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Legault was not sure when he had first begun to love him. He knew it had been long enough by now that it felt like some fact of nature-- that the thought of it being any other way seemed laughable to him.
It's not as though it had been love at first sight, not really; he didn't really believe in that sort of thing. But it was possibly damn near close to it. Even back then, with his first glance upon the wyvern rider, he felt the little tremors of something curious. His mind brushing against something that felt almost profound.
And when he saw the man's eyes, when he found them locked with his own for the first time-- that little something unfolded and grew, and he watched in fascination as it opened before him.
He had known Heath for a week when he told him that he loved him. It had been in jest, mostly; checking his reaction, teasing him; trying to get him to reveal more of who he was. But there was a certain honest edge to it, he knew, even as he said it; tinged with something embarrassingly close to the truth. Yes, of course he knew he had a burgeoning crush on the man; but it was only by impulsive whimsy that he'd thought to call it love. Yet he could feel the pull of it. He felt as though he was dangerously close, even then, to falling into love.
From that point onward, things spiraled helplessly, effortlessly, inevitably into that conclusion. Each moment only made it clearer and clearer that it was the only word that suited the feeling. He slid into love as an avalanche rushing to earth, hopelessly compelled by gravity's inexorable pull.
It was dismaying. Very dismaying. But Legault was forced to admit, he didn't try very hard to fight it.
He also didn't try very hard to hide it.
Heath did not respond well to his advances. It took Legault far too long to realize it must have been completely overwhelming to him. It took Legault even longer to learn how to properly handle Heath. He was a remarkably sensitive man, in some ways; Legault had to be subtle, slow, so achingly careful.
But he learned he also had to push.
Heath responded to his pushes in a variety of ways. Sometimes, Heath would push back or simply close off completely. If Legault was lucky, he could mollify him after a few days. If he was unlucky, it would take weeks. After that sort of cold spell, it made it seem as though pushing was not a very good idea.
But then there were the other times. Times when Legault pushed, and instead of Heath closing off, he would let him push. He would let him push, and then, to Legault's wonder, he would let him in a little.
They carried on like this, their relationship a tumultuous push-and-pull. And gradually, Heath would pull away from him less. And let him in a little more.
And a little more. And a little more.
In the end, it was not Legault's pushing that finally sent Heath's walls crumbling down completely. Instead, it was external forces that did the pushing. The intensity and proximity of war had a way of throwing people together. A cold, snowy night in Bern interrupted their slow, careful dance around each other and sent them crashing together.
Legault was terrified that it was temporary. That it was only the heat of the moment, the intensity of the situation, that nudged them along. That Heath would eventually withdraw as he had before, but that this time, he wouldn't return.
But days turned to weeks and Heath did not leave; he did not fly from him. Instead, he asked Legault if he wanted to join him after the war; if he wanted to travel with him. If he wanted to stay with him.
Legault said yes.
That had been some time ago. Life after the war had not at all been what Legault had expected. If you'd told him a year ago that he would meet and fall in love with a wyvern rider and they would fly away together to travel the lands, fighting as mercenaries for those in need, seeing somewhere new each day but rarely finding themselves apart from one another, well. Legault would have laughed and told you to fuck right off, most likely. It would have felt like a mockery. A foolhardy dream to find himself in a position to be happy in some capacity.
Yet there he was.
Legault's heart was full, so very full; at times, it felt, to the point of bursting. That small, quiet, excited little murmur that had begun in his heart when he'd first glanced upon the wyvern rider had only expanded, and it seemed as though it may never stop growing.
There had been other times he had told Heath that he loved him, of course, after that first silly week he'd uttered it to him. But he tried very hard not to say it often, or with too much earnestness. He could sense things were still so new for Heath, so tender-- so vulnerable. He didn't want to ruin things by treading too heavily; to risk having Heath withdraw again in fear.
And there was another reason Legault had started to restrain himself, to try and stop telling Heath that he loved him. Because Heath had never said it back.
It wasn't altogether too surprising-- and it shouldn't have mattered to Legault, not really. Heath was more of a man of actions then he was of words. And the simple fact was that as the months passed by and the wyvern rider stayed by his side, Legault had no earthly reason to ever doubt the man's affections. They clearly ran deep.
Legault knew it, from the way Heath would hold him and stroke him lightly when the night was dark and the weather turned cold.
He knew it, from the soft look in Heath's eyes when he gazed upon him.
Or the gentle circles Heath would rub with his thumb across Legault's skin.
