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The lights of Piramida stand tall, glowing softly against the indigo night. Illuga steps onto the platform of the lift that will take him to the city with leaden steps. He's damp, covered in mud and ichor from his last skirmish on the way home through the mires. Cold, wet, and ready for bed—he laments that he can't make the lift to move along any faster.
The ride feels like it takes hours. As the platform rises into the darkness, the winds swirl and dance erratically in the cold air. He crosses his arms and shivers.
Finally, the platform grinds and comes to a halt, metal screeching against metal. The lights are warm and welcoming at least, suffused with yellow warmth.
He's grateful in times like these that his home is close to the lift stations. But as he approaches the front door, Illuga stops short of pulling the door handle open. Something feels wrong.
Peering inside the window, he can see that there's a light coming from the interior of his sitting room. He knows he's not in the habit of leaving a fire roaring in the hearth, nor candles lit on the dinner table—besides, he's been gone since the morning before the sun rose.
Someone's in his house right now, and he has a hunch who is.
Ratnik Flins does not flinch when Illuga bursts in. He doesn't even look up at Illuga, actually, so engrossed is he in reading one of Illuga's books. Sitting on Illuga's sofa, back straight, all proper and not at all like a normal person. He looks more like a nobleman than anything even though he wears the black coat of a Lightkeeper—he's not made of the same rough stuff as the rest of the Ratniki.
"I see you've made yourself comfortable," Illuga says. It comes out more brusquely than he intends, but he chalks that up to his exhaustion. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting," he adds, but now he just sounds sarcastic.
Oh well. That's what the man gets for breaking and entering.
Finally, Flins looks up from the armchair. "Not at all, Master Illuga. I know the road from the cliffs of Kipumaki to Piramida is long." He places a bookmark between the pages, sets the volume down, and approaches with a warm smile.
…and where the hell did he find a bookmark?
Illuga sighs, reaching down to begin removing his filthy clothing. The muddy gaiters are unfastened first, then he works to unlace his swamp-soaked boots. "Please remind me, Sir Flins, if my father recommended you for a mentorship—or did he make you my warden?"
"What's all this about mentorship? Or a warden? Your father bade me assist the young master," Flins muses, eyeing the muddy mess Illuga tracks in. "Your duties seem to increase tenfold with each one of my visits."
"Well. Mentorship was how it was presented to me," Illuga says. The knee guards come off next, then his gloves. "To learn from someone who is experienced and reliable. The old man is right to recognize your breadth of knowledge. I just didn't expect him to— I don't know. Send you to be waiting for me when I get home."
Next to him, Flins offers a hand. "Allow me to take your coat."
Illuga gives him a sidelong glance. "There's no need for you to do this. You're technically my guest," he says after a beat, shrugging the coat from his shoulders.
Flins takes the coat at its collar, and the tips of his long fingers brush against Illuga's nape.
Illuga's hand finds that point of touch, rubbing at it mindlessly before he even realizes what he's doing. Flins takes the garment to a coatrack, carefully hanging it from one of the pegs. "Your father did not send me here tonight. Only early this week, he did suggest I come to see how you were faring. I believe the Starshyna is leading his latest campaign toward the northern tip of the island as we speak. He asks after you."
"He writes to me too, you know." Another sigh. Illuga collects his bearings—he's not on duty anymore. For the rest of the night, he can—he should—get some rest. He's being short with Flins, unnecessarily, and he knows it. "Thank you, Sir Flins. For…" What? All this doting? The companionship on a cold night that he liked but never had the courage to ask for? "For lighting the hearth before I arrived."
"It is my pleasure. Have you eaten yet this evening?"
Illuga's gaze wandered over the room to his small dining table. A place was set. "Had some coffee and bread around noon."
"That won't do. There's a meal on the table, and…" Flins slides a hand into his coat, revealing a flash of silver. In his gloved hand—a flask. "A bit of drink to warm the chill in your bones."
