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Julien cannot stand on his own, and would ruin a good bedspread with the amount of blood on him, so he’s laid out on the floor, bleeding badly from a deep stomach wound. Thaisha lets him lean against her lower legs so he doesn’t fall completely to the floor, his body shuddering as her magic freezes shredded skin and muscle in place.
She is more of a soldier than he had initially thought, or at least she understands the kindness necessary to survive an active war zone. Far more than her son had, last Julien saw him. He recalls thinking that Alogar was not the type to survive battle, and was grateful that he would not see any action for many years. Julien’s act of kindness to Thaisha will be keeping this knowledge from her.
He prays for a surprise and uses the last of his strength to lever himself upward on a shaking arm when a bucket of hot water comes in.
“This will hurt, and it will scar,” Vaelus says in her matter-of-fact way, sliding her hands around his upper back so she can lay him flat on the ground. He does not want to move his arms from his stomach, afraid of what might happen if he does, but he trusts her as she pulls them away, laying them flat on either side, and attempting (however futilely) to clean the blood and muck away so she might have a clean view of the injury. “I do not have the power to make it a clean cut.”
“I don’t care if it’s a clean cut, I care that I am able to fight after this,” he grits out.
“Wait, wait, clean cut as in sanitary, or clean cut as in the pieces match up?” Thaisha asks with genuine concern.
“The latter,” Values confirms.
“Oh, go ahead then,” Thaisha says easily. Julien turns his head (painfully) to glare at her. Who does she think she is?
“Thank you so much for your permission—ah!” Julien cries out as Vaelus’ magic slices into him with surgical precision.
She has far more fine control with healing than Thaisha, who has the mercenary lifesaving tactics of an average field medic. It was enough to keep him alive, but it means Vaelus has to break the temporary seals that staunched his bloodflow to heal him. In other words, tearing him apart to seal him back together, making stars burst behind his eyelids with each incantation. It’s made all the more difficult by the fact that the creature that caused all this damage was undead in the first place.
Of course it had to have been some horrid thing controlled by a member of the Tachonis, ripped back onto this mortal coil, because Julien’s life is a nightmare. Wielded by some distant cousin to be sure, their power wasn’t a quarter of what Primus displayed with Raimond’s death alone, but enough to grievously wound the last remaining son of House Davinos. Arguably the worst part, Julien thinks as his abdomen is resected and the long strands of muscle are woven back together like laced fingers, was that the bear screamed with a human voice. He does not like to think what awaits them further into enemy territory.
Vaelus pauses, her forehead dewy with sweat in a way that makes her look beautiful instead of red faced and winded. “I need a moment.”
“I can take over—” Thaisha says, and both Vaelus and he protest at the same time.
“Vaelus, go rest.” His Lady speaks at last, he did not notice when she entered the room. A fault on his part he thinks bitterly, before moving to greet her.
“Julien, sit still,” she commands, and he freezes, slinking back into place on the floor.
“How do you do that?” Thaisha says, a bit of genuine mystification behind her amusement.
“Practice,” his Lady says. He can hear the little twist of a smile in her voice. She kneels at his side and brushes his filthy soaked hair back as she had when he was terribly sick as a boy.
“My Lady—” he starts, but she silences him with a hard look.
“Julien Davinos, when you swore to protect me, you swore an oath to live. Why do you seem so intent on reneging on it?”
“It’s not intentional, my Lady. Although when it comes down to who gets injured, I would rather it be me than you.”
“Julien,” she sighs, “I would prefer you put that focus on all of us getting away from encounters without grievous wounds.”
“My Lady—”
“You will try, yes?” Her voice brokers no argument.
“Yes,” he says, swallowing his pride.
“Alright.” She takes his hands as she has hundreds of times before and he prepares for the blast of her fae touched magic when Vaelus stops them.
“I may be able to help, just as a conduit. I can take the magic and refine it, in a way, control it with precision. It takes less out of the person providing the magical force behind the spell, and I am the best at healing in this party.” She says it without pretension, it is simply a fact. Still Julien kisses his teeth a little thinking about it.
“Is this a proven method?” Aranessa asks, clearly reaching for her Ladylike poise and control to keep her upright.
“Yes,” Vaelus says with no further elaboration.
Aranessa must find this answer satisfying as she then asks, “Julien?”
“Whatever you think best my Lady,” he says, meaning ‘I’m bleeding out and could care less so long as it stops.’