Or the times Heath would sit in companionable silence with him.
Or the times Heath would talk to him, the long, winding conversations they would share that would tumble out into the early hours of morning.
The way he would notice whenever Legault was feeling not at his best, for any reason; the way he would gently ask him how he was doing.
The way Heath would look after him if they'd overexerted themselves while fighting; the way he'd tend to Legault's wounds and care for his pain far more than for his own.
The way Heath would become terribly overprotective of him after a close call.
Legault knew. He knew. In big ways and in small ways and in all the in betweens, Heath had been saying it silently to him; saying that he loved him.
For heaven's sake, Legault was pretty certain that Heath was willing to lay down his life for him. He would have to be mad to ever doubt that he loved him.
But doubt, you see, it has a wicked way of crawling in.
Slipping in through the cracks of the mind; creeping up when you are most vulnerable. And preying upon your darkest insecurities, ones you thought long buried and gone.
So some nights Legault would still find himself laying awake and watching Heath sleep, eyes unfocused as his thoughts drifted to a past that he feared he could never fully outrun. Wondering if that past was simply the shape of his existence and he would sink back into it again one day. That as damned wonderful as all this felt, that it was surely temporary. That he would wake up one morning and Heath and his wyvern would be gone, perhaps a terse note left behind in apology.
He hated that he had these thoughts, but he could not seem to stop them. The distant whispering that maybe, just maybe, he was too broken to be truly loved.
And while Heath had clearly shown that he cared, Legault also knew he was not entirely at ease. He would catch Heath brooding, and even after all this time, when Legault asked, the man would tell him that nothing was wrong.
There were times when Legault would pull him close or nuzzle at him or try to capture his hand, and Heath would shy away, especially if they were anywhere other than the strict privacy of a tent or inn or camping alone under the stars.
And there were times when, even completely alone, Heath would look at him with an almost overwhelmed expression, the spark of panic in his eyes. Legault didn't always know what set him off, but it usually seemed to be something he said or did-- at times it felt arbitrary. Heath would grow quiet, his body tense and his expression a forced calm. It was a subtle sort of withdrawal, not like the clear and adamant avoidance he used to engage in when they had first met, but it was still shades of something similar.
He didn't always do this. But Legault's mind would seize upon the times that he did. Even during times when Heath was completely comfortable and all seemed well, Legault could almost swear that he was still holding something back of himself.
It was ridiculous, the way Legault was doing this-- looking at all that Heath had given him and still wanting more. Still questioning and doubting. He had no right to want more, and he had no reason to doubt.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere deep inside his heart, those fears took root and would not leave. And he found himself wondering, despite himself and despite everything, if Heath would ever speak the words that had come so easily, so naturally to Legault. So quickly and so damn earnestly.
Legault would smile and swallow back the questions that prickled at him. He did his best to just live in the moment, and not push Heath too far; to try and not make him uncomfortable or cause him to pull back. It was difficult, squelching down his feelings, but he knew it had to be worth it.
And for a time, things became really quite wonderful. Eventually, he'd managed to push down his silly fears into a small, dark space that he could mostly ignore. He'd even managed to refrain from blurting out his own sappy confessions to Heath anymore, determined to pace things slow.
It seemed like it was actually working. The wyvern rider started to shy away far less often. It was rare that he saw the flash of fear anymore in his eye, and while he still occasionally would brood, it seemed Legault had an easier time bringing him out of it now.
Heath had also grown increasingly warm and affectionate lately. He would always hover a gentle hand at Legault's back whenever they were out, and sometimes would even be bold enough to sneak a small kiss in public. In the evenings he would curl about him or drape his long legs across Legault's lap, fingers playing idly with strands of his purple hair; murmuring teasing, adorable things at Legault, eyes glinting and light. Legault felt as though he were drowning, completely surrounded by an effervescent, warm, all-encompassing presence that was purely Heath. His heart, which had been threatening to burst for so long, could not seem to bear it any longer. And so one night, the words slipped from his lips without plan, without thought.
They were both naked, still riding the afterglow of orgasm, splayed across the inn bed, their bodies entwined and their breaths heavy. Legault had been scattering small kisses all along Heath, soft and sweet, adoring every inch of his skin. When he had eventually made his way up to Heath's face he gazed deep into those pale, marbled-blue eyes, then pulled him in for a kiss.
"I love you, you know," he'd said to him when he'd broken the kiss, and he could hear how his voice sounded as though it was rubbed completely raw.
