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Another night. I want you for another night.
Nehan’s voice continued to echo in Six’s mind for days, relentlessly haunting his dreams. The mark that Nehan had left on his nape faded with time, becoming no more than a memory, a sentimental yearning that drove him to nightly insomnia.
He had tried to find more missions to do, mostly by himself and refusing a partner. Each time he returned to report at their headquarters, Six was quiet and sullen behind his mask. He did not stay for long and left immediately upon receiving another mission, of which he demanded.
Siete was not the most astute of all persons, but he sensed turmoil within the erune’s heart. Insight advised him that Six’s inherent difficulty in confiding thoughts or emotions would eventually lead the erune to complete ruin. Six would choose to suffer alone, do nothing, and eventually succumb to this malaise.
Perhaps it was his protective nature or that he was feeling very charitable that day; thus, Siete made the wisest of all wise choices he had since made at the beginning of his leadership.
First, he lied.
Next, he coaxed Funf and Song to sit Six down and ensure that the erune had the longest dinner in his entire life.
Finally, he contacted the Captain.
With a new mission in his mind, the leader of the Eternals returned to the dining room, his strides flamboyant, his gait light.
Six sat at the table, not moving. He did not eat anything on the table, the bowl of meat and vegetables complete and cold, the glass of fruit juice untouched. Song, thin-lipped and vexed; Funf, astonishingly quiet for once.
Any attempt Siete made to bring Six’s feelings to light was futile anyway or met with a resistance harder than a drunk harvin’s logic. Immediately, he announced a temporary transfer of his sixth Eternal to the Grandcypher, painting a grand and daring scenario of the Captain needing specific protection.
They will be journeying to the Dydroit Belt, Siete cautioned, waving his large hands in the air. He always looked ridiculous as he gestured like that. Song rested her forehead on the heel of her palm for a moment before she grasped Funf’s hand into hers, silently and briskly leaving the dining room.
Six’s mask remained firm on his face, but his glove-shedded hands trembled, a flush of color rising and flagging his palms.
“I will go.”
Siete rubbed his chin triumphantly. For once, he felt quite, quite accomplished. Perhaps, this might be a vocation he could consider after he retired.
Definitely.
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
Nehan glanced out of the open porthole, his gloved hand knuckled under his chin. He stretched slightly, twisting his neck to take in a better view of the floating clouds outside the circular window. Having unpacked half of his belongings, he managed to put away and tidy a set of medical books and hung up sufficient clothing for the next few days.
The Grandcypher had started on her journey towards the Dydroit Belt - a place he’d heard some of the crew members discuss in hushed tones over the communal dinner in the ship’s main galley a few evenings ago. He became inquisitive, partly propelled by the private whisperings, and had found himself ensconced in the ship’s library for the greater half of last night. His interest grew considerably in the thieves’ markets in Central City, and he wondered if it would even be possible to find those Karm relics he was looking for.
There was a sourness in his mouth when he thought again of those relics.
The ship dipped downwards, lurching briefly and rolled slowly to her side. She righted her hull and with a low, bursting boom, continued on her journey. Nehan noticed that they were sailing through a thick iron curtain, the sky consumed by shades of flint and slate. The erune’s hand slipped down his chest, pressing, checking, counting the heartbeats, and slowing down his breaths. The dull ache there was always present, and recently, it had made it difficult for him to sleep. The gunshot wound had since long-healed and left nary a scar to remind him of his folly back in that place.
He left the porthole ajar for air and returned to his boxes, sorting out an assortment of glass bottles and wooden cases filled with medicines and dried herbs. There was another chest yet unopened, and he unlatched it after much hesitation.
Delving into the fusty box, he found brittle sketches, a carved wooden pencil holder, and scratched glass boxes full of flowery dust. He rummaged carefully, the items tumbling in a cacophony of memories, and his fingers closed around the leathery edge of an old journal.
Nehan sat on the floor of his cabin, resting the aged book on his lap. He thumbed the cover, the leather gritty between his fingers, and opened the book. His gaze ran down the pages, his mouth upturned in a wan smile as he read page after page of large childish curves across the yellowed pages.