Vaelus hovers her hands over Julien’s abdomen, instructing Aranessa to lace their fingers together, Aranessa’s on top of her own. They cast together and the magic is as Vaelus says it would be—refined and delicate—re-weaving him atom by atom. It feels different as it enters him, instead of the blunt instrument Julien usually feels when Aranessa cures him of some minor ailment, it’s like being swaddled, and leaves him in a state of adrenaline-induced euphoria. He cries out into the open room, back arching off the ground towards their hovering fingers. Something pushes him down before he can get there and he yells again, impotent and furious. And then it’s over. Julien crumples and Aranessa sits back heavily, half on Vaelus who was behind her.
She startles, half lifting herself back up in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry I–”
Vaelus steadies her with a hand on her side. “Don’t worry. It is usually a lot the first time.”
“I feel like someone has wrung half the energy out of my body,” she admits, entirely Aranessa and not the Lady.
“It’s the kind of thing a body becomes accustomed to over time,” Vaelus says in tones of innuendo, and Julien swears he can hear a hint of flirtation behind her veil. He would glare at her if he had the energy, but the toll of healing has finally hit him, and it’s fortunate they have already laid him out on the floor, as an immense wave of vertigo comes over him. His hearing dulls and vision flickers gray until someone lifts his head and places what feels like ice at the nape of his neck. It hurts in a new way, and he focuses on the small freezing shape running up and down the side of his neck until his hearing begins to return, sharpening noises back to words.
“Oh, Julien, what are we going to do with you?” Occtis murmurs to himself, sounding awfully close.
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Julien says dryly, though his words are garbled as his voice gives out halfway through the sentence.
“Oh, oh you’re awake, okay,” Occtis half-sings in apparent panic. He must have thought Julien unconscious. The cold thing against his skin begins to move away and he grunts, reaching up before the dissonant pain catches him and he has to lower his hand back down.
“Keep that there, it’s nice,” he rasps. Occtis freezes and returns to his previous position, the spot of cold against his neck moving rhythmically again. It takes Julien a few moments to piece together that what he was asking for was Occtis’ hand against his neck, still icy cold from the nightmarish weather outside. The moving piece was his thumb caressing him, and really he ought to be embarrassed. Ashamed maybe. But he has had enough fighting for one day. He relaxes back into Occtis’ hands, wrinkling his nose when a warm washcloth comes to swipe at his face but otherwise remaining lax as his body cracks back together, the healing magic completing its job in fits and spurts.
“Are you okay?” Occtis whispers, half-audible in a way Julien is now quite familiar with.
He tries to respond, only managing a rather noncommittal, “Eh,” as his regrown muscles spasm uncontrollably the moment he tries to speak.
“Okay, was that an actual response or are you dying?” Occtis drawls.
“I’m fine, mother,” Julien snaps despite the pain, because really.
“Yeah, you’re fine.” Occtis sighs, pulling his hand away Julien’s neck, fingers dragging against his skin needlessly before withdrawing entirely; s clear a silent bid for intimacy as Occtis Tachonis can give. Julien wills his face to stay still for the sake of his sleep, and Occtis’ sanity.
He and Occtis have… a gentleman’s agreement, of sorts. One that involves sleeping next to each other (or at least pretending to sleep, as Occtis apparently can never truly turn off his mind) so they both can actually get more than a few paltry hours of rest before setting back out on the road. Julien needs to keep an eye on him (or in this case tightly clasped hand around his arm), and Occtis can leech his warmth as the nights grow darker and colder and the possibility of him freezing solid becomes a genuine concern.
This, the party knows about; the sex they do not. It is definitely the reason Occtis gets half the actual restful periods he has, and helps them blow off steam. Well—it helps Julien blow off steam. Occtis appears to have a complicated relationship with his body, which refuses to perform at least half the time. And, yes, Julien knows there are other ways to work a man to orgasm than by his cock, but they’re better suited for beds and not the drippy freezing forests they find themselves in routinely.
It is a lot of hand and mouth stuff, and very little undressing. With a dearth of places for Julien to properly ravage Occtis, he seems to have taken an unnatural liking to blowing Julien. His eyes get all hazy the way Julien has seen in some establishments of repute and he is able to influence the boy to do nearly anything with just a gentle nudge. It terrifies him a little bit, the trust the younger man places in a lover. But then Occtis looks at him, silently begging with tears gathering at the lashes of his terrifyingly inhuman eyes, and Julien gives in.
“How are we going to get him washed and in bed?” Thaisha asks. Julien blanches. The idea of being stripped in front of her upsets him, but he knows she at least would pretend to have seen nothing after the fact. Vaelus he is not sure of, and to be bare in front of Aranessa in such a way would be unbearable.
“I can handle it.” Occtis pipes up, and that squeaky little voice has never sounded so sweet. “I doubt he really wants to be naked in front of any of us—"
Thaisha mutters something likely derogatory and Julien vows revenge. But in a few days, or whenever he can stand without collapsing.
