Work Text:
The room is still dark when he wakes, eyelids heavy as he watches the sheer curtains sway in a cool breeze. Mishim's light casts barely-there shadows across the floor as it filters in through the gauzy fabric framing the open windows.
A heavy arm is slung over his waist, pulling him in loosely against a warm, hard body, back to well-muscled chest. Kaladin breathes slowly, mind still foggy, and pushes back into the pleasant warmth even as he feels guilty doing so.
Adolin doesn’t seem to mind, tightening his arm in his sleep to tug Kaladin closer, tucking his face down into the curtain of hair at the back of the Windrunner’s neck.
Kaladin’s too tired and too comfortable to let his fears and doubts take control right now, so he shoves them away and closes his eyes again, pulling the blanket up beneath his chin and settling back into soft dreams, safe and warm and protected.
_____
When he opens his eyes again it’s morning, the cool green glow of the moon no longer seeping in through the window. Instead, bright, warm beams of sunlight slant across the stone floor, motes of dust flickering gold in the light.
Behind him, Adolin murmurs something in his sleep, and a fondness surges through Kaladin so profound that he feels it pang in his chest. He reaches up to hug the arm still wrapped around his torso. Adolin lets out a slow breath, hot air tickling the hairs at the back of Kaladin’s neck, and then he moves.
A small movement, just a tiny rocking motion, but one that Kaladin can't ignore as it presses Adolin’s firm morning arousal against his backside.
Kaladin freezes, body going cold with panic.
Adolin does it again, a slow shift of his hips that sends electric shocks all the way to the tips of Kaladin’s fingers and toes, beginning at that spot where only a few layers of cloth separate the obvious hardness from Kaladin’s skin.
He waits, tense, to see if Adolin will wake fully, realize what he’s doing, but the third time it happens he shudders uncontrollably and suddenly he’s had enough.
As gently as he can, he tugs at the arm that feels less like comfort now and more like a vice, trying to encourage it to loosen just enough for him to slip out. Maybe he can shove his pillow back in his place and Adolin won’t even notice he’s gone.
But Adolin’s hold is possessively tight, and Kaladin pulls a little harder, squirming a bit, trying to slide down and out, to get away from the suddenly oppressive confinement.
Adolin lets out a low groan behind him, gravelly and deep, as Kaladin moves against him, and he pushes his hips forward with a little more force, a little more intent.
Breathing hard, Kaladin taps the forearm across his chest like he would in a grappling match, several times quick and sharp, and it must trigger some instinct in the other man because he immediately lets go, lifting his arm and rolling back, away from Kaladin.
Finally free, Kaladin shoots upright, shaking, turning to sit on the edge of the bed so his feet are flat on the stone floor, his back to Adolin. He barely stops himself from jumping up and sprinting out the door, but knows Adolin wouldn’t understand, would be hurt if he left without saying anything. Kaladin doesn't want to hurt him.
As quietly and subtly as he can, he takes a deep, calming breath, pushing it all down. It’s okay, nothing happened.
The air shudders as he releases it.
Everything’s fine.
He stands and walks over to the chair in the corner of the room where he left his shirt last night, exhausted from a long day in the clinic with his father. Adolin was already sleeping when Kaladin finally curled up to him and laid his head on his chest, drifting to sleep to the soothing sound of Adolin’s calm, steady heartbeat.
“Kaladin?”
He pulls his shirt over his head and tries to fix his face into something normal, then turns. Adolin’s sitting up in the bed now, shirtless, as he sleeps most nights, blankets bunched in his lap. His bright blue eyes watch Kaladin with confusion and concern.
“Are you–”
“I’ve got a meeting,” Kaladin says, his voice coming out gruffer than he expected. He bends, slipping his shoes on over bare feet; he can get his socks back another time. He clears his throat. “I’ll see you later?”
And without looking at Adolin again, he leaves.
_____
He knows walking out the way he did this morning was awful, but he felt trapped and jittery, like there were cremlings crawling all over his skin, and he needed to be anywhere other than in that room. He feels like a coward for not staying to explain, but he’s not even sure he could put it into words if he tried. So he just doesn’t.
