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Rocking. Back and forth, as familiar as breathing. Slowly consciousness trickles back, and Khadgar realizes he’s wrapped in a blanket lying in bed. His mouth is dry and tastes of metal, his eyes resist opening and he feels the groan rattling his chest before he processes that he’s making any sound at all.
“The King’s ship, huh?” Lothar is sitting in a chair pulled up to the bed, his feet kicked up on the mattress. He must have dragged the chair in from the galley, up two flights of stairs through a narrow doorway, just so he didn’t have to sit on the bed next to Khadgar. Khadgar frowns, his eyes still trying to focus. Was Lothar polishing the talons on his armguards?
“Briefly, yes.” Khadgar shifts on the bed, trying to figure out why his arms are stiff and stretched overhead, then pauses. He risks tugging at his arms again, the chain tinkling just overhead. He expands his focus to the ship, overshooting at first and experiencing the dizzying sensation of his mind bleeding into the waves, before focusing back to the ship, to this room, this bed, and the manacles from his stores currently pinning his wrists to the headboard. “Did you chain me up before tucking me in?”
“Awfully convenient, then, for the King’s personal ship to have wandered unguarded and unmanned into dragon rider territory, isn’t it?” Lothar says, not looking away from the talon he’s cleaning. There’s blood staining the tip, likely permanently. Khadgar tries to recall how Lothar had clung to the back of the feral dragon, but his frazzled mind summons only too-bright images hyper-focused on the patchy scales of the creature’s haunch, or the scars on its heavily muscled chest, or the discolored maw full of fangs. It makes sense, though, that Lothar was able to hang near vertically on its back by digging the talon tip into its flesh.
“You don’t honestly think these will hold me, do you?” Khadgar asks, jerking at the chains with more force. Lothar doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him, so Khadgar sighs and settles back. “I’m surprised that the thought hadn’t occurred to you earlier.”
Lothar does look at him this time, and Khadgar’s shocked to see genuine pain under the outrage. He had that effect on the dragon rider? Even knowing whatever trust Lothar had in him was likely damaged beyond repair, the indication Khadgar had once been worthy of that trust at all rattled his heart.
“It did.” Lothar sighs like he’s expelling all emotion in a single breath. To Khadgar’s surprise, he reaches over and undoes the cuffs. “I just don’t understand why.”
Khadgar moves to sit up, his hip throbbing when he does. He must have landed harder than he thought. “What’s there to understand? The King ordered me to.”
He flexes his fingers, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had been. Not because they had chafed, Lothar hadn’t cinched them very tightly to begin with, but because their memory lingered. His limbs still feel heavy, though he’s regained enough of his strength to know he won’t be collapsing again unless he needs to fight another dragon. The blood-stained talon catches his eye, and he has a thought. He gestures for Lothar to hand him the armguard.
“Why you? Why alone?” Lothar passes the armguard over.
“Medivh’s suggestion.” Though he’d tapped out earlier, he doesn’t hesitate to summon a layer of magic to his fingertips. He traces the glowing fingertip over the smooth curve of the talon, appreciating how well-formed and lethal it is. It deflects his magic at first, causing the light to curl around his fingernail, but a little pressure pushes through and the talon infuses with his magic. The blood pushes out into a dark film and falls as a powder to the deck between them. Out of curiosity, he continues to feed magic in, feeling the layers of chitinous material that form the talon, the thin hollow at the base that once sheathed organic tissue. He’d love to continue forming a mental image, but Lothar is staring so he lets go of the magic and passes the armguard back. “He convinced the King you’d be more likely to land on a ship where you weren’t outmatched, and that I would be able to handle myself.”
“And if I killed you?”
Khadgar shrugs. “I’m also expendable.”
He’s greeted by silence. Heavy, all-consuming silence. When he finally works up the courage to look over at his companion, he’s floored all over again. The sheer burning rage in Lothar’s eyes is practically tangible. He’s frozen by the intensity, unable to look away, until Lothar leaps to his feet and stalks out. He freezes at the door, head turned slightly.
“You’re not expendable.” There’s surety in Lothar’s delivery, a sincerity about it Khadgar can’t deny. It causes his heart to drop in his chest. Then, as an afterthought, he adds. “Get some rest.”