“—but it’s likely easier in front of another man.” Occtis finishes, a little lamely.
“I second this plan.” Julien says, to collective skepticism from the trio of women. Aranessa even interrupts her quiet conversation with Vaelus to fix Julien with a look designed to keep him in check. He heaves a dramatic sigh. “I swear on my sword that I will not attempt to harm Occtis if you leave us alone so that I may undress in peace. I am in no condition to fight anyhow.”
“I dunno, you look fine to me,” Thaisha says and Julien uses his paltry strength to flip her off.
“Alright,” Aranessa says, trying to stop any fights before they start, “let’s listen to Julien on this subject. It is his own privacy we are discussing here.”
“Thank you,” Julien says.
“Don’t push it,” she says, turning back to Vaelus.
Vaelus continues in an aside to Aranessa, as if there had never been a pause, “It’s an extension of my meditative practice. I can show you a basic technique once we get to the room.”
Oh, that is blatant. He squints at her and swears she glances down to wink at him before exiting the room.
“Well, I suppose...” Aranessa sounds more amused than flustered. Julien still wishes he was actually knocked out so he wouldn’t spend the rest of the night worrying about whatever that meant.
“Fine.” Thaisha says skeptically, then addresses Occtis. “You can knock on the wall if you need help though, you know that.”
“Yes, I know,” Occtis says. Julien imagines he’s giving her a reassuring smile, the little rat.
She closes the door with a decisive click (so it’s a nice inn, he thinks), and they sit there in silence before Occtis presses at his shoulder.
“Come on, get up. I was serious about making sure you weren’t covered in mud.”
“I can do that myself,” Julien grumbles, gritting his teeth as he pushes up onto his elbows.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Occtis says, voice heavy with sarcasm. He comes around front of Julien with the actual bucket of hot water they managed to find and a washrag, the bucket thunks when he sets it down heavily.
“You are not serious.”
“Dead serious,” his mouth twitches at his own joke.
“That was a terrible joke.” Julien says with as much disapproval as he can manage.
“No accounting for taste,” Occtis sniffs, kneeling and studying Julien’s armor like a particularly distasteful puzzle. The women had managed to strip him of his pauldron and gauntlet, but his light armor remained along with the remnants of his shirt. His braes remained mercifully untouched by everything but the blood and mud, and they were dark anyway.
“Start with the belt,” he says. “You may move my arm, I just can’t do it under my own power. I think buttons might be alright though,” he trails off. Not that there was any reason he couldn’t move it other than the lingering fear that his guts might fall out if he does.
Occtis listens, unbuckling his belt and the two clasps that hold his jacket on, but for some reason goes for the simple leather bracer on his right arm next, fiddling with the little buckles there. He somehow thought Occtis would understand that he could undo these with his teeth, most clasps he could handle that way (knowledge that served multiple purposes).
Occtis catches him staring and shrugs. “You said you could do buttons.”
He undoes the buttons on his pants and the ties on his shirt with one hand, the other he leaves clasped across his stomach as a ward against the final starbursts of pain that linger after healing. Occtis gets stuck on his greaves, which are so simple he almost tells Occtis that a squire could have done this job in seconds, but bites his tongue. Precious few allies means putting up with a lot of bullshit from the ones you have, his father’s voice echoes in his head with startling clarity.
The grieve falls from his leg with a clatter, and Julien snaps, “Be careful with that.”
Occtis just sniffs again, used to his blustering, and moves to the other leg. They combine forces to strip Julien down to his smallclothes. Occtis turns some of the larger claw marks in his shirt and coat into smaller but still visible tears, and Julien manages to wipe his face clean of any mud and gore. He has to pause, letting his head hang between his legs as a wave of vertigo passes over him. There’s not much else he can manage himself—his newly regrown skin feels too delicate to scrub with whatever rag he might find—and so it remains tacky with drying blood. His hair is likely disgusting, laying lank against his back. He is so tired. If he could, he would curl up on the floor and sleep in a puddle of his own blood.
“Julien?” Occtis’ voice filters in past his arms. When Julien grunts in acknowledgement, Occtis asks, “Am I making the decisions now?” Julien flips him off.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” Occtis says. Julien winds up to fight him with energy he doesn’t have. Cold hands take hold of his cheek. “Julien,” Occtis says, with the nerve to sound gentle.
“What,” Julien says peevishly.