Illuga thinks better of indulging in a drink tonight. There's no telling when someone will come calling, frantically knocking at his door for some task or errand, so he'd like to keep his wits about him. As much as he'd like too…
"I should bathe first."
"Very well. Would you like some assistance washing your hair?"
Illuga turns his face sharply to hide the color of his face. "No, thank you. Please pardon me as I make you wait a bit longer."
"Worry not, this will allow me to finish the chapter I was reading. I believe I'm just on the brink of the story's most exciting part."
Illuga descends the stairs from the bathroom with a thin, cotton robe draped around his shoulders. He's barefooted, hair still wet from his bath.
Flins had moved to Illuga's small dinner table in the interim, sitting across the place of where a plate was set. He turns the page of his book—Illuga's book—but looks up upon his host's arrival.
"Have you eaten something already?" Illuga asked, taking his seat. He didn't realize how hungry he was until now, and he was practically salivating. "I feel bad eating here while you just sit and watch."
"I already have eaten. Besides, your company is enough to sate me." Flins's flask was open, sitting on the table, and took a pull from it. Illuga makes him food sometimes, and Flins hardly seems to have an appetite. But he's fond of the drink.
Illuga has seen that silver flask many times before. Has drunk from it many times himself.
"Please, have some," Flins insists, holding it out to him.
"I really shouldn't…" Illuga muses as he begins tucking into his meal. "And I have some cups you can use."
"Indulge me in some camaraderie?"
"It's not like we're out there surveying the land, trying to warm ourselves around a campfire." But Illuga can't stand that tenacious, wheedling glint in Flins's eye. He takes the flask, and as he brings it toward his face, the familiar bright, stinging scent of fire-water fills his nose. He stares at the vessel for a long moment. "Just a bit won't hurt, I suppose."
He doesn't remember exactly when he'd gotten used to the taste. And fire-water unmistakably makes him think of Flins.
Illuga takes a second drink, then slides the flask across the table. Now it is Flins's turn. They will take turns, drinking back and forth.
"I always wondered how the drink never seems to dull your senses," Illuga says, buttering a piece of dark bread.
"Time and experience must have lent themselves to a hearty tolerance."
Illuga chews slowly, wondering for the first time where even Flins gets this stuff. The Ratniki join the Lightkeepers for almost any reason but the income. "Fire-water doesn't cost a fortune?"
"A fortune is relative. And good fire-water is oft worth a higher price. But I have my ways, Master Illuga, for we are not so far from Snezhnaya." He shakes the flask, measuring with his ear. "We have a little over half left, and I'm not so keen on drinking the rest by myself. It would be overindulgence to drink it by myself."
"And I suppose I’ve no choice but to help you with this matter."
They manage to make a solid dent by the time Illuga finishes eating. He puts the fork and knife atop his empty plate, then takes it to the washbasin in the kitchen. This is a nice departure from the lonely nights that he's used to.
"Thank you again for coming." Illuga stands in front of Flins's seated figure, looking down on the man for once.
"Shall I send you off to bed?" Flins asks innocuously.
"Sir Flins, please stop teasing me. A caretaker's job doesn't suit a well-respected Ratnik such as yourself."
"Teasing you? I asked a genuine question."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded like someone trying to sneak into my bedroom."
"That's a coarse way to put it," Flins said as he stood. Pressing a hand to his breast, he feigns offense—and poorly, at that.
"You don't look sorry in the least." Now, Illuga was forced to look up to the taller man, who leaned over Illuga a little more closely than ever before. "Are you waiting for me to invite you upstairs?"
A smile dances at the corner of Flins's lips. He gives Illuga an expectant stare.
"Come on then. And didn't you say you wanted to finish that fire-water tonight?"
His bedroom sits at the top of the house's tower, a structure that was created as one of Piramida's first lighthouses. The bedroom is second to the top level, only accessible by a very tall and winding set of stairs that, after a few more swigs from a flask, seem to spiral into infinity. The staircase was dark, and Illuga felt his way up with the stair rail.