Once alone, time doesn’t make sense. The ship dips under the weight of Larial taking off, then returns to the gentler, imperceptible rhythm of waves. He’s numb, dizzyingly so, for a good period of time. And then, he isn’t numb at all, but rather hot. Or chilled to the bone. His heart beats against his ribcage so hard it aches, and the emotions thundering in him roll back and forth between his heart and stomach like a half-loaded barrel tipped on its side and left to rock with the waves. His untended torch goes out, his eyes adjust to the darkness. Red light filters in through the seams in the wood and around the door hazily, as if seen through frosted glass. He picks up his hand and touches his eyes. His palm comes away wet.
Night snuffs out the dusk, and, eventually, Khadgar sleeps.
He wakes up to a pounding headache, hunger gnawing at his stomach, and the knowledge that one good bluster was all his mast needed to abandon ship. His freeboard tells him Larial’s back aboard. The ovens are lit, and he can smell cooking fish. Sitting, he notes he’s about as sore as he should reasonably expect to be, but the fatigue was manageable.
He makes his way to the deck, his mind on his mizzenmast, and on how his ship is cutting through the waves, and where his rig joints have snapped, and where the feral’s tail had splintered a few posts... He’s so distracted, he doesn’t even notice Larial until he hears a low, guttural warning. He blinks back, focus reverting back to his own eyes, and freezes. Larial stares him down, easily the largest creature on his ship. She’s lowered herself in a crouch, head nearly at deck level, and yet Khadgar barely has to lower his gaze to meet the pinprick irises of her huge golden eyes.
Khadgar remains frozen for an entire second, before realizing he doesn’t have the energy to be scared of her and lets his shoulders droop. “It’s just me.” He takes another step, and Larial hisses, lips curling to reveal just that much more bone white fang. “Really? You know if you eat me, we sink.”
“Is that true?” Lothar’s voice, from below. He appears on main, from the galley. Larial eases at her rider’s presence, but spooks again as Khadgar descends the stairs. Lothar gives him a once-over, but all eye contact is fleeting to non-existent.
“I don’t see you holding the hull together.” Khadgar answers, unable to quell the flare of irritability. He’s tired, and hungry, and could have died earlier. Yesterday? How long had he slept?
Lothar shoots him a sharp look, then waves him to follow. Behind them, Larial trills in distress, but he no longer fears an attack. Once in the galley, he can confirm Lothar’s been cooking. On top of the stove, two of his fire blackened cooking pans sit fresh from use, each containing a half a roasted fish, their skins puckered and brown. Lothar spoons some of the fat drippings over the meat, then scoops a generous fillet out and on top of some hardtack from Khadgar’s ration stores. He passes the plate to Khadgar without word. Khadgar’s hand barely closes around the meal before he’s shoving it in his mouth, not caring how it looks.
“Careful of the bones,” Lothar snaps. In response, the mage’s eyes light up and all the cartilage in both his slice of fish and the fish on the stove flash and shoot up in a shower of blue splinters. “ Fucking hell .” Lothar says as he jumps, “Warn me-” but Khadgar’s glare stops him. “Or maybe I asked for that.”
Khadgar doesn’t answer, chewing his top priority. Lothar sighs, planting both hands on the stove, once again avoiding eye contact.
“I’m sorry.”
Khadgar lowers the hardtack, swallowing suddenly difficult. When his throat finally cooperates, he asks, “Why are you sorry?”
“For chaining you up without talking to you first. And-” each word sounds pained and awkward, “-for assuming that we-” he struggles for the words, “-that you were free. I knew you were bait, I always knew you were bait. But I wished-”
Oh. There were some assumption going on here that didn’t sit well with Khadgar. He approaches, trying to get a better look at Lothar’s expression in the dimness of the galley. He sees enough to determine the dragon rider is miserable, and that just won’t do, so he sets the remainder of his meal on the stove. “They ordered me to find you, and to find out what you knew. They didn’t order me to fuck you.”
Lothar blinks. “You weren’t sent to seduce me?”
“Why?” A slow creeping smugness threatens to make Khadgar do something incredibly stupid, like smile. “Did they know I was your type?”
Regardless of how careful he was, Lothar’s eyes narrow at his tone. “Yes.”
“And what is your type?” He can’t help it, he smiles.
“The infuriating kind, apparently.” Lothar draws a deep breath, finally leaning to the side and facing Khadgar. His neutral expression morphs into something more tender.