“I’m washing you and your hair, and then you’re going to bed, alright?” He appears to be waiting for Julien to agree, so he nods again. Occtis can’t quite figure out a comfortable way to wash his hair, so he just gets it wet and uses one of the little discs of soap he stole from the Fang house to scrub at Julien’s scalp. There is much to be desired of his skill, but he lets Occtis go at it, allowing himself to be manhandled. It feels… oddly nice. He’s been cared for, sure, but not when he’s been recently gored. There’s a kind of pride a man takes in being able to lick his wounds in solitude, and Julien truly expected this to feel like a humiliation. Occtis doesn’t seem to see it that way, so it becomes bearable.
Julien groans when Occtis scratches at just the right spot. “Is that a good noise or a bad one?” Occtis asks.
“Good,” Julien hums, pressing into his delicate hands. When it is time to rinse, Julien lets himself be dipped backwards, the base of his skull resting on the rim of the bucket as Occtis scoops handfuls of water over the crown of his head.
“Make sure to squeeze it out when I lift my head up,” Julien says. It falls back against his back in a single damp clump. It is going to look a mess for the next however long. He has a routine with scrunching and letting his hair air dry, but it’s a minor thing compared to nearly dying.
Occtis moves further into his field of vision, suds still clinging to the side of his left arm, and just looks at him, gnawing on his bottom lip. It’s a very mortal habit to have; one that reminds him that there is a human in there after all. Occtis tips Julien’s chin up a little to kiss him, and though the tenderness ought to disgust him, it’s as if a bubble has formed around them, starting from when Julien first allowed Occtis to dote on him earlier in the night, and amplified by the warmth of the water and the wizard’s hands.
In truth, he isn’t thinking much at all anymore. He’s just being kissed, touched gently, and he responds in kind. Occtis makes a fluttery noise when Julien wraps a hand around the back of his neck, tugging him closer.
He slides into Julien’s lap, soiling his trousers and shirt with bloody water, but he clearly doesn’t care. Julien lets him lead for once. He grabs at the younger man’s ass, making him yelp. Occtis’ shirt is wet and semi transparent in a way that makes his being clothed more obscene; Julien desperately wants to pull his shirttails out of his trousers, run his hands up the wizard’s back and trace the uneven bumps of his spine. He kisses up to the spot under his ear that makes Occtis shiver, scraping over it with his teeth and hissing when a hand in his hair pulls taut.
“No marks,” Occtis pants, and when Julien whines a little complaint, says, “Oh hush,” and tuts as though Julien is a disobedient pet. Julien’s eyelids flutter. He typically does not entertain being admonished in bed, but after long enough of being gentled like an animal, Julien wants to roll over and beg.
“Fuck me,” he demands, which is only slightly less demeaning than begging.
“You literally just had a giant gaping stomach wound?” Occtis says.
“And you’re dead, are we just listing things that are true?” Julien snaps.
“Julien.”
“Don’t ‘Julien’ me. I know what I’m asking for.” Julien takes a moment to collect himself before doing something potentially very stupid. He looks into Occtis’ eyes and gives him an opening. “Trust me.”
He’s asking for something; giving the younger man an opening and praying he won’t use it to hurt him. Occtis' chest moves erratically, his eyes darting across Julien’s face looking for something, some sort of falsehood. He lowers himself towards Julien until their lips are brushing.
“Are you going to be nice to me if I do?” he asks him.
Julien smirks. “When am I ever not nice?”
Occtis wraps a hand in Julien’s hair and tugs sharply so his whole body jerks. “Julien,” he says sternly.
Oh fuck, so it’s like that.
“What?” Julien says and gets another sharp tug for his insolence and can’t hide his smile.
“Are you going to be good for me?”
“Yes,” he says, half drunk on it already.
Occtis kisses him, and all the terror and the hunger of the day comes spilling out. Julien makes quick work of his shirt buttons while Occtis is distracted, giving himself a good view of the man’s chest. The unsightly scar is surprisingly pedestrian, just a dark line down his abdomen that stops at the now crooked whorl of his naval. It hooks left by his pectoral and little keloidal cluster of scar tissue right over his heart. Julien does not examine how that makes him feel. He lets his head drop back so Occtis can suck a bruise right over his jugular and decides to let his lover take over for a while.
This is not something he does often, a treat for a man of frequent indulgences. It’s more that he cannot find anyone he trusts to actually take care of him, paid or unpaid. It was easier during the war. People understood what it was to put their life on the line and so when Julien exposed his neck it was taken with appropriate gravity. It did not help that when he did submit, there really was only one person on his mind.
