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Medallion or no, Caleb quickly learned the average Kryn guard took a dim view of errant humans asking after the Shadowhand.
He let himself be flanked, at a remove from his own body. A portion of his mind still lingered in the dungeon, with the Vollstrecker, rendering him a mostly indifferent observer to the firm grip at his elbow. Whatever their intentions, eventually these guards would come up sharply against the bulwark of his place in the Bright Queen’s favor and, to a lesser extent, his connection to Den Thelyss. Caleb need only wait.
His escort led him into an unfamiliar section of the Firmaments. The buildings here shared the same kind of geometric beauty as the Lucid Bastion, if on a smaller scale. Caleb couldn’t guess their purpose as they approached one, all delicate, reaching spires and dark stone. One guard knocked at an equally tall and narrow door set into the forward wall. After an awkward handful of moments spent waiting, Caleb felt a small jab of surprise when the door opened, revealing Essek on the threshold. An expression passed over his face, too quick to interpret, before he turned his attention to the guards.
“Shadowhand.” The drow to Caleb’s left drew his heels sharply together and squared his shoulders. “Your student sought an audience. If you wish, we will return him to his home to await an official summons at a time of your choosing.”
Essek’s gaze returned to Caleb. “No,” he said, turning slightly within the doorway, an invitation. “Please come in.”
Caleb stepped forward, over the threshold into an atrium. Looking up through the spires, he saw Rosohna’s blanket of perpetual darkness, punctured only by scattered pinpricks of white starlight. Essek closed the door behind them, pausing at Caleb’s side.
“We’ll have privacy in my study,” he said, carrying on down the hall ahead of them.
Caleb followed. His attention felt fixed, snagged on a nail that dragged his mind’s eye away from things he would normally take note of: the closed doors they passed; the faint, pervasive, ozone-like scent of unfamiliar magic; what ‘privacy’ could mean in a home as silent as a crypt. Seeing without seeing, Caleb let his eyes rest on the elegant structure of Essek’s mantle.
Then, an open door. A whisper of air behind his shoulder — Essek’s hand gesturing him inside. The snick of a latch catching in the jamb. Essek circling to stand before him.
“Is something wrong?”
Caleb blinked, brought up short by the question, and then again by the solemnity on Essek’s face. The study was comfortably appointed; a grate nurtured a low fire on the wall opposite a beautifully carved wooden desk. At the room’s center, three plush chairs ringed a circular rug that stretched almost to the walls. Caleb’s boots sank into the pile.
“No,” he said. The lie came easily; it was the question itself that gave Caleb pause.
Essek peered at him. For the first time, Caleb noticed his eyes, a blue with the same translucent quality as ice.
“How can I be of service to you, then?” Essek asked, neutral.
Caleb opened his mouth. Closed it. Recalled the face of the Vollstrecker, the lethal calm under the blood and ruined flesh. Wondered distantly what details of that interrogation, if any, had been an illusion. What avenues of communication remained open between a failed scourger and the Assembly? There would have been contingencies in place. There always were.
Essek’s eyes narrowed very slightly. The fingers of his right hand traced a brief pattern, almost hidden within the fall of his robes but for the movement and the mist-like byproduct of dunamantic magic. Caleb went very still, but he felt nothing. There was only an odd flash in Essek’s eyes, like clouds passing high overhead. When the effect cleared, there was no mistaking the lightning-struck expression of shock on the Shadowhand’s face. He tilted his head, looking at Caleb with new intensity.
Slowly, Essek placed a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. The weight of his grip changed, from almost imperceptible to an unmistakable pressure: down.
Caleb dropped to one knee, and then the other.
Surprise lingered in Essek’s expression, as if, in spite of his own hand in the matter, this was an outcome he hadn’t expected. They watched each other for a long moment. The fire popped and crackled in the grate. Caleb could hear Essek’s breathing, and his own. He suddenly found it easy to occupy his body. This, however unplanned, made sense. The relief of a known landscape unwound the tightness in his spine, just enough to let him settle back onto his heels. The electric current between them shifted into one of mutual appraisal.