He hadn't meant to say it-- hell, he'd spent months fighting to keep it in-- but his own heart betrayed his best-laid plans. Perhaps it didn't matter now. Perhaps Heath would not notice the open, unguarded look in Legault's eyes, or the way his hands still cupped Heath's face with the softest of touches.
That idea had, of course, been folly. Heath pulled away from Legault's touch, and although the motion was gentle enough, it might as well have been a violent yank. Legault struggled desperately to press against the rising tide of despair that flooded in, trying to stay focused, to stay rational. Heath was just like this, he was just always like this-- Legault swallowed at the burning sensation in his throat. It didn't mean that he . . . that . . .
Legault was so caught up in his own maelstrom of emotion that it took him far too long to realize something wasn't right. Heath had turned away, his whole body tensed and his head dropped down, but his eyes were squeezed shut, his breath sounding hitched. Concerned, Legault slid forward and placed a thumb on the man's chin, applying delicate pressure, nudging his face back toward him. That's when he noticed the tracks of wetness across Heath's face. The man kept his eyes clenched shut, lips pressed in a miserable, tense line, and a fresh pair of tears rolled down his cheeks.
Legault didn't understand, but at the moment, he didn't care; he only knew that Heath was crying, something so rare he had only seen it one other time. The sight of it was a type of pain far, far greater than Heath's pulling away had ever done to him. Legault wiped the tracks of tears away with his thumb and tenderly grasped the man's face, speaking to him in just above a whisper.
"Hey, it's okay. What's wrong? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry. Heath . . ."
The man's lips quivered from his efforts to keep his tears in, and Legault knew he probably shouldn't, but he automatically dropped a kiss on his lips, then across his wet cheek, needing to take his pain away, somehow. He stroked his face and repeated helplessly,
"Heath . . . what's wrong?"
Heath turned his head again, pulling out of Legault's grasp, and he let him. He watched as more tears dropped upon the bedsheet, Heath hunched over in a wretched pose. He wept silently for a few moments, before pulling in a shaky, rattling breath. His voice came choked and very quiet, and Legault didn't understand him. He begged Heath to repeat it, and at first he was afraid he wouldn't, but then he spoke again, clearer this time:
"I'm sorry."
Legault sucked in a breath. He still had no idea what to think. Softly, Legault replied,
"For what? Heath, what could you possibly have to be sorry about?"
Heath shook again, the sobs he refused to release convulsing his shoulders briefly, before pulling in another quivering breath, letting it out it slowly. He did not look up at him, remained steadfast in his crouched position there, but seemed to be battling for some resolve. After he seemed willing to trust his voice again, he tried answering.
"It's not . . . I . . ."
He licked his lips and exhaled again slowly, eyes still fixed upon the bedspread.
"It's-- difficult for me. I've never . . ."
He trailed off, seeming to lose his nerve. Legault stroked his shoulder gently with his thumb but said nothing, deciding that his silence right now would probably be the best thing for Heath.
It was apparently the right decision, as Heath's voice returned, stronger this time.
"I haven't really become close with anyone in a very long time. I'm. Not accustomed to it."
He paused, the internal war with his feelings playing out plainly across his face. He eventually immerged from the struggle, apparently victorious; at least, victorious enough to finally lift his chin and look hesitantly in Legault's direction.
"I've always envied how easy it is for you to speak your mind. Your-- heart. For me, it's always been . . . a remarkable struggle."
Legault opened his mouth, but too many words crowded at him for a reply. It-- what--
He wanted to tell him it was far from easy for him most of the time, that he was just a moron who blurted things out on occasion, that it didn't make the slightest bit of sense for him to envy Legault when it had been Legault that envied Heath for being so forthright, so recklessly honest, for wearing his heart so clearly on his sleeve. That . . .
That . . .
Oh.
Hmm.
Legault had always taken it as gospel that Heath was brutally honest. He hadn't really considered before that he might be as bad as Legault was at admitting things.
Which, of course-- of course made sense but somehow for some reason it never completely clicked in Legault's brain, and--
Heath continued to speak, cutting short Legault's rampant thoughts.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could reciprocate that kind of thing. I've . . . often pondered it, but . . . I don't . . ."
The man halted, and Legault thought of how incredibly vulnerable he looked.
"I don't think I can. Not yet."
Legault slid his hand down to his arm and answered, mildly confused.
"You've been doing it just fine, though? You're talking about all those messy emotional things right now."
"No, Legault, I . . ."