Occtis is not the type of man he lets push him around; he is foolish and weak, and cannot even hold a sword properly. But Julien is tired and Occtis has already seen him in a deeply humiliating state, there’s no more face for him to lose. However, if he ever asks for this again, Julien will blame it on the blood loss. His decision is affirmed when the younger man pointedly avoids the new livid scar on his stomach and reaches for his cock without prompting.
Occtis pulls him out of his small clothes, stroking him lazily for a while. He has a simple spell to summon a small amount of lubricant and someday Julien will learn how to perform it. For now it just makes the glide of his hand smoother and Julien’s soft approving noises drop lower, coming from deep inside his chest. His hips chase Occtis’ hand; the boy pulls away and Julien whines. Occtis seems to enjoy this little game, making Julien beg for it until Julien, ever the hedonist, loses patience.
He stops Occtis with a hand on his chest. “I meant it when I said I want you to fuck me.”
Occtis’s eyes flash wide for a moment. Julien can’t look away from the slick of saliva on his lips, not red as they ought to be, but dark with whatever passes for blood in his nightmare of a body. “Oh, like, fuck you, fuck you?” Occtis says, his voice once again pitching high with uncertainty. Julien gives him a very unimpressed look and Occtis shrugs helplessly at him. “I don’t know! I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“That much is apparent," he says, patting Occtis’ cheek condescendingly before pulling him back in with a hand at the back of his head. He gives him just a taste of what he wants before letting go. “I can walk you through it.”
Occtis groans, letting his head hang down between his shoulders for a moment. “Okay, so what I meant to ask was, do you just want my fingers or do you want to, uh, go further than that?”
Julien is never having sex with someone this hopelessly inexperienced again. “I thought you were making decisions, or have you decided to give up on that little charade? In which case I would prefer to take your cock.”
Occtis’ brows crease for a moment before something clicks in his head and he locks one of those awful cold hands around Julien’s throat. Not pressing down, just a threat.
“I forgot you were supposed to be good for me.”
“Oh no, I’m so scared,” Julien deadpans, but his eyes are bright with anticipation.
Occtis rolls his eyes and presses a very careful kiss against Julien’s lips, squeezing his neck slightly to feel him gasp. “Oh that is fun.” He sits back on his heels and wipes his wet palms on his equally damp trousers. “Can you get up on your own or do you need help?”
Julien groans. “Don’t make me stand,” he says even as he’s reaching for Occtis’ hand to help him up. Julien is still weak but manages to hobble over to the bed, collapsing heavily and stretching himself out with a pained groan. Occtis peers at him again with the same analytical frown.
“Are you ever going to take off your pants?” Julien asks.
Occtis shrugs again, clambering onto the bed and mirroring their position from before, finally tugging the rest of Julien’s clothing off. “I think I’ll get my mouth on you first, then we’ll see.”
Julien enjoys those few moments where Occtis is comfortable enough to take from him, but it’s good that even in the midst of this facade he knows his place. Julien indulges the man, resting a hand on the back of the wizard’s head as he takes Julien into his mouth. He must have an oral fixation, the boy is always chewing his thumbnail or a pen; it makes him a soft touch to most requests involving his mouth. Julien has never been as happy to discover someone liked getting their face fucked.
Julien takes advantage of Occtis’ lack of need for air to push himself to the back of his throat, feeling him gag and squeeze around him like a cunt. The last gasps of an automatic response the undead man likely does not realize he is performing manually. Occtis pulls off, drool dripping down his chin. He looks dazed in a way that typically would be a precursor to his falling deeper, letting Julien move him any which way until he came down his throat, or messily across his face. This time he pulls himself together. Julien is mildly impressed.
“I didn't tell you you could do that,” Occtis says, rasping over his words before swallowing hard.
“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t,” Julien replies like the brat he is.
Occtis takes several seconds to frown at him before responding very evenly, “Give me your hands.”
Julien offers his hands, wrists up, and allows Occtis to press them back to the bed on either side of his head.
“Stay,” he instructs. It’s how one speaks to a dog and Julien seethes. He smirks in a way he knows makes Occtis incandescently mad; he wants to catch the other man’s rage with his body and feel it all the rest of the next day. Instead Occtis sinks back down on him, hand wrapped around what he can’t reach, punishing.
He tries to focus on the pure sensation, the soft rolling hums that vibrate down his shaft whenever his lover is pleased with something. Fuck, how long has it been since he’s had him? A week at least, and never in a bed, not like this. He fights the urge to wrap his thighs around the boy’s head and make an utter fool of himself.
Occtis pulls off, wobbling on his hands and knees before righting himself and crawling up Julien’s body. Julien sucks the taste of himself off the boy’s tongue, and lets him roll his clothed hips down against him without complaint. There is a familiar zip of menthol dragging up his spine as Occtis’ magic sweeps over him, and he hisses when wet fingers tease against his hole.