Khadgar reaches for Lothar’s face, hoping he isn’t turned away. “Well, if they did send me to seduce you, all they know from my reports is that I’m failing miserably.”
When Lothar first boarded his ship it was as a warrior, as a father desperate to find his captured son and cold enough in his fury to do whatever needed to be done to accomplish that goal. Khadgar remembers how easily Lothar could have killed him, how he even seemed to embrace that outcome. So it seems impossible that this is the same man, vulnerable and open as he is while looking at Khadgar like he commanded the tide and moved the sun across the sky. Who knew the man who fought dragons was also capable of such a delicate flicker of hope?
“Why let me touch you, then?”
Khadgar shrugs. “Because you wanted to. Because I wanted you to. Because you asked.”
“Is that all?”
“Should there be more?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d mention how handsome I am. Or how brave.” The only warning Khadgar gets is a gleam in Lothar’s eye before he’s scooped up, two powerful arms knocking his legs up so his ass rests on them, his thighs wrapped around the iron muscles of Lothar’s sides. “Or how strong.”
Khadgar yelps, his flailing arms grasping at Lothar’s shoulders for balance. He finds himself staring into the other man’s eyes, lost in the joy he finds there. Without thinking, he leans to cover Lothar’s mouth with his own.
“Thank the Light,” Khadgar says when Lothar finally lets him breathe again. “I thought you’d never touch me again.” Then, after a pensive moment, “Would you? Have stopped?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to.” He doesn’t seem to want to now with the way he refuses to put Khadgar down. “But if you were being coerced,” Lothar shakes his head, “I couldn’t.”
And though this confirmed Khadgar’s innate trust in the warrior, it would not do to leave him in such a state of doubt. He shifts in Lothar’s grip, sliding down his body so he’s standing, but doesn’t pull away. “Bring me to bed.”
Looking awestruck, Lothar takes a step back, Khadgar’s hand trailing down his shirtfront and causing him to shiver. He takes Khadgar’s hand in his own, unwilling to end physical contact so soon, and leads him out to the deck. Larial must see them, but all she does is sigh while they walk of the stairs to the cabin.
This is not the position Lothar expected to be in when his mage finally woke up. Hell, he didn’t know what he expected, but he suspects it was nowhere near as pleasurable as this promises to be. In the cabin, with a look in his eye Lothar’s never seen before, Khadgar says, “I want to see you. Take off your clothes?”
As if spellbound, Lothar’s hands raise to his hem, slowly peeling the shirt he wore when not in armor off his chest. He looks away from Khadgar only briefly, and only because the fabric blocks him out, though he can feel Khadgar’s eyes burning on his exposed skin. He feels for the hem of his pants next, rolling down his underwear with them, his cock filling out once exposed to air. Khadgar’s eyes are on it, and he licks his lips.
“Sit down.”
He complies, though he’s not technically out of his pants yet. His heart starts hammering when Khadgar kneels, a thrill quivering where his stomach had been minutes ago. Instead of going for Lothar’s cock, though, he takes Lothar’s feet in hand, removing each shoe before tugging his rolled pants off over now bare feet. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are.”
No, you are . Lothar wants to say, but the words get caught in his dry throat, and by the time he’s swallowed to rewet it, Khadgar’s taken his cock in hand and wrapped his lips around the its head. This is how I die , he thinks when the boy’s bright, brown eyes meet his and a few more inches of his dick disappear between those sinfully plush lips. He can feel Khadgar’s hot, wet tongue working the underside of his cock, teasing all of Lothar’s coherent thoughts away.
He pulls off, a wicked gleam in his eye momentarily hidden when he removes his own shirt. “Hand me the balm, will you?”