Adolin only asks him about it once.
“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet, barely carrying over the Breakaway market’s dinnertime rush. “You seemed… off, this morning.”
“‘m fine,” Kaladin mumbles, embarrassed and guilty. He takes another bite of his chouta and thankfully Adolin lets the subject drop.
And even though he doesn’t bring it up again, Kaladin can feel him pulling away a little at a time, and it hurts, the loss like an elastic string beneath his sternum pulling taut, stretching and thinning and in danger of breaking as Kaladin watches and does nothing to stop it.
Kaladin still spends his nights in Adolin’s bed more often than not; it’s where he gets the best sleep, has the least nightmares, where he feels safest, near Adolin, in Adolin’s arms. But Adolin’s arms don’t come around him anymore.
Though Adolin hasn’t stopped touching Kaladin during the day, little brushes of his hand against Kaladin’s back, a nudge with his shoulder, even a peck on the lips when they’re back in his rooms, there’s a wall between them when they climb into bed at night that seems to grow higher and higher with every day that passes, with every night spent within touching distance, yet so far apart.
Adolin doesn’t reach out to pull him in tight. Kaladin stops curling up on Adolin’s chest, feeling like he’s ruined what they had, tainted it, and the idea of seeking it out only to possibly panic again, leave Adolin hurt and confused and wanting, sounds like an even more terrible idea than just staying away.
The gulf between them yawns wide with the new boundaries that have been wordlessly established. It’s obvious something is wrong, and also obvious that it’s Kaladin’s doing, and the guilt eats at him, because he knows he caused this but he just wants Adolin back, wants to be close to him, wants Adolin’s touch and affection. He’s been spoiled with it for the past month, reaped in the benefits of their friendship for years, and now, even if they’re both still here physically, this unspoken, unwanted barrier feels like it’s dragging them down.
Kaladin feels like he’s drowning and he doesn’t think that even learning to swim could save him now.
_____
One Month Ago
“Storms, Kal–”
Kaladin sucks the skin on the side of Adolin’s neck, closes his teeth around it, not hard, just enough to hold, to tug lightly. His stomach flips and his eyes flutter shut as Adolin moans.
Adolin’s hands, roaming hungrily across Kaladin’s back and arms and chest, come up to grip the sides of the Windrunner’s face and bring him back up to eye level, lips meeting and sliding and caressing.
“Gods–”
The man never stops talking, Kaladin thinks, and promptly does his best to drink the endless words right out of Adolin’s mouth.
The blonde pulls back suddenly, their lips making a wet, smacking sound as they separate, and he hastily starts working on the buttons of his shirt. Kaladin helps, starting at the bottom, and when they meet in the middle they both shove it off Adolin’s shoulders and onto the floor carelessly, Kaladin’s hands sliding over the hard ridges of Adolin’s stomach, up along the pale skin of his ribcage, then over the thick, corded muscles of his chest.
Adolin gasps like he can't get enough air, and Kaladin smirks, drunk on the other man’s responsiveness. Adolin reaches for his shirt now and Kaladin lets him, exploring more of the other man’s body as they work to undress him. Pants and shoes go next, then small clothes, and then they’re bare, pulling each other in to press skin to skin.
It’s a drug, this feeling, this desire, this burning need. It could so easily become an addiction, and for a moment, Kaladin’s afraid. Afraid of the depth of it, the intensity, the loss of control. And then, just as he’s shaking the fear off, Adolin’s hard length presses against his own and the memories assault him.
Greedy, ravenous hands clutching at him, jerking him around, bruising him. Pinching and pulling and hitting, hideous words whispered and shouted and sneered into his ears.
He shoves it all down, deep down, somewhere away from here, and kisses Adolin harder, reaching down to clutch his hip bones and yank him in hard, forcing their bodies even closer together. The memories and the fear and the panic nip at his heels but he just out-runs them all, soars high and fast on the feeling of Adolin, Adolin, Adolin and doesn't let it catch him, doesn't let it stop him.
This is a gift, one he never thought he could have, one he might never get again, and he’s not going to let his past ruin it, not going to let those bastards take this away from him, too.