Heath gave him a look of frustration, almost as if he were incredibly cross with him for not being able to read his thoughts so he wouldn't have to actually articulate them. Legault actually felt guilty over it and retraced their conversation, trying to parse Heath's meaning for him. What was he not getting? Why was he . . .
"Oh. Oh, Heath-- you're not feeling bad because I said that I loved you and-- and so now you feel like maybe you should . . . say something back? That's not it, is it?"
Heath did not reply, but it was clear that yes, that was it exactly.
Legault felt his heart pick up as he rushed to correct the misconception.
"Heath, you do not have to-- damn it, I'm so sorry. Listen. You do not have to say anything. I didn't have any expectations when I said that, I was literally just . . ."
He tried to find the right words to explain and then smiled faintly.
"Speaking my heart, I guess, as you put it. But that doesn't mean you need to do a damn thing. All right?"
The man looked up at him with a deeply pained expression.
"But I should be able to at least . . . say something. You deserve . . ."
"No. Heath. No. I never want you saying or doing anything unless you truly want to. That's important to me. Okay?"
Legault reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.
"It doesn't matter to me if we're on exactly the same page or not. What matters is you're here. That's more than enough."
Heath swallowed, and it looked as though he were trying to swallow all the unspoken words still lodged in his throat.
He closed his eyes, then squeezed Legault's hand tightly.
"Okay," he answered quietly.
Heath did not tell Legault that night that he loved him; but Legault honestly didn't care. He could still feel how tightly Heath had gripped his hand, how close he'd wrapped around him that night when they'd gone to sleep.
He could tell that Heath was still thinking about it for weeks after.
It wasn't any one thing that alerted him to it. He just . . . knew. The distant look in the man's eye during quiet afternoons. The softened tone of voice that would come over him more often. It sounded silly if Legault tried to point to specific examples, but perhaps it was just the nature of being around Heath for so long. If words and feelings were difficult for the one you held dear, you started to pick up the habit of interpreting their every small expression and tone. Heath didn't seem to be disturbed, not really-- just . . . contemplative. There was an energy about him that was less anxious than before. Legault took it as a positive sign. He didn't bring the topic up again, and he sure as heck didn't push him on it.
There were times where Heath needed to be pushed, but there were also times he needed to be handled tenderly. Legault could be stupid and get those mixed up at times, but he wasn't nearly so stupid as to foul this one up.
Weeks turned to months, and the two fell into a comfortable, strange sort of routine that was anything but routine. How did one describe the kind of life they were leading? They weren't-quite mercenaries, and they weren't-quite on the run and being pursued by occasional bounty hunters; they weren't-quite living in Lycia, because they often weren't-quite living in Etruria or in Ilia; they weren't-quite settled but they weren't-quite nomads.
And, well, as Legault wryly realized when one shopkeeper had casually asked him what sort of relation he had with Heath-- that 'not-quite' category applied to them as well, didn't it?
"Err, well," Legault had stalled, while Heath had quietly come up from behind, obviously having overheard the shopkeeper's innocent question. Legault glanced at him a moment. What the hell word should he use? 'Boyfriend' didn't work-- that just felt silly. 'Partner'? Did that sound too committed-- would Heath not like that?
"We're close," Legault finally said with a sly sort of smile, aimed at making the shopkeeper just the slightest bit uncomfortable. It worked, and the shopkeeper didn't ask anymore accidentally-prying questions. Heath didn't comment upon the incident, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it. When they exited the shop and went down the street, he let his shoulder nudge comfortably against Legault's as they walked. Legault glanced over to him, and Heath gave him a little smile.
Not-quite partners, then. Legault could live with that.
It was near the end of a hot summer day in Tuscana when the odd couple found themselves just barely surviving a run-in with some knights of the local Marques. Well, "knights." That definitely needed to be in quotations. While they were supposedly loyal to the local noble, they'd been abusing their positions to secretly extort the peasantry. Technically, today's mission had only been for reconnaissance-- they didn't intend to confront them directly right away. But, well, they'd stumbled across them roughing up some villagers, and they were grossly outnumbered, but Legault had gone rushing in anyway. Like an enormous hypocrite. Because he'd just been lecturing Heath a little while ago about how this was just reconnaissance and they shouldn't do anything crazy yet.