Romantic dreams from a starry-eyed childhood.
A diary of foolish decisions and impractical desires.
Nehan’s tongue traced his teeth, his lips were suddenly parched and dry. And as reluctant as he was to admit, he wanted badly to see him.
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
The Grandcypher was docked at Golonzo Island for supplies and to welcome a few more crew members. Nehan had been busy, filing away new information about his patients and writing orders for boxes of chemicals and ingredients. Towards the evening, he managed to sit down at his tiny table to have tea or just catch a breath. The porthole of his cabin would always be wide open or ajar, and he would watch the hive of activity crescendo across the island’s single massive port.
It reminded him that he was alive.
On the last night in Golonzo, before the Grandcypher set out on her arduous journey towards the Belt, there was a knock on his cabin door. His hours were officially over, and there were no more patients on his list. Puzzled, Nehan rested the medical logbook on the table, setting the quill carefully into the inkpot. The night was warm, and he had no need for an overcoat. But he found one anyway and pulled it over his sleepwear.
Nehan yanked at the knob. It was rusty and needed oiling. The door swung fully open, the hinges screeching in unhappy protest.
It was the Captain.
Immediately, he explained that he was well, and this was merely a courtesy call to see if Nehan was settling in well with the crew and on the ship. The journey tomorrow made the young man a little worried, and he did not want his nerves to get the better of him.
Perhaps he could have a tisane or some herb mixture to calm himself. Maybe chamomile, the Captain said loudly, or lavender. Chamomile tea would help him to sleep.
Nehan tilted his head, wondering about the slightly skittish pitch in the Captain’s voice. He placed his hand on the jamb of the cabin’s door and stepped out, walking past the Captain.
The erune’s eyes focused far down the darkened corridor of the deck, his shoulders lifting in a massive, draw-in breath.
“Come out.”
His voice echoed out to the corridor, harsh and admonishing. The Captain’s face noticeably paled. He decidedly shrunk himself behind one of the wooden pillars, his fingers rubbing his temples.
There was no movement. The lamps that lit the ship’s corridor burned steadily, and the only sound heard was the muted creak of wood against wood as the ship bobbed in the night wind. The Captain, who now had his hand cupped on his forehead, was extremely apologetic. He took his bag of tea at once and bid the erune a hurried good night.
Nehan’s hand gripped the knob of his cabin’s door tightly, watching the blue-garbed figure of the Captain rush down the corridor. He muttered angrily under his breath and returned to his cabin, shutting the door behind him with a firm, resolute thud.
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
That dreaded insomnia had set in again. It forced him out of bed, and he wandered onto the deck of the Grandcypher. The moon hung low in the horizon behind him, its pale white rim scattered halos around the stern of the ship, wrapping the masts in ghostly coronas.
The great port of Golonzo never slept - the maintenance and construction continuing deep into the night. Huge prisms of white light pour an eye-blinding brightness across the port as workers labored amongst the gargantuan iron cranes bolted to the central dock. It was a chaotic ensemble of steel, glass, and brick. Airships sailed in at the strangest hours and left; the air traffic always harum-scarum and dangerously disorganized.
Nehan rested his elbows on his knees, his body and face half-hidden in shadow, puddled in darkness. He had walked along the outer rail and found a couple of barrels to rest against. The arrangement offered a comfortable refuge to sit, away from the harshest glare of the port’s lights, and provided sufficient illumination for him to read. The purling noises of the machinery kept him company, and he felt strangely thankful for the sounds.
He had flipped the diary open up one upturned knee, and intently thumbed the pages, reading each word carefully as if he might find a clue or an idea left by his ten-year-old self. The ink had faded in many parts, the pages dog-eared and yellowed. Some of the pages crackled distressingly as he attempted a closer look, pressing his fingers on its fragile surface. His efforts were not unrewarded, though - he did record some details, albeit all of the information eventually would lead him back to their village.
The erune closed the journal and placed it next to him, his hand rested on the closed cover. His thoughts evaporated as fatigue set in, chasing his deliberations, scattering them. A small voice in his head chastised him - berating his inexorable nature, admonishing his choices.
What choices?