Lothar looks around, spotting the tin on the bedside chest of drawers, where they must have left it the last time they were at it a few nights ago. He leans over, his spit-wetted cock bobbing and rapidly cooling without Khadgar’s mouth on it. When he rights himself with the container in hand, Khadgar’s removed his own pants. Lothar’s eyes travel down the smooth, wind-tanned skin of Khadgar’s bare chest, over the light dusting of dark hair, to the bobbing member now exposed between the boy’s legs. The boy spreads his knees a little wider, one hand disappearing behind him. His eyes on Lothar’s cock again. “No one’s filled me up quite like you have. I can feel every movement when you’re in me, and it drives me crazy.” His shoulder rolls steadily, if not impatiently. His eyes glaze over. “I’ve never had a lover drive me mad before. When you would leave, I’d- mmmm- be doing something, anything, and just- ah- remember how big you are in me.” He blinks, his eyes sharp and bright again and pinning Lothar to the bed. Khadgar rises to his feet, his hand reappearing, and reaching out, coming to rest on Lothar’s shoulder as the boy crowds into his space. The bed dips under the weight of his knee, and Lothar is breathing in the warm scent of his skin. He gives when those hands push him on his back, both of Khadgar’s knees on either side of his waist. “I’d think about coming in here and opening myself up, get a finger in me, anything, really. But I never did. I knew it wouldn’t be the same.”
Lothar’s dick rubs on the cleft of his ass, and he groans while the slick balm coats him over the spit. It’s not enough pressure, he’s aching to feel Khadgar’s tight heat, dizzy for it, even, but he’s helpless under Khadgar’s eyes.
“So I’d wait for you to come back, wait for this. Look at me.” On command, Lothar’s eyes travel down Khadgar’s body, appreciating every curve of muscle in his chest, the softness of his belly, and the width of his thighs. Said thighs flex, and the tip of Lothar’s dick catches on his hole. Khadgar’s eyes are hooded, his lips parted, allowing a moan to slip out as he slides down. “Oh. Yes. Yes. I’ve been wanting this. Mm.” He bites his lower lip when his ass comes to rest on Lothar’s hips. “Since you tackled me that day we raced, I’ve wanted you in me.”
He lifts himself up, and slides back down, expression suddenly slack with the pleasure of it. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you in me. Light.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he starts riding Lothar with purpose, his perfect ass slapping Lothar’s thighs with each bounce. “Look at me,” he repeats, though stuttered with bitten moans, as if Lothar could tear his eyes away from the beautiful creature worshipping his dick. Sweat gleams in the torchlight as it beads and cuts a glittering trail down his chest. Lothar knows he’s making noise, can feel the rumbling of it in chest, but he’s consumed by the moment, his entire reality lost in Khadgar’s lust and the plush heat engulfing his dick over and over again.
He’s so distracted, in fact, his own orgasm catches him by surprise, his dick twitching and releasing before he can warn Khadgar. Not that the boy seems to mind, barely slowing as Lothar’s come fills him. He reaches down with Lothar still in him, tugging at his dick a few times before coming on Lothar’s chest.
They stay like that for a moment, breathing hard, until Khadgar pulls off Lothar’s dick with a wince. He reaches over the edge of the bed to pick up one of the sheet scraps they brought up from the stores just for this purpose, and starts to clean them off with shaking hands.
His fingers linger on Lothar’s chest, stroking him even after he’s clean. “Still think I was coerced?”
And Lothar laughs, pulling his ship’s master down into a long, filthy kiss.
Many kisses later, as Khadgar lays with his head on Lothar’s chest and Lothar runs his fingers through the boy’s hair, Khadgar says, “I need to go to Stormwind.” Lothar looks at him in silent question. “You probably shouldn’t be aboard when I do go, but the ship needs repairs I can’t make without a shipyard. I can keep her in one piece while I’m awake, but while I’m asleep anything could happen. Most likely, if I had to guess, the final twig holding the mizzenmast snapping.”
Lothar’s fingers continue to caress his scalp as his breath tickles his chest. “And after?”
He can feel Khadgar swallow. That’s the real question, isn’t it? What happens after? They both know he’s not just asking after the shipyard. “I find you, and we find Callan.”
His heart aches at the thought of his boy, captured by a man who should have been his uncle in another life. “And then?”
Khadgar’s head tips up, his eyes searching, though for what Lothar may never know. “I want to see you again.”
He hates how everything hangs on an if. If they can separate and still find one another. If they survive, if they see this journey through. If there’s still breath in their lungs, if the terrible burden of fate doesn’t destroy them.
Khadgar blinks sleepily, reminding Lothar that for now he is warm and solid in his arms. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss on Khadgar’s lips. “I want this too.”
And, because he can, he kisses Khadgar again, rolling them over so he can cover the boy with his body. If can wait, for now he wants live in this moment where Khadgar is with him.