It was stupid, he knew, but they'd managed to scrape by. The knights' unscrupulous deeds were exposed, the villagers were brought to a healer, and other than Heath's favorite lance getting snapped in two, the pair didn't meet with severe bodily harm. It seemed like a happy ending. Nevertheless, Heath dragged Legault along immediately after the last of the villagers were taken care of, nabbing him by the wrist and pulling him along the small village square in the direction of the very tiny, rustic inn they were staying at.
The man hadn't said anything to Legault; just tugged him along rapidly. Several times Legault narrowly avoided tripping along the dirt path. As they passed by the tiny assortment of village shops, Legault said,
"Heath, I know you're mad, but slow down. I'm going to fall on my face."
The wyvern rider paused in his quick march, gazing back at Legault.
"I'm not mad."
Legault blinked. Strangely enough, the man didn't actually seem to be.
"You're not? But . . . I was really stupid and almost got us killed."
Heath, bless his heart, smirked at him, something he certainly must have picked up from Legault.
"Well, yeah. But I've come to expect that from you by now. C'mon."
Heath continued to tug him along at an urgent pace across the square.
"Whoa, whoa. Why the hurry, then? I was hoping we could swing by the local pub and have a little merrymaking, unwind for a bit."
"Later. First, back to the inn."
Legault felt a grin overtake his face.
"Oh, did you have another kind of merrymaking in mind? Because I must admit, I like that idea better."
Heath paused and glanced at him, looking adorably sheepish at Legault's mention of that kind of thing in public. After a moment, he answered quietly,
". . . later for that too. C'mon."
Legault sighed dramatically and let himself be pulled along.
"All right, so long as that's a promise."
It didn't take long to reach the inn-- after all, it was a very small town-- and Legault cheerfully greeted the wyvern tied up just outside of the squat little building. Not everyone was welcoming of Hyperion, but fortunately the innkeeper here had adored the creature and allowed them to keep her close by.
"Hi, pretty baby. You happy to see us? Are you a happy lizardbutt?"
Heath rolled his eyes as Legault rubbed the scales under Hyperion's chin.
"I keep telling you, that is not a flattering nickname."
"Lizardbutt likes the name, doesn't she? Yes, she does!"
Heath heaved a long-suffering sigh. Legault grinned and looked over to him, expecting one of his stern, chiding looks, but instead he found him watching him with . . . well, his expression was pretty unreadable. He almost seemed tense?
"What? I didn't think you hated it that badly," Legault tried teasing. Heath shook his head.
"Just . . . stay out here and wait for me, ok? I'll only be a moment."
"Wait, what? Why?" Legault practically whined.
"I'll be right back, I promise."
Legault tried to reply, but the man had already vanished inside the building. He sighed and went back to petting Hyperion, saying silly things to her and asking the creature if she was aware that her owner was a very strange man. Hyperion was not much for conversation, but Legault was pretty sure she agreed with him.
Once he got bored with that, he was about to step into the inn and find out where the heck Heath had gotten to, but at that moment the man finally immerged, looking a little flustered but his mouth set in a firm, determined line.
"You all right?" Legault asked. Heath nodded.
"Yeah."
Legault watched him, puzzled, as he came over and started untying Hyperion.
"Er, ok? We going out for a fly?"
Heath finished with the rope and pulled himself up onto Hyperion's saddle, then leaned over, reaching out a hand.
"Yep. C'mon."
Legault raised a brow at him and didn't move, instead settling a hand on his hip.
"Heath, you're being incredibly mysterious here. What's up?"
Heath gazed at him a moment, and Legault tried to gauge his mood, but he still was having a hard time reading him today. The wyvern rider simply answered;
"I know. Just bear with me a little. I want to show you something."
The answer wasn't all that specific, but honestly, it was all Legault needed. He shrugged,
"Okay."
He took his hand and Heath helped haul him up, then he settled into the saddle behind Heath.
"Hold on tight," Heath said out of habit, and Legault was pretty sure there was never a single time he hadn't said it. He'd teased him about it before, explaining there was no way he would ever do anything but hold onto Heath, but old habits died hard.
Besides, he kind of liked it. It was sort of a tradition for them. He slipped his arms around Heath's waist and rested his chin on the man's shoulder.
"I'll never let go," he murmured teasingly in his ear. He heard the gentle expiration of air from Heath that denoted a silent chuckle, and then Heath flicked the reins and bid Hyperion to take off.
The little Tuscana village shrunk rapidly as they ascended, and Legault felt the familiar, disorienting little lurch in his belly. Despite all his time on wyvern-back, it still made him feel off-kilter to be up so high. Fortunately, holding onto Heath always seemed to help with that.