_____
Now
After another week that elastic string starts to lose some of its tension. Kaladin, desperate for a return to the status quo, begins to initiate his own little touches. Nothing overtly sexual, just small, inconsequential things, much like Adolin does.
When a lock of hair falls into Adolin's face while they’re talking battle strategy after one of Adolin’s meetings, Kaladin tucks it back behind his ear.
As he hands him a glass of water, Kaladin lets their hands touch, lets it linger.
At night, Kaladin quietly rolls to face Adolin, then closes the distance, scooting all the way over to the other man’s side of the bed. Carefully, he lays his head on Adolin's chest. A minute later he feels Adolin's hand come to rest on the top of his head, gentle fingers combing through his hair, and that string stretched so thin loosens a little bit more.
One night they’re on the couch after dinner, both finally back from long days performing their respective duties. Adolin’s fingers crawl along the couch until they bump into his, and they twine together, Adolin's thumb running over Kaladin’s knuckles softly.
Kaladin looks up as Adolin tugs, and then they’re kissing.
He’s missed this so much, the taste of Adolin, the feel of his lips, the divine experience of being the recipient of his undivided attention.
And Adolin’s free hand drops to his waist and he locks up once again.
No, no, no, no, Kaladin thinks as Adolin pulls away.
“Kal?” he asks, and Kaladin stands abruptly.
He can't– he can't do this. Doesn't know how to talk about this. He just needs to be somewhere else.
He takes three steps toward the door when he hears Adolin’s voice behind him, soft and pained.
“Please, don’t go.”
Kaladin stops, closing his eyes. He’s stuck, can’t go forward and lose this, can't go back and lose this.
“Kal… I think we need to talk,” Adolin says, a note of pleading in his voice, and he’s right, of course he is, Kaladin knows they’ve needed to talk about this since that first time, since before that, but he just can't.
If he does try to talk about it—if he can even put it into words, whatever’s wrong with him—he could possibly lose Adolin forever.
But… if he starts walking again, if he leaves… He will lose him. Maybe not right away, but eventually. If Adolin thinks Kaladin can't trust him, if Kaladin lets him think that, he might as well be signing their relationship’s death certificate right now.
With feet heavier than the weight of Urithiru itself, he forces himself to turn and walk back, keeping his gaze on the floor and away from those painfully blue eyes. He lowers himself down to the spot he just vacated and feels Adolin sit again as well. He takes a breath, shoulders lifting with the force of it, then looks up.
“Can you tell me what’s going on in your head?” Adolin asks him, voice still soft, careful. “I just want to understand.”
Kaladin blows the breath out and grits his teeth, eyes suddenly stinging. He doesn’t deserve Adolin. And Adolin doesn’t deserve this.
Concern bleeds over Adolin’s features as Kaladin’s vision grows hazy with tears of frustration and fear.
“Hey, hey, whatever it is, it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” Adolin says, though he doesn’t reach out, unsure his touch is welcome. Kaladin wishes he would. He swallows, blinking back hot moisture.
“Would it be easier if I asked you questions?” Adolin asks after a moment.
Kaladin nods. Probably, since he’s clearly so bad at communicating on his own. “Yeah."
“Can I–” Adolin hesitates for just a second, then continues, “–hold your hand?”
It hits Kaladin in the chest like a runaway Ryshadium, the level of care Adolin shows him, even now, even after Kaladin’s all but admitted that he’s been keeping something from the other man.
Kaladin reaches out desperately, and Adolin grasps his hand, rubs his thumb along Kaladin's knuckles soothingly, just like he did before the world came crashing down again.
It’s nearly a full minute before Adolin asks the question Kaladin’s been dreading since the moment this all started.
“Were you sexually assaulted?”
Yes, he almost says. Because he was. More than once. And yes, it affects him, he has invasive, traumatic memories that resurface at inopportune times, but that’s not the whole truth, not the reason why he’s been acting this way. That's not why Kaladin keeps freezing with dread when he feels things start to move in a certain direction.
He knows why, knows down to his bones that it’s irrational, knows he needs to explain but he’s having trouble finding the words. He opens his mouth to say, Yes, but– but he doesn’t know what comes next. So he just nods.