“Cold,” he says, cringing away from the touch.
“Sorry,” Occtis says, pressing a brief kiss to Julien's lips in apology. “It’ll warm in a moment.”
“I know that,” Julien grouses, but closes his eyes to savor that first press inside him. This is a pleasure he knows well, and he lets his head fall back, mouth opening slightly as his skin remembers pleasure for the sake of it. The stereotypes about wizards are at least partially true: they’re precious about their hands, but the chance of them knowing what they’re working with is far higher. Julien would bet money Occtis has done research on this in the past, either on himself or in books. He doesn’t seem shocked when Julien asks for more and stretches him slowly, insisting on kissing him all the while. Him and his kissing, Julien thinks absently. The other man is clearly searching for his prostate and Julien is obligated to teach him how to find it.
“Curl your fingers up,” he says when they part for breath. “Good, do you know what you’re looking for?”
“You’ll tell me when I find it, I hope,” Occtis mumbles, forehead creased with focus. Soon after, Julien yelps. “Oh. is that—”
“Good, it’s good,” Julien says, keeping his voice steady. Occtis’s excitement is palpable, a little private grin nudging at the corners of his mouth.
“Really?” he asks. His smile bares a chip in his front tooth, gained during some recent skirmish. A sick wave of affection washes over Julien before he promptly shoves it away.
“Don’t get a big head about it,” Julien grumbles.
“You know, I wasn’t expecting this to be so similar to somatics,” Occtis says thoughtfully.
Julien pinches the bridge of his nose and groans,“Please don’t compare fingering me to your sorcery.”
“Why not?” Occtis says, “I mean, both take concentration, and you have to be pretty damn precise with some spells, unless you want to teleport someone into a wall.”
“It’s overplayed—ah—” Julien’s voice rises into a moan that he stops with the heel of his hand.
“And?” Occtis says, leaning in close as if Julien might whisper what he couldn’t scream. He tries to snap, to spit in his face, but Occtis tips his head to the side and nibbles at his neck until he stops fighting.
It’s not that the other man is supernaturally talented by any means—Julien has had better, and often—but Occtis is simply a quick learner and quite curious, which when combined with Julien’s relative dry spell, leads to intense reactions. That’s all.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Occtis says, more for his own pleasure than Julien’s. “I didn’t know what it would feel like, being inside someone.”
“Bullshit,” Julien says, trying to keep their rapport going. Anything to distract from the pressure building inside him. Occtis scrunches his nose at Julien, stilling his hand, and Julien has to hold his breath to keep from whining. To deflect, he goads, “I think you’ve done this before, yes? Touched yourself like this in that awful little hovel of a dorm?”
Occtis’s grin turns bashful. “Maybe.”
Julien chuckles and moans, his head pushing back into the pillow. The thought of Occtis spread out on a creaky bed, trying to figure out how to make himself come on his own fingers—it’s a mirror of his own experiences, he knows, but fuck. He twitches around the other man’s fingers and gets a minute movement in response.
“You could tell me about that, hm? What was it like, touching yourself the way you’re touching me?” Julien pants, open mouthed, hoping his appearance will be enough to sway the man to speak.
“I, uh. Never had a room of my own, not in my parents’ house. You can imagine there were… experiments I intended to undertake once I finally had privacy. It was nice,” Occtis says. If he was alive Julien knows there would be a deep flush across the wizard’s face as he looks away. “Well. Nice is maybe an understatement. I spent about a week figuring out everything. The basics. Things I didn’t know I could do to myself but wanted anyway. I didn’t know much, but I had my anatomy books and my imagination.”
“And your right hand,” Julien says dryly.
“The first time I touched myself like this. Felt so good, I thought I would die,” Occtis says, looking up at Julien, dragging the fingers of his other hand very lightly up his shaft. “I thought, ‘This is why they say not to touch yourself in the Creed, because no one would ever stop.’”
“Tell me you didn’t buy into that purity bullshit.” Julien holds his breath to keep from begging.
“No, I—no,” Occtis laughs at himself. “This was all I could think about for ages, after I started wanting someone in a more-than-theoretical way. I knew there was more. More that I still don’t know. And I want to find out.” He brushes his lips against Julien’s, kissing across his cheekbone and into his hair. “I want to know what it feels like when you come on my fingers,” Occtis says, just loud enough for him to hear. Julien finds he might not be opposed to helping him out with that.
“Occtis, please,” he pleads.
Occtis gasps, and Julien can feel a tremor run through his hand. “I—say that again.”
“Please—please fuck me,” Julien is just saying it because he needs to come.