He knew Heath loved flying. He said he found it peaceful and relaxing. Legault couldn't understand how anyone could find it relaxing, but that was fine. He enjoyed the warm, comfortable body pressed against his, and the way Heath was always completely at ease in the sky.
Except that he wasn't. The wyvern rider's body should have been loose, his movements smooth and calm; but as they climbed higher into the clouds, Legault could feel the man's muscles tightening, his entire posture going rigid and tense. It was a subtle thing, but Legault found it alarming, running so contrary to what was normal. He wanted to ask Heath if anything was wrong, but conversation was difficult in the air even at the best of times. He settled for dropping a hand upon his arm and giving it a short squeeze.
It was unclear whether Heath got the message. They continued to skim the clouds, riding easily on a thermal and rapidly leaving all traces of civilization behind. Legault found himself scanning the land below, despite the awful stabs of vertigo that it brought him. He was damned curious where they were headed, but he couldn't conclude anything from the red-rusted dirt and patches of scrubland and scattered hills that streaked by. Eventually, the time and distance seemed to do Heath good, his body finally loosening and relaxing a little as they went.
They flew for a good twenty minutes, from what Legault figured, the land opening up around them and yawning into one of the wide canyons between the Tuscanan mountains. The cliffsides were striated with dozens of layers of orange, red and yellow, jagged in places where rocks had crumbled and fallen away, smoothed over in other places from continuous wind erosion. The sun was hanging low in the sky by now, tossing dramatic light and shadow across the canyon walls, making the whole area seem to glow. For a while, Legault forgot about his fear of heights, absorbed in the landscape they were passing through.
Heath chose the tip of a large, rounded cliffside to touch down upon. It looked to be the highest point of land in the entire valley. Hyperion's wings stirred a little whirlwind of dust at their final approach, and then with a bumpy, stomach-lurching couple of bounds, she skidded to a halt. Heath disembarked from the saddle first, then turned to help Legault down.
"That was quite the trip," Legault commented as his feet made contact with land again-- something he admittedly was always grateful for. They stood in a patch of grass and wildflowers, not far from the edge of the cliff itself.
Heath nodded.
"Apologies. The journey was a bit lengthier then I'd remembered it."
Legault patted Hyperion on the head as the creature settled down in the soft grass.
"I enjoyed it, actually. We didn't see this part of Tuscana when we first came in."
Heath turned and replied,
"Yes. I've been surveying the area while out flying. I liked it here best. The mountains aren't as tall as the mountains in Bern, but I thought the view they afforded here was even nicer."
Legault stepped up to the edge of the cliffside, resting a hand on a scraggly old tree rooted at the very edge-- half of its roots were poking out of the soil and rock where the sheer of the cliff began, exposed to the open air. The drop below was dizzying, but the view of the canyon as a whole was definitely unsurpassed. The clouds were beginning to flare up in pinks and peaches as the sun crawled toward the horizon, and the color was being echoed down in the valley below. Legault took a moment to absorb everything, breathing in the crisp air.
Heath came over and stood in companionable silence beside him, and together, they spent some time simply looking out at all the shifting shades of pink and red, the interplay of light and shadow. It was very quiet, save for the gentle whistling of the breeze.
"I can see why you wanted to show me this," Legault commented after a while, his voice hushed, as if reluctant to break the peaceful silence. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Heath turn his head to him and felt his gaze upon him. After a moment, Heath's voice came quietly;
"This isn't actually what I wanted to show you."
Legault turned curiously, and found himself faced with a very strange sight. Heath had that odd, unreadable expression again, the one that he'd been getting flashes of all evening; except it was more intense now, much more intense. His eyes were wide; his jaw clenched firmly; he could see his breaths came quick and shallow. His whole face was pinkened just a touch, and he seemed as tense as a spring. Legault couldn't decide if Heath looked as though he was ready to charge headlong into an army, or if he was ready to bolt in sheer panic; he looked caught between both, a man hovering wildly between fight or flight.
"Heath, what is it?"
Heath had been standing there rigidly beside him, his hands tucked behind his back, in an attempt at looking casual and normal, Legault thought; but at Legault's question, he ducked his head down and took a step back, darting a tongue over dry lips and fidgeting nervously with his hands. Which, Legault realized, were trembling slightly.
He wouldn't meet his eyes.
Legault's voice grew serious.
"Heath. You're worrying me. Talk to me."
