It was just like the Initiate to understand nothing and everything all at once. Nov would have grinned at Keene's response, had the proximity between the two of them suddenly shrunk to mere breaths away, a pale hand closing around his own before accepting the ring.
The Scar listened in baffled wonderment. He knew he should have expected the unexpected, but Keene's words were so straightforward, so logical that they redefined the symbolism of a ring altogether. Noven had not sought binding commitment--they both knew that was impossible from the very beginning--and neither of them seemed the sentimental type. But what had started as a bizarre, magic-induced misadventure had blossomed into something wholly unprecedented, unanticipated, and unfathomably deep. That Keene grasped none of the usual meanings attached to a ring mattered naught; memories were theirs by right, and would be the only things left to hold onto once that ship set sail.
His eyes closed halfway and his breathing slowed as the other man caressed along the edge of his jaw. He didn't know what his partner was thinking, whether Keene felt pain, loss, sadness, anything remotely similar. Or if the mage had come to terms with it all and done away with worrying over the matter. All Nov knew was that the rest of Winter was about to stretch out before him in one long, bleak period of coping. Of sleepless nights, lonely silence, and desperate attempts to drink and whore himself to distraction.
Little did he know that the ale would taste more bitter than ever, and the whoring feel as empty as the hearts of those he paid for. But in that moment, he thought of nothing save the feeling of velvet lips pressed against his, tongue searching and breath quickening as he was pushed intentionally toward the floor.
Noven answered his companion's amorous attentions with a fire of his own, the looming inevitability of their separation driving his desires long past thought and reason. He would have never known a relationship could be so carnal and emotionally raw with someone as outwardly calm and collected as the Initiate. Yet there they were, one on top of the other as they lost themselves in the bliss of exploring firm, willing flesh with their own.
At some point, however, the sensations changed. It was impossible to place a finger on how or when, but Nov could sense the other man grow more tender in his attentions, slowing just a hair so that each kiss tasted sweeter and each touch felt fonder. He responded in kind, hands trailing with less urgency as they committed every toned curve and plane to memory. Eyes closed, the mercenary let Keene's balm-like presence soothe his formerly frayed nerves, wiping everything clean with the guileless nature of his very being. With Keene, he didn't have to worry about betrayal. About being played for a fool or used as a means to someone else's ends. He had, as the Initiate stated himself, been accepted. And there was nothing in the world more comforting, more euphoric, more completing than knowing he was worthy in another's eyes. As himself and nothing else.
His attention sharpened for a moment as he felt the other man's head lean closer to his ear. Nov knew by now that this meant his partner had something to say, though what ended up being said rarely ever failed to defy his expectations. And this instance was no exception.
Love. Keene loved him. Nov's heart felt a pang of joy and disbelief at the same time. After everything that had happened in his life, every disaster that left him battered and bruised, the merc had begun to think he didn't deserve love. It was like playing with fire--dangerous, painful, and could only end in one of two ways. Either it burned him beyond recognition, leaving a scar hideous enough to mar him for the rest of his life, or he failed to protect it from being snuffed prematurely. Not once in his life had he been able to see the flames burn themselves out to the very end, with nothing but peaceful embers to mark their existence. But perhaps this time, things could be different. If only a little.
They had within their power the ability to see things through the way they desired to. Not by the hand of another, or that of Fate's. But by their own. Both men had chosen their paths, knowing they would not converge for a long, long time. Perhaps never. And they did so with open eyes and open hearts, facing the consequences of their decisions without flinching, making every last tick they had together count.
It wasn't a matter of debate, by then. It was merely fact. One that neither had to hide or shy away from for the past handful of days. They had chosen their lots and were the only judges of their actions, as far as they were concerned. One step at a time, prices would be paid and the future dealt with, but for now they needed not care for anything other than the last few, precious bells they had left to share. There was an impossible sense of freedom in this abandonment. This allowing of themselves to feel and indulge in all that the other had to offer.
Noven shifted so that he could hover over the Initiate, breathing labored from the growing passion that rose between their amorous explorations. He rested his cheek along that of Keene's in a momentary pause of sensual-overload.
"I love you as well, Keene," the merc rasped, voice dark with desire but words heartfelt nonetheless.
Then the two were well and truly lost, delving into that which they had denied themselves for so long until the very last tick that could be afforded to them. And when his empty room back in Sunberth grew especially cold in the lonely, Winter nights to come, Nov would remember those last few bells they shared and feel warmer for it. If only for a little while.