“Oh, Kal,” Adolin says, a look of absolute devastation crossing his face. “Then why– why did you let me–”
Heart in his throat, he squeezes Adolin’s hand hard, cutting him off. He can't let Adolin think that, can’t let him think he didn’t want it. The implications of that, if Adolin thought he forced him… No.
“No, Adolin, that’s not– I mean, yes, it’s true, but that’s not why–”
Kaladin stutters to a stop, but Adolin, to his credit, looks like he’s taking him at his word, like he’s trying very hard to understand what Kaladin himself can't even comprehend.
“Take all the time you need,” he says, voice gruff with emotion, giving Kaladin’s hand a squeeze in return.
Kaladin does his best to calm his racing heart, closes his eyes, and searches for the words.
Yes, the memories bother him, but he feels like most times he’s able to compartmentalize that. The one time he had sex with Adolin, he didn’t feel the way he did when he was a slave, when his masters used him like an object for their pleasure, so it was easy for him to differentiate those two things, even if once or twice he needed to pause and take a deep breath or consciously remind himself of where he was and who he was with.
There was nothing about his experience with Adolin that caused this– this– breakdown. It’s how Kaladin reacted to that experience that’s caused all of this.
He didn’t know it before, because he hasn’t been intimate with anyone since he was a slave, not until Adolin. But after what happened that night a month ago he came to the terrible realization that he fears the way his body responds, how it goes completely out of his control, how arousal can just take over whether he wants it to or not, how his body can lie to him. Because it did once before, when he was still a slave.
Though he didn't enjoy it, never wanted it, hated every cursed second of it, his body lied to him, responded to the cruelty he received despite how his mind screamed the whole time for it to just stop.
Rationally, he knows it’s all just biology and stimulation and natural reactions, knows that regardless of how it looked he didn’t want it, didn’t enjoy it. But the fact that his body is so fickle, so desperate, so uncontrollable that it could become aroused in even the worst situation imaginable… it disgusts him and it frightens him.
His mind said no but his body said yes, and he feels so misaligned, like he doesn’t even know himself anymore. And being with Adolin, feeling that flood of arousal like a slap in the face that night, reminded him of that.
“It’s not the memories of the assaults that bother me.”
Using the plural is purely an accident, and he feels Adolin flinch, but he pushes forward anyway. In for a chip, in for a broam.
“I think I’m doing alright with that, and you don’t make me feel like they did. They did everything wrong, and you do everything right. So please don’t think that.”
Adolin nods slowly but doesn’t reply, giving Kaladin the space to continue to work through it.
“It’s– hard to explain.” He blows out a breath, rubbing his free hand over his face wearily. “There was one time when I was a slave where I– where my body– it–” He waves vaguely, jerkily, in the hope that Adolin will understand. Feels his face flush with shame as he stares down at his lap.
“And if something that horrible can make me– aroused, if such a terrible experience made my body feel like it wanted it, even though my mind knew I didn’t, how can I trust anything? What if I did like it, and I'm just in denial? What if it’s my mind that got it all wrong, and my body that got it right? I feel like I don’t know anything anymore, and that scares me. It was nothing you did, I promise, it was just… I panicked.”
It’s quiet for a moment as they chew on the implications of that.
“I know it doesn’t make much sense,” Kaladin mumbles, fully embarrassed now.
“No, don’t be like that,” Adolin says firmly, giving Kaladin’s hand a shake for emphasis, and Kaladin looks up to see the other man watching him with wet eyes. “Don't invalidate how you feel because it doesn’t align perfectly with what you think is logical. Feelings aren’t always logical or rational, and that’s okay.”
Kaladin nods, because he knows Adolin’s right. “Yeah, okay.”
Adolin smiles shakily, shoulders drooping slightly as he asks his next question.
“Why was it different the first time, with us?”
Kaladin shrugs. “I didn’t have time to think. I was caught up in the heat of the moment, and I thought it might be my only chance to be with you so I ignored all the warning bells going off in my head, just shoved them away, and then, after–”
Adolin’s brow furrows. “What happened after?”
He’s not strong enough to watch himself hurt Adolin again, so he turns away when he answers.
