him of the sweat.
Lohen looks down when he feels the arms finally moving. He naturally tries to escape once more, but one of Varka’s hand holds both of his wrists in place now. How he is still able to move so much in this state is beyond him. Varka’s other hand caresses his way up Lohen’s figure, then back down again.
Careful fingers push up under his shirt. It’s enough to make Lohen move forward, away from Varka, who whines and pulls him back against him.
“Stay.” He feels the warm vibration against the back of his head more than he hears it.
“I’m not—”
Whatever Lohen was going to say gets trapped in his throat when he feels warm, wet lips sucking on his neck and the tip of a tongue licking him there. The combination of his nape getting attention while calloused fingers feel his stomach is intoxicating.
Could he still reach into his belt for the dagger tucked away safely in a leather case? He’s not stronger than Varka, but given his current state, if Lohen really forces it, he might be able to. Tragically, it’s hard to think when his body is being touched all over by someone whom Lohen has always…
His breathing is staggered and his heart beats with the speed of when he’s on the battlefield facing a powerful opponent. A breathy moan escapes his own lips when the solid weight of that hand caresses over his chest; fingers dancing lightly like a feather over a nipple.
This time, when Varka’s name spills from between his lips, it’s not in a reprimand. He’s calling out to the Grand Master as all rational thoughts flee from his mind. There’s heat pooling in his lower stomach and he’s too scared to think about what might be happening even lower.
Fortunately, Varka finally starts to slows down. Maybe he’s getting too tired or entering a deeper sleep, it doesn’t matter. The respite is welcoming and Lohen takes the opportunity to gather his thoughts and strength back.
He makes the mistake of adjusting himself and his eyes jolt open in surprise when he notices there’s something decidedly hard pressing against his backside. He can feel how large and plump it is. How can he even walk with that hanging between his legs? It pushes between Lohen's ass as if it belongs there. As if it wants more.
Lohen’s own cock twitches in his pants. If Varka was awake enough to move back and forth, he’d be able to cum untouched just from it.
He has to keep calm.
The voices in his mind scream in every direction. He wants to leave, stay, punch something, turn the Grand Master around and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. The thought of biting Varka's arm so hard he screams and wakes the entire camp is very tempting at this moment.
Lohen bites his own lip in frustration instead. His cock hangs half awake between his legs, begging for something but he can’t move.
It takes him a long time to finally fall asleep.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Most knights are only half awake when the sun rises in the horizon. Lohen throws an apple up in the air before catching it. Where most groan in frustration from the hangover, Lohen is thankful he didn’t have a drop of alcohol the day before. Small blessings, he supposes.
Mika is helping some of the men farther ahead to move furniture around, organizing the place again before the Grand Master shows up.
If anyone noticed Lohen slipping away from Varka’s tent before the first morning ray, no one mentioned anything.
Three knights pass in front of him, ready to pick up more things to move, but Lohen raises his arm before them, making them stop.
One quick look at them and Lohen is positive one of them was the infuriating man climbing all over Varka like a tree. He tries to keep it cool.
“I think I remember the three of you refilling the Grand Master’s cup more than you should.”
They gulp in fear, legs trembling.
“Now the Grand Master is nowhere to be seen.” Lohen looks around, as if searching for him. “If a horde showed up, I guess I’d have to step in for him.” He glares so coldly at the trio that they step back. “I hate working more than I should.”
Excuses come forward faster than Lohen can understand them.
“I guess you can make it up to me by helping me with target practice.” Smirking, he presses the apple against the chest of one of them. "You're the first target."