The man's eyes flickered up to his, and he seemed to tip from his confusing sway of emotions headlong into terror, looking like a cornered animal; he let out a single, ragged breath. Legault automatically reached out, settling his palm against his cheek.
Heath's eyes fluttered closed.
He pulled in a slow breath, as if drawing strength from Legault's touch.
He released the breath, the tension draining from his posture.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked much calmer. He gazed deep into Legault's eyes.
A soft smile slowly formed on his face, tickling at Legault's palm. It seemed to Legault like the sweetest, most delicate and beautiful thing he'd seen.
Then Heath gently took Legault's hand from his face. He released his hand.
And Heath folded a leg, settling down on one knee.
Legault's initial reaction was a spark of confusion, followed quickly behind with a swell of disbelief; then the certainty that he was misconstruing things. He wasn't--
Heath fiddled for a moment with the pouch looped about his belt. He retrieved something, and it only took a moment to see that it was a tiny little box.
He was. He--
Heath removed the lid of the small box with shaky hands, a little glint of silver band nestled in black velvet.
At that absurd sight, of Heath crouched there before him holding out a ring, the rising swell of disbelief crashed over Legault entirely, the shock coiling tight about his body.
Everything seemed to rush at him at once; the taut sensation of anxiety suddenly snapping and releasing; the dizzy feeling of so many fears and doubts-- compacted into the darkest reaches of his mind-- crumbling violently and sliding away; the swirling, giddy warmth sweeping over him.
He drew in a breath, feeling like his every nerve was trembling from the flood of emotions dumped into his system. Heath hadn't even been looking at him, as the man was obviously struggling to compose himself; he lifted his gaze now, meeting Legault's eyes. The look Heath was giving him was one of such . . . reverence.
Legault felt the tears welling up and spilling over far, far too quickly for him to even consider quashing them down. A shiver seized his body and he was caught off guard by how intensely he was reacting, but the way Heath was looking at him was making it impossible not to.
Never in a thousand years would he have honestly expected Heath to . . . propose. It was so . . . direct. And so traditional. But of course, it made perfect sense. Heath was, at heart, a knight; chivalrous and honor-bound. Oaths meant something very, very deep to him.
Heath felt the weight of words. Maybe more than most.
That was probably why, when Heath finally wet his lips to speak, Legault found it hard to keep it together.
"Legault."
Heath's voice had wavered when he'd uttered his name, and Legault could see the man's eyes were starting to well up now too. Legault stamped down desperately on the urge to sob.
Heath's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his intense gaze never leaving Legault for a moment.
He drew in a quivering breath and he spoke;
"I love you."
Legault's body responded reflexively, the sob he'd been suppressing simply bubbling up and escaping. He dropped down and grasped Heath, planting messy kisses on his face. Heath's arms slid tight around him, and Legault tasted the hot track of tears as he peppered Heath with kisses. The wyvern rider gave a little whine and pressed his cheek against Legault's cheek, sliding it along in a ridiculously adorable act of affection that was simple enough but completely melted Legault's heart. Urgently, Legault pulled Heath in for a kiss, but the man soon broke it and stammered out,
"W-wait, I didn't-- shit, I didn't say the rest. Uh."
Legault grinned so bright it hurt his face.
"I think I got the gist of things."
Heath smiled goofily at him, then unwrapped his arms, saying,
"Okay, then let me put it on you at least. Dragon's teeth. I had a whole speech planned and-- and that part sort of just fell out of my head."
Legault chuckled warmly, letting Heath take up his hand.
"Believe me, you remembered the important part of the speech."
Heath's grip was warm and soft as he took the slender, matt-silver ring and slipped it onto Legault's hand. Then he stood, tugging Legault up with him at the same time, and pulled him in for a kiss.
When their lips broke apart, Legault gazed at Heath in wonder, then blurted out;
"I knew you were working yourself up to something big, Heath, but I didn't think it would be this."
The man peering back at him seemed to shift briefly into doubt.
"Is it . . . are you happy with it?"
A short little laugh squeezed from Legault and he emphatically answered,
"Yes."
Clearly satisfied with the answer, Heath leaned in and kissed Legault again, this one slow and lingering. He then whispered, breath warm against Legault's face;
"I love you."
Legault immediately trembled, overwhelmed at hearing it from Heath, and quickly threaded his fingers into Heath's hair, pulling him in for another kiss.
"I love you," Heath whispered again as they paused for air, as if he was sharing a beautiful secret with him. Legault tugged at him and kissed him deeply, tangling their tongues together, letting his hands slide down Heath's back, fingers gripping tight.