“I left as soon as you fell asleep and went back to my room and had a panic attack in the bathroom.”
Adolin never mentioned it, how Kaladin left after they slept together that first time, but Kaladin remembers the flash of hurt in his eyes the next time they saw each other, quickly covered up with joy at seeing Kaladin again, learning that Kaladin wanted to continue this thing they’d started.
Just, maybe without sex. He probably should have told Adolin that part. Definitely should have.
“I… wish you would have told me,” Adolin says, voice unsteady, nearly breaking in the middle of the sentence.
Kaladin feels so much shame in that moment that he wants to disappear.
“But I understand why you didn’t.”
Kaladin raises his head slowly, dumbfounded. “You're not angry with me?”
Adolin looks shocked at the idea. “What? No, Kaladin, I'm not angry with you.”
He shakes his head. “Kal, you have been forced to experience unthinkable things. In so many ways, in all parts of your life. I wish I'd known this was one of them, so that I could have done things differently, maybe had a conversation with you about it before we slept together, but I get it. I do. I can only imagine how hard this is for you to talk about. I’m not mad at all.”
“Storms, you just get more and more perfect, don’t you,” Kaladin murmurs, and his heart lifts when Adolin laughs out loud.
“I worked really hard to be this perfect, I’ll have you know,” Adolin says, red-rimmed eyes sparkling.
“I know,” Kaladin says seriously, and Adolin’s smile softens.
“Listen, Kal, from here on out, we don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says earnestly. “I would be perfectly happy if all we ever do is kiss like we did earlier.”
“You'd go without sex just to be with me?”
“Just to be with you?” Adolin repeats with a disbelieving laugh. “Kaladin, if I had to choose between no sex and having you as my partner, or sex every single day for the rest of my life without you, I would pick you. Every time.”
“You'll resent me,” Kaladin says, throat tight, and saying it out loud is freeing in a way, feels like he’s releasing something toxic and crippling from his body. It's a relief to finally be able to express all of this, his fears about himself and his inability to be what Adolin wants. “I’d be holding you back from finding a normal relationship.”
“I’m not looking for a normal relationship,” Adolin says, matter-of-fact. “I want to be in a relationship with you. In whatever form that takes.”
He lifts Kaladin's hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back. “You are my endgame, and whatever that entails, if it’s death-defying adventures, and nightmares, and terrible fashion choices, and no sex, and another little brother… I'm all in.”
“I love you,” Kaladin chokes out, the three words not even close to being enough to express what he feels for Adolin in this moment. But it’s all he can manage, and he hopes Adolin understands.
Adolin's eyes go wide; it’s not something Kaladin’s ever said to him before. But it’s true. It’s so true.
“I love you too, Kal. Very much.”
And oh, Kaladin’s never heard anything more beautiful in his life.
He didn't think he’d ever get to have this. When he was younger, he cared for Laral, even wanted to marry her. It was the same with Tarah. But there was no passion, no desire, besides the desire to protect and have a good life. It just wasn’t part of the picture.
And then slavery happened, and his depression took over, worse than it had ever been before, and who could ever love him then, even that easy, comfortable kind of love?
But then, without warning, Adolin Kholin came waltzing into his life, and it sparked something, a connection, an unquenchable thirst for more.
At first, just more opportunities to judge him as a lighteyes and put him in his place. More of his attention, to prove him wrong, to show him that Kaladin was better than him in every way despite his eye color and the brands on his forehead.
Then, as their relationship changed, Kaladin started wanting that attention because he enjoyed Adolin’s company, because the other man made him feel good, made him happy. He wanted to make Adolin happy. He wanted more of the prince’s jokes and smiles and grins and hugs.
And then more of his kisses. More of his touch. More of his love.
Kaladin has never wanted someone as much as he wants Adolin. He wants him so much that sometimes it feels like it will burst out of him.
Adolin should know that, how much Kaladin wants him, even if he has trouble showing it, even if his mind won't let him act on it.
“Adolin,” he says, “I want you to know it’s not… I mean, maybe, some day…”
Adolin smiles and shakes his head.