He thought about forging ahead to a better future with this second chance. Ironically, what would secure that future he wanted was something better left in their past.
Nehan felt a little bitter. Rolling up his sleeves, the erune stared at his skin, his eyes listlessly counting the faded scars of needles and knives on his arms. The voice in his mind soon grew tumultuous and unpleasant.
Frustrated, Nehan dug his nails into his forearm until it marked his flesh. It was a very long while before he released his distraught grip on himself, and leaned back against the barrels, breathing hard.
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
Ah.
A moan drifted past his ears; a presence weighed upon him. Did he fall asleep?
It was wet.
And cold. And in the stupor of half-wakefulness, Nehan roused to a pair of calloused fingers stroking water from his cheeks.
His lips were kissed; delicately and tenderly for a while before the kisses crushed his mouth, biting and violent. A heaviness covered his eyes. He was unable to discern what it was. A hand gripped his jaw next, pulling his head upright, the kisses on his mouth unbreaking and desperate.
He was dimly aware of a cold rain seeping in runlets down his body and limbs. Water splashed against his thighs, wetting his pants and drenching the inside of his shoes. A weight settled abruptly on his flailing legs, smothering his movements.
The erune tensed, his heart pounding madly against his chest, trying to draw in the scent and sound of the presence. He smelled nothing but rain and the acrid sting of an impending thunderstorm. The burden had left his eyes, and his lids lifted, sights widening as he shook raindrops from his eyelashes.
Slowly, his hands lifted, his fingers curling into lean forearms, his fingertips trailing the shape and curve of the other erune’s muscles.
“You…”
Nehan settled against the rain-drenched barrels with slitted eyes, trying to keep the rain out of his sights. His mouth was swollen and bruised at one corner, where Six had accidentally nipped him.
The Eternal was straddled across Nehan’s thighs, locks of wet hair straggling across his neck and cheeks. The fur of his ears was slick with rain, and water dripped steadily off their lowered tips. Six reached out, rubbing wet fingers on the bleeding spot he had bit Nehan, his face terribly bewildered and upset at himself.
Nehan shifted his face away, avoiding Six’s fingers. He pulled the other erune close, glowering at him, his ice-blue eyes incensed.
“Why are you here?”
He stared at Six, his eyes racing down the wet tunic and thin leather pants the other erune wore. A cloak was pulled haphazardly around the other erune’s shoulders, insubstantial and meager, drenched with rain. No armor, nor any form of protective gear - and his mask was nowhere in sight.
“I promised you.” Six whispered. His lips stretched faintly, and his expression became nervous.
Lightning streaked past the skies around them, brilliant flashes scorching every single thing on the deck in white-hot flashes. Without warning, the clouds above them sank, congregating in steel-grey clumps, shrouding the dock, the ships, and the island.
It was dangerous to stay on deck; Golonzo’s autumn storms were treacherous, and even the workers knew it would be safer to take shelter. The sounds of the machines ceased, devoured by the roar of thunder as the dock fell dead. Winds howled past, swaying and shaking the cranes like gangly, headless marionettes.
He pulled Six up roughly, gripping the other's forearm. Then, he remembered the diary on the deck, and scooped it up.
The pages were all wet and crumbling within.
Nehan’s heart thumped restlessly, and he felt a pulse burn beneath his skin.
“Come with me then.”
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
He was urged again into a volley of kisses before the cabin door closed, and with great effort again, Nehan extricated himself from those kisses. He laid his head against the door panel, panting hard. Six caught his breath, his eyes half-lidded, his hands gripped tight on Nehan’s shoulders.
The diary had fallen onto the ground beside them. Nehan slipped almost, and stepped on the cover, squelching the pages into a sodden mess.
Now that he was less breathless, Six straightened himself, winding his hands around Nehan’s neck, watching him carefully. There was a flicker of something in Nehan’s wry expression, a sort of vulnerability as if the pleasure in this very reunion embarrassed him. Six felt his stomach plunge uneasily, every muscle around it tremulous and shaking.
He continued to look at Nehan, shamelessly intrigued at this new expression that he was displaying. It was far from the affection Six might have craved, but he noticed him.