“No, the uh. My name, like that.”
“Occtis,” Julien breathes and Occtis shudders, something very clearly clicking into place inside of him.
“I’ve never… heard…” he trails off before launching himself forward and kissing Julien hard. Every pretense of restraint abandoned, Occtis pumps his fingers faster, hard enough to prise little moans out of Julien. They pause for a moment, but only for Occtis to see if Julien can take a third finger. Julien grins wildly at the pleasant burn, baring his teeth against it as he always does to pain, until it subsides and allows Occtis to take him as he wishes.
He appreciates not being treated like he’s delicate. Some men do, when they have him like this. They think he wants romance because he’s the one receiving. He wants nothing less, and despises the assumption. Occtis fucks him with a frenzied focus Julien leans hard into; his newly grown stomach muscles cramp from the way he’s clenching and unclenching them. If only Julien could touch himself, he would come harder than he has in months. Occtis keeps swatting his hands away when he tries, giving his cock just enough stimulation to make it unbearable as he tests varying patterns of speed and force on Julien.
“I can’t come untouched,” he snaps, between heavy breaths, “I hope you know that.”
“Oh, good,” Occtis says, “I was hoping.” He pauses with his fingers just brushing the place where Julien wants them. “Tell me why you decided to pull that idiotic move with the bear today?”
Julien blinks, confused.
“I mean it,” Occtis says, grabbing Julien’s chin with his free hand and forcing him to look up. “We had a plan, you agreed to it. And even if you made a different decision in the moment, why would you throw yourself to a nearly certain death instead of trusting the rest of us to protect Aranessa if needed. Do you not care if you live or die?”
Julien groans. Not now with the fucking lectures. “No, I don’t care, now keep fucking me,” he says.
“No,” the wizard says, his fingers unmoving inside Julien. “I figured, if sex is such a good motivator, you might feel compelled to hear me out if it was your orgasm on the line.”
There is playing dirty and then there is whatever the fuck Occtis is doing. Julien could have been proud if it wasn’t him suffering at the other end of it. “What would you have had me do?” he says coolly.
“Well, ideally, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into mortal danger when there was another way!”
“If there was another way, that’s no guarantee any of you would have found it before I got to that beast,” Julien says. He can feel his eye twitching uncontrollably.
He reaches down to touch himself. Occtis moves quickly, pinning his hand back in place against the pillow. “Promise me you won’t do the same suicidal bullshit again and I’ll make you come,” he orders.
“Gods—next time I want you to fuck me like this, I don’t even care if you yell at me the whole time,” Julien admits, squirming.
“Julien, be serious. Please.”
At the sound of a waver in Occtis’s voice, Julien sobers quickly. He lifts his free hand—not to touch himself, but to pull Occtis closer, pressing their foreheads together.
“I mean it,” Occtis continues, his grave expression taking on an edge of desperation. “How could you possibly protect Aranessa if you’re dead?”
The Tachonis care little for their servants and Seremai knights alike; steward and rule over, maybe, but not care. Not in the way his Lady has. Her kindness earns more loyalty than Julien could ever sacrifice in one lifetime. He is a knight of Faerie, and as long as she lives, he still means something.
“It’s my sworn duty to protect her as long as I can, even if it means giving my life. Were I to die in her service, she could—could find another knight. A replacement.” His voice skips when Occtis hooks hard into his prostate, his head pressing back hard into the pillow.
“She would not find another knight,” Occtis hisses, his artificial breath stuttering with the effort, “and I can’t find another shadow.”
Julien gapes soundlessly for a moment. A fine tremor runs underneath Occtis’s skin. “You swore you would not let me rest until we killed my family,” Occtis spits. “What does it say about your ‘knighthood’ that you would default on your promises so easily?”
Aranessa’s earlier accusation rings in Julien’s ears. He grits his teeth. “I don’t default on promises. I break them. There’s a difference.”
“Make me a new promise, then. One you’ll actually keep.”
Julien glares in return. “You can’t possibly be that stupid.” It’s a poor attempt to throw him off the scent. Occtis just kisses him lightly—a lover’s kiss. Acid gathers in the back of Julien’s throat.
“Fine, I’ll do it for you. Promise me that you’ll wait for me. When you have a stupid suicidal plan, I’ll run with you.” He pulls back enough to meet Julien’s gaze, his terrifying poisonous eyes lancing through him. Julien finds it physically difficult to look at him. “Promise me,” he repeats.
“I cannot promise that,” Julien says flatly.
“Fine,” Occtis frowns. “Then—how about, just wait an extra second before you break from the plan, and give one of us time to step in and help?”