“It's okay, Kal. We really don't have to. I'm just happy to have you.”
“No,” Kaladin says, once again trying to find the words. “I mean. I do want it. Want you.”
He gives Adolin a very obvious once-over. “I want you to know that. I want you. I want to do those things with you. I'm just– that feeling when it happens, like I’m losing control over my own body… I just can’t. Maybe some day.”
“Okay,” Adolin says softly. “But just know, if that day never comes, Kaladin, that’s okay too.”
Suddenly finding himself choked up again, Kaladin nods.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could be better for you.”
“Hey, shh,” Adolin says, pulling their linked hands gently, and Kaladin goes, leaning into him. Adolin wraps his arms around Kaladin’s back, holding him, warm and strong and everything Kaladin’s ever needed. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He kisses the top of Kaladin’s head.
“Why can't I just be normal?” Kaladin mumbles into his chest, rubbing his cheeks on Adolin’s shirt to wipe the new tears away.
“Normal is overrated. I like you just the way you are.” Another soft kiss in his hair.
Kaladin indulges himself in the comfort of Adolin’s arms for another minute, then pulls back, feeling wrung out and ready to be done with emotional conversations.
“Sorry,” Kaladin mutters, wiping his face with his sleeve. Adolin tsks and rolls his own damp eyes at him.
“You don’t have to have all your shit together all the time, you know,” he says, fond and slightly chastising. “You don’t have to be perfect. Not for me.”
Then Adolin grins.
“I’m perfect enough for the both of us,” he says, and he tosses his head back as if throwing long hair over his shoulder.
Kaladin snorts. This storming man.
“Well aren’t we a pair. Perfect,” he gestures to Adolin. “And not normal.” Waves at himself.
“I like it,” Adolin declares. “Good title for our memoir: Perfectly Not Normal.”
“You’re going to write a memoir?” Kaladin asks skeptically, one eyebrow raised.
“We are going to write our memoir. And why not? Everyone’s doing it, it’s all the rage.”
“God, you’re so–” Kaladin trails off, laughing and shaking his head.
“Perfect, I know.”
_____
Things go back to how they were before.
Adolin touches him and cuddles him and kisses him, and even gropes his ass from time to time, but he never initiates sex, and Kaladin never feels pressured to offer it. He doesn’t feel like he’s letting Adolin down or holding him back. He just embraces it, rolls his eyes and not-so-secretly basks in the attention, and returns it whenever the urge strikes him, which is significantly more often than he thought it would be. He never pegged himself as a very physically affectionate person—he’s Alethi, after all, and, if one is to believe Adolin, a prude—but maybe it’s only because he never had the opportunity. Because it seems to be all he wants now. Or maybe it’s just Adolin who has that effect on him.
Sometimes Kaladin finds himself wanting Adolin to take it further. He wants to feel the way Adolin made him feel that first night, worshipped and cared for and wanted and desired. Adolin makes him feel that way every day, of course, but Kaladin can't deny that he also wants that missing piece. And that’s the most frustrating part, because he does actually want it.
But he doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t want to hurt either of them again if he’s not ready, and Adolin doesn't push. And it works, because Adolin loves Kaladin more than he deserves, and Kaladin doesn’t think he’d be able to give this man up for anything in the world.
Every day, Adolin makes it clear that he loves Kaladin for who he is, and not despite his faults. He makes Kaladin feel appreciated, and cherished, and worthy. Kaladin can only hope he makes Adolin feel the same way.
Months go by, and slowly the desire he feels for Adolin, so carefully banked, so tightly controlled, starts to spill over. Kaladin finds himself looking, appreciating Adolin in a way not entirely innocent.
Standing tall in front of a meeting of monarchs, bold and bright and beautiful, commanding the room effortlessly.
Stepping down off the Oathgate platform of Urithiru, blue armor shining brilliantly in the sun, mismatched hair a sweaty mess, returning to Kaladin once again.
Laughing joyously, head thrown back, spinning around the dance floor with a grinning Shallan in his arms, their fondness for each other obvious to everyone in the room, but especially to Kaladin, whose heart swells with love and gratitude as he watches.