Earnestly, breathlessly, Heath spoke again when their lips parted;
"I love you."
Legault whimpered and pushed into him, kissing him wildly, collapsing completely into the desire that was consuming him.
The sun was setting on the Tuscanan canyon, the sky dissolving into twilight, the brightest stars just starting to appear. On the highest cliffside of the valley, two figures reveled in each other.
It was some time later when the moon, full and bright, lifted slowly above the landscape, casting a soft silver light. Legault tilted his head back against Heath's chest, lazily surveying the sky as they lay in the grass. From under his head, he felt Heath's chest rumble with his voice.
"The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"
"Mmm."
A little ways away from them, there was the sound of a wyvern grumbling and shuffling its feet. Legault tried to spot her without having to get up from his comfortable position.
"She all right?"
"Yeah. She's just cranky. Probably because it's a bit past her supper."
Legault chuckled a little, shifting to his side so he could drop sleepy kisses on Heath, draping an arm about him.
"We probably traumatized her earlier."
Heath made a snorting noise and pulled a face.
"Stop that. It makes me feel weird thinking she was watching."
Legault laughed, trailing fingers along Heath's chest.
"You're cute when you're shy."
Heath captured Legault's roving hand, drawing it up to his face. Legault's eye caught the band of silver on his hand, glinting slightly in the moonlight, and watched as Heath softly kissed his hand. His heart gave a stupid little flip. He tenderly dragged his thumb over Heath's lips, then leaned down, replacing his hand with his mouth. He tasted him slow and deep, eventually surfacing to trail his lips leisurely along the man's face.
"Oh, Heath," he murmured to him quietly,
"You are so dear to me."
Heath tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Legault's ear and replied as Legault kissed his throat.
"I love you too."
Legault trembled in response. It still affected him so deeply to hear that. He didn't think he'd ever tire of it.
"I'm sorry."
Legault lifted his head to catch Heath's eye, confused.
"For what?"
Heath smiled softly at him.
"If I had known that those words meant so much to you, I would not have selfishly withheld them for so long."
Legault kissed the silly man.
"Nonsense. You weren't ready. I understood. Besides . . . you told me in plenty of other ways."
Heath nudged him with his forehead.
"Still. I'll make up for it now."
The lavender-haired man grinned at him playfully.
"Oh?"
Heath laughed quietly.
"Legault . . . not like that."
He paused.
"Well, like that too, actually, but at the moment, we should probably get back to town. Before it gets much colder and we both freeze."
"Hmmmph, I guess," Legault mumbled, but dropped his weight back down on Heath. He felt the laughter rumbling in Heath's chest.
"That isn't going back to town."
"Hmmmm."
Legault traced random shapes on Heath's belly with his hand, and then paused, reminded of something.
"Hey. I wanted to ask. When did you even find time to get a ring? If it was today, I don't see how . . ."
"No, no. I've had it for a while now."
Legault shifted back to his side so he could study Heath.
"Oh?"
Heath smiled, looking a little self-conscious.
"I was waiting for the right moment, I suppose."
Legault wondered just how far in advance he'd been planning things. It sounded like a while.
"So what made you decide on tonight?"
Heath seemed to consider for a moment before answering.
"Well . . . it was when that knight came within two inches of taking your head off."
Legault raised his brows, puzzled, but Heath continued.
"You almost died. We both did, really. It made me realize I needed to stop stalling."
Legault felt a stab of guilt.
"I'm sorry I was such a stupid ass tonight. I didn't mean to . . ."
"--No, Legault, it's fine. I honestly would have jumped in there if you hadn't first. It's just the nature of what we're doing right now. It's often dangerous. We both know that."
Legault sighed, but he nodded. He was right.
Heath continued, sounding absorbed in his train of thought.
"But it just made me think today, about the idea of something like that happening to us-- without my having ever told you what you actually mean to me. It . . . the thought made me sick. Made me want to vomit until I was dry heaving and then was throwing up nothing but bile."
Legault blinked at him. Heath gazed back.
". . . Heath, that's the sweetest, most disgusting thing anyone's ever said to me."
Heath smiled sheepishly.
"Yeah, I'm . . . still a bit new to this whole talking about your feelings thing, so I might need to work on that a little."
Gods. He was just so perfect.
"Don't worry. We can both work on it together."
They continued to lay there in the field, gazing up at the stars, apparently having forgotten at the moment about leaving.