Then, he reached forward to linger fingertips on Nehan’s cheek-bones, scraping water away from the austere angles of his nose and jaw. There were some new lines, visible grooves along the sides of Nehan’s darkened eyes, a notch permanently etched between silver-white brows.
Water pooled onto the planks around them, dripping from their wet bodies and clothes. Nehan shivered, remembering he did not close the porthole before he left for the main deck. He caught a hand around Six’s waist and turned him away, that hand falling down and catching the other erune’s hand in his.
“I did not remember you promising me anything.” He started tersely as he pulled the Eternal along towards the porthole. The window was latched shut, keeping the wind out. Nehan let out a long breath, a sigh that belied his current exasperation.
“I did. I promised you.” Came the timorous reply, and mauve eyes turned fitfully towards him.
Nehan was utterly confused at the other erune’s repetitive replies.
“Why?” Nehan snapped, his hands clamping on Six’s wrists, pulling the Eternal towards him, their faces and mouths drawing precariously close to each other. Six’s lips trembled as he fought to piece together an answer, his words choppy, his voice broken into a pathetic lisp.
It was something Nehan had whispered to him, on the last night they were together, back in Stardust Town. Six’s voice cracked, and he started to panic; the remainder of his disjointed sentence found no more coherence, and his face turned red in discomfiture.
Nehan sank against the wall, remembering he was still in his wet clothes, forgetting what he had mumbled in the after-haze of rutting lust.
Was it acceptable…?
His head hurt.
...was he capable of feeling this awkward?
This emotional attachment frightened Nehan. It gagged his tongue, and it swirled thick and oppressive in his mind. But, he wanted to be brave. He needed to be.
Six’s cold fingers reminded him that they existed. They twined into his own, the rough pads texturing the inside of Nehan’s palm shyly, uneasily. Nehan pushed himself away from the wall, detaching his hands from Six’s. And he started to speak in that old language they shared, the tones husky and gravelly, fussing about wet clothes and becoming unwell.
Six’s eyes purpled distinctively upon hearing the Karm tongue.
He immediately protested; he never fell sick. He could take his clothes off on his own. And he tried to be clever, attempting an old proverb of the village to persuade the other and got the second word all wrong. His cheeks burned in embarrassment, and his ears as well.
Silently, efficiently, Nehan had approached and peeled away the wet cloak and gripped the wet ends of Six’s tunic, rolling it upwards and pulling it off. Six had tried to stop him, but his hands were swatted away. Nehan stripped as well, easing his rain-soaked top away. The garment was tossed into the same pile as Six’s clothes, and he yanked off both their footwear.
The lamps that lit the interior of Nehan’s cabin were burning low, their glow faltering to a dull, molten orange. The light haloed both their bodies and painted incandescence across their faces. Nehan breathed in - steadily and slowly.
‘Put your hands on the table.’ He ordered. And he murmured, his tone sotto voce, another word, a term of endearment - one the lovers of their village would call to each other.
He heard and his heart leaped at the word that was said, and with a mousy, self-conscious smile hinging on his mouth, Six obeyed.
Nehan came behind, his fingers massaging warmth back into the chill flesh and wrinkled skin of Six’s back. He continued to stroke, each touch arching Six’s back, and he curved his spine, kittenish in his movements, mewling cries soft on his lips. The erune's mouth trembled, recollecting the intimacy of their previous nights, remembered places where he had touched, upon Six’s body.
The pleasure of his fingers over a pert nipple.
A kiss suckled upon the curve of his nape.
All rewarded with lilting moans and lewd gasps.
Nehan muttered something else, a string of encouragement, praises, and bit the shell of Six’s ear lightly. He hooked his fingers on the waistband of Six’s pants, pulling the garment down to the erune’s ankles, letting the fabric bunch. His hand swept up, parting the warm cleft between Six’s buttocks, caressing the smooth skin of his slowly swelling knot. The other flattened upon the erune’s back, coaxing him face-down on the table.
Everything he did lit a hunger within him - to see the slender, muscled form spread, wanting and willing. He curved himself over Six, pressing his body against the other erune’s back, his lips rasping kisses.