Sitting on the couch in his sitting room in nothing but an undershirt and briefs and socks, squinting at maps until Kaladin hands him his reading glasses, slipping them on and mumbling to himself, trailing a manicured finger over the parchment.
Kaladin stares a little too hard in these moments, a little more intensely than the situation warrants, and that want comes roaring to the front, but this time instead of scaring him away, it makes him want to act.
So, after much consideration and hours upon hours of deep, introspective thought, Kaladin tells him.
I want you, he says. I want to try.
And Adolin gives him a sweet kiss on the lips and doesn't ask ‘are you sure?’, just trusts Kaladin to know himself. Then he sits back, putting some space between them, and says, Tell me how.
And though Kaladin rolls his eyes he’s absurdly grateful to the other man, because this allows him to set boundaries. It allows him to decide beforehand how this will go, gives him a sense of control in a situation where in the past he’s felt like he had none.
So Kaladin tells him. Simple. Slow. Hands and mouths only. Facing one another.
And Adolin listens without judgement, and he tells Kaladin that if it doesn’t work out, nothing will change. And that if Kaladin changes his mind, that’s okay, too.
Relief floods him, and love, and then Adolin asks, When? And Kaladin says, Tonight.
_____
He’s nervous, but less so than he expected, because he knows that if it doesn’t work out, it’s going to be okay.
The nerves don’t disappear, not when they have dinner in Adolin’s rooms, and not when they start to kiss. They fade to the background, but linger there, waiting for the moment Kaladin will feel that telltale warmth in his gut, that consuming need that indicates his body has taken over, that diminishes his level of control over the situation and over himself.
Adolin moves slowly—so slowly that eventually Kaladin loses patience and grabs the man’s hands and places them on Kaladin’s hips himself. Adolin breathes a laugh, then kisses away the Windrunner’s small answering growl, tongue sweeping into his mouth and sliding against his. Kaladin moans quietly as simmering heat low in his abdomen flares to life. He can feel himself growing hard and he shivers, pulls back to rest his forehead against the other man’s, breathes.
“You okay?” Adolin whispers, and Kaladin nods.
“Yeah,” he murmurs back, and then he pulls Adolin in again.
He is okay, because though that fire burns hotter inside of him by the minute, though he gradually sinks into the pleasure, he never feels lost in it, never feels like he couldn’t stop everything if he wanted to. Adolin honors Kaladin's request about what he wants and goes no further, and, to his surprise, Kaladin actually feels himself letting go, giving up some of that precious control.
He always knew he could trust Adolin, but now he feels it, and he trusts Adolin not to take more, not to push, not to hurt him. He believes that Adolin will respect the boundaries he set, and that, in its own way, is Kaladin controlling the situation from afar, without having to worry about it in the moment.
It’s not a perfect solution. It might not work in the long run. Or it might, who knows. But it works this time, and then it works again, and again.
And so what if they’re not perfect? If they're not normal? Adolin doesn’t want normal, he wants Kaladin, and Kaladin loves Adolin with all his heart and for some insane reason Adolin loves him back, and they understand each other in a way no one else ever will. And if things change, they will adapt, they will make it work, because whatever sacrifices they have to make are worth it to keep each other.
Maybe they’ll have setbacks. Maybe something hidden will creep up and sink its claws into Kaladin unexpectedly, or maybe something will spook Adolin. Maybe hurts Kaladin thought long healed will resurface. And maybe some hurts will never heal, instead slowly scabbing over and leaving a scar. But Kaladin has faith they’ll figure it out, because how can he not? How can he not, when Adolin Kholin is his partner? Together, they can do anything.
Later, when second moon hangs high in the sky and most sane souls in the tower have been sleeping for hours already, he curls up close to Adolin, skin to skin from head to toe, and wraps a leg around Adolin’s strong thighs. He pulls, dragging Adolin’s body a few inches across the luxurious sheets toward the middle of the bed, and the other man chuckles, tightening the arm looped around Kaladin's back, smiling down at him with sleep-heavy eyes.
Kaladin presses a kiss to those perfect lips, and lays his head down on Adolin’s chest, and falls asleep to the soothing sound of his calm, steady heartbeat.