Work Text:
“Bookworm. Take the first watch.”
Khadgar stared into the blackness of the night. Chatter around the fire had dwindled until the camp was quiet, save for the soft noises of the horses tethered nearby. He was settled on a boulder, wrapped in a traveling cloak that kept out most of the chill, resolutely watching the dark road. There wasn’t much to see, which was good, since he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for. I’m a scholar, not a soldier,” he thought with a trace of bitterness. “A bookworm.”
He’d bristled when Commander Lothar ordered him to take the first watch. Lothar’s manner had been brusque, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was that damned nickname. Irritation had surged intensely. Flashing Lothar a look, he’d responded sharply: “Respectfully, Commander, my name is Khadgar.” Naturally, this only spurred Lothar’s irreverence. “My apologies, Khadgar.” The sarcasm was palpable as the commander had continued, “I thought we’d bonded when I didn’t throw you into the dungeon for breaking into the royal barracks.”
He didn’t know why the commander pushed him so. Khadgar knew that at first glance, he didn’t garner much respect. He was young, untested, and unknown. He bore no weapons and lacked the physical strength of a warrior. But appearances were deceiving, because students of the arcane fought their battles with intelligence, magic, and strength of will, not with weapons. Lothar had no idea what he was capable of, and the thought rubbed at him.
His mind drifted back to their dismal introduction a few days prior.
He’d been waiting patiently in the barracks office to speak with someone in charge, to explain the evil he had sensed and to offer his assistance. Lothar had burst in, violently bending the young mage backward over a desk and nearly stabbing his arm. The aggression had caught him off guard, and he’d cried “Sha’la ros!” by reflex more than anything. The arcane had surged in response, his brown eyes glowing bright blue as the spell materialized in his hand. Then Lothar’s hand was roughly over his mouth in an iron grip, the commander pushing Khadgar’s sleeve back to expose the mark of the Kirin Tor branded into his skin. Hard blue eyes had searched his face, demanding, “What are you doing in my city, spell-chucker?”
Sizing the man up, Khadgar had allowed his spell to unweave almost immediately. This was not a man he wanted threaten. This was a man he needed to convince.
Now, sitting at the edge of camp, the mage wished he’d blasted Lothar onto his arrogant rump.
He’d not enjoyed being pinned, helpless. Nor did he enjoy the steady mockery that had defined his relationship with Lothar thus far. He found the teasing almost physically painful. The hardness in those sharp blue eyes, the exasperation and scorn. The more Lothar teased, the more the ache in his chest grew.
He’d realized he had a….problem of sorts, during the gryphon ride to Kharazan. He’d been seated behind Lothar, legs straddling the beast and arms gripping the commander’s chest tightly as they flew through the sky. The journey had been exhilarating for more reasons than just the breathtaking vistas. The sensation of his body pressed against Lothar’s sat in his mind like fire. Khadgar had never held a man like that before. Never held anyone, actually. The Kirin Tor frowned upon personal relationships among their apprentices, and he had been the Guardian Novitiate. Training to be among the most powerful mages in Azeroth, he had been their special pet and project – certainly not permitted dalliances of the heart. He lingered on the strength in Lothar’s arms and back, his intoxicating scent. How he’d dared to rest his cheek against Lothar’s back for a moment that now replayed in his mind again and again. He felt the ache in his chest move lower down his frame, and shook himself. Focus, you idiot, he thought sternly.
Khadgar shifted uncomfortably on the boulder. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Lothar was watching him now across the campfire, chewing on a chicken leg. Damn that man. Why doesn’t he go to sleep? The stillness of the night was at odds with the restlessness in his chest. Khadgar found the man distracting.
Lothar’s voice carried over the fire. “Well. At least you’re not reading.”
Khadgar jumped at the sudden sound, flinching away. Damn it. How does he make me squirm with just a look? Ignoring the comment, he forced his attention elsewhere, stealing a glance in the direction of Garona, the half-breed orc. The mage had no doubt that she would be a deadly warrior, given the chance. She radiated with fierceness, despite her feminine frame. Her eyes glinted yellow in the firelight, ever alert and ever watching. He wondered if she would sleep tonight, trusting her fate to the humans -
“He wishes to lie with me.” Garona’s impassive voice interrupted Khadgar’s musing. He and Lothar stared at the sudden remark.
What!? Garona!? I would never lie with her. She’s not the one I – he stopped the thought before it could finish, his eyes flickering guiltily to Lothar’s face. He felt himself flushing deeply. “I beg your pardon?” he managed to stammer, blinking rapidly.
She had propped herself up in her bedroll and was staring at him. “You would not be an effective mate.”
“I do not wish to lie with you.” Somehow, even Khadgar found the denial unconvincing. Not an effective mate? Light, that was hurtful. Fuck only knew what orcs considered effective mating. Was she insulting his age, his build…something else?
“Good.” She shrugged. “You would be injured.”
Lothar snorted with laughter and Khadgar felt himself dying a thousand deaths. He turned to face the road, wrapping himself in his cloak and hearing their soft conversation continue as the backdrop to his misery. Underworld take them both!
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Some time later that night, Varis relieved the boy from his perch on the boulder. The soldier looked at him not unkindly and said, “Bedtime, lad. You’re done.” Khadgar stood with gratitude and headed for his bedroll, stepping around the resting bodies in the camp.
Although he resolutely ignored the commander, he was subtly aware of the older man’s presence at the edge of the circle, his chest rising and falling. Aware of the angles of his body under the blanket, the broad shoulders and narrow hips and rounded ass. Khadgar wanted to touch Lothar again, to hold his body like he had on the gryphon. He wanted to bury his face in Lothar’s chest and fill his mouth with Lothar’s tongue, hands searching and pressing…fuck. The ache in his groin intensified and he nearly groaned aloud.
It was going to be a long night.