Curious, Caleb’s eyes fell to the front panel of Essek’s robes, even more lovely with subtle detail at this proximity. While he watched, long, graceful fingers disappeared into the almost invisible split in the heavy drape of cloth. As Essek carefully withdrew his cock, there was nothing left in Caleb’s mind but the blade edge of anticipation.
In this, as in everything else, the Shadowhand was insouciant. He held himself in a loose curl of his palm, affected but not yet fully roused. Caleb swayed in, taking the head between his parted lips, wetting it with a soft kiss. Drow weren’t so dissimilar from men in this regard, he discovered. Essek’s skin was warm and plush, a sensual pleasure in its own right.
Fingers touched his cheek, skimmed down to his chin — a beckon. Caleb steadied his hands on his thighs, unsure of reaching for anything more than was on offer. He coaxed with an irregular cooperation of soft tongue and suction, closing his eyes in concentration. On another night, perhaps, or with a different person, Caleb would be gratified by how swiftly he persuaded his partner to full stiffness. As it was, he found himself obscurely thankful. Essek grew blood-hot between his lips, gliding firmly over Caleb’s tongue with every shallow bob of his head. There was serenity to be found in something so purely physical.
Caleb released a breath through his nose and pushed deeper, seeking pressure in the back of his throat. He felt more than he heard a noiseless reaction from above, and lifted his eyes to find Essek watching him with unvarnished hunger. Careful fingers found Caleb’s face again, spreading around his ears and sinking into his hair. The touch sent a shiver racing down his spine, desire igniting in his gut.
He learned Essek liked depth, liked combing his fingers over Caleb’s scalp without offering anything in the way of direction. He liked Caleb very slow, and very thorough, rewarding him with constant, silent touch. For the first time in his recent memory, Caleb loosened his grip on the seconds and the minutes slipping by. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to know the exact measure of himself, and was content to remain there for as long as he was allowed the respite.
Essek’s thumbs pushed up along his cheekbones, finding and digging into Caleb’s temples with sudden insistent pressure. A feeling like silk slid beneath Caleb’s eyelids, wrapping behind his eyes, strange but not painful. With the sensation came a vivid picture: he saw himself on his knees, Essek cupping his jaw; felt a hot spatter hit the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat; a flash of Essek’s lidded eyes and hiss of satisfaction—
The vision dissolved, Caleb’s gut and groin clenching as he looked up just in time to watch release transform Essek’s face — real this time, exactly as he’d just witnessed it, a doubled pleasure that almost undid him without a touch. Salt burst across Caleb’s tongue, and he could feel the sweet, needle-like pull on the strands of hair still wound around Essek’s fingers. Caleb swallowed and gasped, held steady only by the gentle, unyielding grip on his skull.
“Don’t stop,” Essek murmured. Caleb squirmed, a minor loss of control as arousal surged at the root of his spine. He sucked indelicately, earning a soft moan in response.
Eventually, Essek withdrew with a subtle shift of his body. The emptiness left Caleb’s mouth with the prickly tenderness of use. He glanced around the study, recalling the full gravity of where he was, who he was with. Essek had partially stepped away, collecting himself with his back to Caleb.
When Essek turned, everything was restored to its proper place, up to the wry, tilted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Caleb stood, his legs tingling and unsteady with fresh blood flow.
“I can’t imagine that was your original purpose in coming here,” Essek said, quiet.
Unease took root in Caleb’s chest. It was an innocuous enough observation, but it came with a sense that something fundamental had shifted between them. He couldn’t make out the shape of it, except that Essek’s regard was... watchful, now. Unsparing.
Caleb lifted a shoulder, resisting the impulse to touch his mouth.
“We spoke with the agent of the Empire,” He began, searching for the way forward. “She’s...dangerous. In ways I do not believe your people understand. But I do. You were the first person I thought of.” It was all he could admit, and far more than he should. It was also true, but Caleb saw Essek’s guard go up like a wall of gray mist - opaque, inscrutable.
“What do you want, Caleb?” he asked after a deliberate beat, quite mildly.
“What only you can give me.” Caleb said, steeling himself. “Time.”