The lamps by now, have all burned low, and only one was left, shedding a weak and paltry light. Nehan lifted his head up, his fingers satisfactorily pursuing a chiaroscuro of bruises and bites down Six’s back.
Six heard his name whispered, slightly garbled. In stuttering incoherence, the erune writhed slightly, turning himself to face Nehan.
With lips rounded, Six said three words, each word awkwardly formed, every word apprehensively suffused in affection.
Nehan heard.
And he startled in a good way. Such a good way that it bloomed a ferocity on his features. It made the scalloped tips of his ears flare and twitch with heat. His hands tightened around Six’s waist, dimpling the stomach muscles. His fingers inched down, raking reddened trails into Six’s skin. Growling, he pressed his mouth into the curve of Six’s neck, muttering the same three words back, his voice vibrating against the erune’s warm skin.
Six gasped, reddening again.
Two fingers started to stroke him between his legs, wickedly invasive and demanding. Reflexively, he tried to clench his legs shut, but the pants pulled down to his ankles caught him like a rope. He panicked for a moment as he felt Nehan move, ghosting down his body.
There was a warm, suckling sound. His thighs shuddered as a very wet mouth swallowed him, complete and deep. His length was nursed in sweet, slow pulls, and his knot tickled to a bulging swell.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Six groaned, and his head lolled back against the table. He wanted to come badly, and he cried out, his toes curling against the floor. The edge of the tiny wooden table slammed into his back, scraping against his tailbone.
‘No. Not yet.’ He was warned, and Nehan's hand spanked the other erune’s hip lightly. He rubbed where he had smacked, endearment after endearment slipping from his lips, and his hand moved, swift, precise to pinch the little nub of skin above Six’s knot.
Paralyzed from denial, he was half-lifted, semi-dragged to Nehan’s bed. Six rolled onto the mattress. The bedsheets and blankets were pushed into a heap next to his hot, panting body. It smelled like Nehan - subtle spice, soft musk, light and fragrant like a spring forest. He tried to move, but his knees buckled together. Six dimly realized his pants were still kept lodged and cuffed around his ankles.
A weight joined him on the bed, rustling sheets and depressing the mattress. Six picked up a faint, herbal scent, and he heard liquid, felt it between his legs. Fingers swirled it across his skin, sloshing it against his cleft. Swiftly lifted, his hips were pulled forth, snapping insistently against Nehan’s, willingly, compliantly.
Next, he was endeared with words that burned a desire in his groin and made him squeeze his eyes shut in bashfulness.
Finally, he was fucked hard, his legs dangled in an obscene angle, each of his moans smothered by kisses. Another palmful of oil was sloshed around his hole liberally, and two long fingers reached inwards to push him wide apart. Eventually, he was pulled close, his hips jerking upwards to receive everything. It made him cry, and his eyes watered with the pleasure-pain of rutting.
Fingers touched his lips, and they slipped into his mouth, playing with his tongue and stroking the interior of his cheek. His mouth gaped open, pulling breaths that he could not feel in his lungs. Something burst within his closed eyes, white flashes, like stars. He could only groan now as his cock lurched against his stomach, come spurting and dribbling down his skin.
Six felt fingers touch his eyes, and he opened them, lifting his sights to meet Nehan’s.
Nehan’s gaze wavered for that moment, the blue in his irises brilliant like glass. There was a glimmer of something, wet like tears at the edge of his eyes.
“You remembered.” He whispered in relief and lifted his hands to cup Nehan’s damp cheeks.
He nodded, and his chin dipped down, slips of silvery-white hair falling over his forehead. He was kissed, each cheek traced with a tongue that wiped away the salty tracks of his tears. The kisses encouraged him and he came quietly, with a hushed moan, his mouth wildly tangled against the choppy lengths of gray-silver at Six’s nape, a deluge of sensations forcing his knot to twist and tighten further release.
They stayed like this for a long time, legs entwined with each other, bodies linked in suspended coupling. At moments, they kissed again and again. Lips against cheeks, lips against eyes.
For all nights, he had promised.
All his nights, he had said, and vowed, for the rest of their lives.