The Scar listened in baffled wonderment. He knew he should have expected the unexpected, but Keene's words were so straightforward, so logical that they redefined the symbolism of a ring altogether. Noven had not sought binding commitment--they both knew that was impossible from the very beginning--and neither of them seemed the sentimental type. But what had started as a bizarre, magic-induced misadventure had blossomed into something wholly unprecedented, unanticipated, and unfathomably deep. That Keene grasped none of the usual meanings attached to a ring mattered naught; memories were theirs by right, and would be the only things left to hold onto once that ship set sail.
His eyes closed halfway and his breathing slowed as the other man caressed along the edge of his jaw. He didn't know what his partner was thinking, whether Keene felt pain, loss, sadness, anything remotely similar. Or if the mage had come to terms with it all and done away with worrying over the matter. All Nov knew was that the rest of Winter was about to stretch out before him in one long, bleak period of coping. Of sleepless nights, lonely silence, and desperate attempts to drink and whore himself to distraction.
Little did he know that the ale would taste more bitter than ever, and the whoring feel as empty as the hearts of those he paid for. But in that moment, he thought of nothing save the feeling of velvet lips pressed against his, tongue searching and breath quickening as he was pushed intentionally toward the floor.
Noven answered his companion's amorous attentions with a fire of his own, the looming inevitability of their separation driving his desires long past thought and reason. He would have never known a relationship could be so carnal and emotionally raw with someone as outwardly calm and collected as the Initiate. Yet there they were, one on top of the other as they lost themselves in the bliss of exploring firm, willing flesh with their own.
At some point, however, the sensations changed. It was impossible to place a finger on how or when, but Nov could sense the other man grow more tender in his attentions, slowing just a hair so that each kiss tasted sweeter and each touch felt fonder. He responded in kind, hands trailing with less urgency as they committed every toned curve and plane to memory. Eyes closed, the mercenary let Keene's balm-like presence soothe his formerly frayed nerves, wiping everything clean with the guileless nature of his very being. With Keene, he didn't have to worry about betrayal. About being played for a fool or used as a means to someone else's ends. He had, as the Initiate stated himself, been accepted. And there was nothing in the world more comforting, more euphoric, more completing than knowing he was worthy in another's eyes. As himself and nothing else.
His attention sharpened for a moment as he felt the other man's head lean closer to his ear. Nov knew by now that this meant his partner had something to say, though what ended up being said rarely ever failed to defy his expectations. And this instance was no exception.
Love. Keene loved him. Nov's heart felt a pang of joy and disbelief at the same time. After everything that had happened in his life, every disaster that left him battered and bruised, the merc had begun to think he didn't deserve love. It was like playing with fire--dangerous, painful, and could only end in one of two ways. Either it burned him beyond recognition, leaving a scar hideous enough to mar him for the rest of his life, or he failed to protect it from being snuffed prematurely. Not once in his life had he been able to see the flames burn themselves out to the very end, with nothing but peaceful embers to mark their existence. But perhaps this time, things could be different. If only a little.
They had within their power the ability to see things through the way they desired to. Not by the hand of another, or that of Fate's. But by their own. Both men had chosen their paths, knowing they would not converge for a long, long time. Perhaps never. And they did so with open eyes and open hearts, facing the consequences of their decisions without flinching, making every last tick they had together count.
It wasn't a matter of debate, by then. It was merely fact. One that neither had to hide or shy away from for the past handful of days. They had chosen their lots and were the only judges of their actions, as far as they were concerned. One step at a time, prices would be paid and the future dealt with, but for now they needed not care for anything other than the last few, precious bells they had left to share. There was an impossible sense of freedom in this abandonment. This allowing of themselves to feel and indulge in all that the other had to offer.
Noven shifted so that he could hover over the Initiate, breathing labored from the growing passion that rose between their amorous explorations. He rested his cheek along that of Keene's in a momentary pause of sensual-overload.
"I love you as well, Keene," the merc rasped, voice dark with desire but words heartfelt nonetheless.
Then the two were well and truly lost, delving into that which they had denied themselves for so long until the very last tick that could be afforded to them. And when his empty room back in Sunberth grew especially cold in the lonely, Winter nights to come, Nov would remember those last few bells they shared and feel warmer for it. If only for a little while.