Julien thinks of Aranessa, and of countless nightmares where she lies dead, torn to shreds so small he can’t recognize her anymore. “That is going to get us killed.”
Occtis throws his free hand up in frustration. “Don’t try and get yourself killed, then.”
Julien hesitates. “If I say ‘yes’, you have to do the same.”
“I’m already doing that!” Occtis exclaims.
“Fine!” Julien spits.
The boy stares at him, unblinking, in a way that would be unbearable to the normal Julien, the one who isn’t at his mercy of his own accord. In the light of early winter, his eyes seem to glow brighter than they ever have. Julien hates him.
He hates him for existing when everyone else he ever loved does not. He fucks him because it’s the closest to home he is ever going to get, and if he says it enough, he might begin to believe himself.
Julien moans into Occtis’ mouth when his hand starts moving again; he is close, pressing his entire body back into the touch, fucking himself down so he can feel the sharp shock of it.
“You promise?” Occtis says, still so unsure despite his hawkish stare.
He’s made worse vows.
“I promise."
“Thank you,” Occtis says—like he’s taking his last rites, so relieved he’s shaking. He reaches down to stroke Julien properly, and it takes very little to push him over the edge. Julien squeezes his own throat as he comes, letting the pressure mute his cry. He lets Occtis keep fucking him even after he’s come, writhing with overstimulation. This, Julien knows very well: pain is best endured at someone else’s behest.
When Occtis pulls out, he prestidigitates his hands clean and wraps himself around Julien, as close as he can get.
“Your pants are going to get dirty,” Julien slurs into the crown of his head.
“Mm, don’t care.”
Julien is feeling generous, so he asks, “Do you want anything from me?”
“I don’t know.” Occtis’s voice is small.
“Do I need to make the decisions now?” He runs a hand through Occtis’s downy black hair, pushing it away from his damp forehead. Occtis doesn’t respond, just digs his nose into Julien’s chest. Julien sighs and rolls the both of them onto their sides, tugging at the waistband of Occtis’ pants.
“You need to tell me if you don't want this,” he says.
“I want it,” Occtis whispers, nearly too quiet to be heard.
Julien undoes the buttons and shimmies Occtis’ pants down his hips until he can properly touch him. He’s only half hard, but that’s typical.
“I’m sorry,” Occtis says. Julien nips his ear sharply in reproach.
“No apologies. I can make you come like this too,” he says, one hand low on Occtis’ stomach, rubbing along the line of dark hair that leads down to his groin.
Occtis snorts derisively, although his expression is not that of a confident man. “Prove it.”
Julien takes his words as a challenge. He kisses Occtis, slow and dirty, the way he likes but won’t admit to. He smiles at the responding shaky sigh and teases him until he squirms, before kissing his way down Occtis’s skinny chest. Julien digs into the soft spots he already knows, spending a good amount of time sucking marks into his thighs, thumbing the new bruises just under his hip bones until Occtis is shaking with need.
Tragically, he never fully gets hard but at least he still feels pleasure. Julien can work with that. He takes him in as deep as he dares, one hand running lower behind his balls. The shocked gasp Occtis makes when Julien rubs his perineum firmly, pressing and rocking with the pad of his thumb, is priceless.
“What—oh Gods, Julien.”
Julien knows that sound: overwhelm and desire and shame all muddled into one. He sinks deeper.
“Why does that—how?” Occtis can barely speak, running out of oxygen before he remembers to force another breath in.
Julien ignores his babbling, twisting his hand around the base as his other hand continues to rub little circles into his taint. Occtis’s back bows off the bed. “Oh, oh fuck—!” He pats the top of Julien’s head urgently, and Julien just swallows hard around him. Occtis comes hard, shouting into his hand in surprise and agonizing pleasure. His body twists, pulled taut for a long moment before his muscles tremble and give out. Julien swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm when he pulls away. He’s caught by a pair of cold hands and pulled close again, head against the seam of Occtis’s chest.
“Stay,” he breathes, and Julien does. Just out of the kindness of his heart.
“Tomorrow I can fuck you properly,” Julien says, just to hear Occtis groan.
“I think that might kill me,” Occtis wizard wheezes.
“You’ve survived worse,” Julien replies.
Occtis snorts with the good humor of the recently fucked. “Shut up.”
Julien settles easily as he always does after sex, waking with his lover now the one curled up on his chest. Their breathing has synced at some point in the night and if he closes his eyes they feel like one oddly shaped body. It’s the safest he’s felt in ages, and he doesn’t want to look at that too closely either. Some things are better left well alone.
(If there was a way to kill someone for loving you, Julien would have found it by now.)