Flins trails a few steps after Illuga, sure to catch him if he falls. And if Flins noticed Illuga was warm in the face as they worked their way through the flask, then he didn't say anything about it.
Finally, they reach the landing of the bedroom. It's small and circular, furnished with simple necessities—Illuga spends little of his time here. But it's cozy, and Illuga blows the dust from his bedside lamp before igniting it, suffusing the room with a soft glow.
"Now, Young Master," Flins says, prying the flask from Illuga's fingers. "I believe it is time for you to retire."
"Since when did you become the arbitrator of my bedtime?" Illuga scoffs. He takes the flask back, finishing the rest of the fire-water in two gulps. "And what are you doing lingering here
"Is there anything else you require before I take my leave?
"You're leaving?" Illuga glances at the small clock on his nightstand, squinting to make out the direction of the hour hand. "It's close to midnight. I'd can't send even someone as capable and experienced as yourself out alone. The Hunt roams everywhere in the night, you should know better. What if you were to get hurt?"
"That would be most unfortunate," Flins adds, screwing the cap of the flask back on. "But that is the risk we all take with each night watch. Fear not for me—have you ever seen me harmed? I manage to keep my own lighthouse in isolation, and trouble avoids me there."
"There's shelter and light at your home. But you'll still have to walk the roads alone and take the ferry…"
"Ah, I suppose it is good to remember that each parting could be our last. I ought to make an impressionable goodbye, then," Flins says, reaching down to brush strands of hair away from Illuga's face. Illuga's lashes flutter, and for the briefest of moments, he allows himself to revel in the cool sensation of leather against his flushed face…
But not for too long. "Just sleep on the sofa," he murmurs, turning his face to the side as Flins presses his nose into the crown of Illuga's hair.
"I would hate to take advantage of your hospitality.
"Or take a bunk in the mess hall if you can't bear— wait, what am I even saying? Stop this teasing, Sir Flins."
Flins's fingers trace their way down the column of Illuga's nape. "Hmm? Teasing?"
"Stop acting coy. You're always teasing me…" But the soothing motions of Flins's fingers are distracting, and his trail of thoughts fall into disarray. It's hard to focus on anything but the feather-light touches moving lower, sliding under the collar of his shirt. "Plying me with a drink… toying with me…"
"The young master is in my care," Flins states. So simply, so matter-of-fact. His own justification for this behavior.
Illuga feels his face turn as Flins crooks a finger under his chin, tilting his gaze upward. In the light of a single candle, Flins's eyes glow in the lamplight like warm honey.
Illuga gets lost in it, drowning in the warmth of his gaze like moths lost to flame.
"Pray tell—is there anything else the young master desires before I take my leave?"
Illuga scrunches up his face. Of course, there's nothing Flins would like more in the world than to coax a certain answer out of him.
Flins appears delighted by whatever expression is sweeping across Illuga's face. "You've contorted your face, mired in thought. I take it that there is, indeed, something you would like?"
Fine. Illuga lowers his voice. If he was blushing before, his face must look like a cherry at this point. "A kiss. Kiss me, please."
Another soft chuckle. "That, I am able to provide." He takes one of Illuga's hands, raising it until he can press his lips to Illuga's knuckles. "I hold a deep and unwavering admiration for you."
Illuga narrows his eyes, but he doesn't pull his hand away yet. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. You—you infuriate me."
"I've displeased you, Master Illuga?" Flins raises his brow in question, gently squeezing Illuga's hand. "Tell me, how shall I rectify this misstep of mine? Would you like to dismiss me?
"No. Come here."
"Is that an order?
Illuga grabs the front of Flins's coat in a fist, pulling him down until the tips of their noses threaten to touch. His knees part a bit, and Flins's body slots between his legs. "My rank does not surpass yours. And even if it did, I wouldn't abuse it to give you petty orders like that."
"Soon, you will eclipse me in rank.
"Soon being relative. And I'll never surpass your seniority.
"Now you've taken to calling me old? How uncouth."
"That's not what I said." Illuga frowns as hard as he can to make a point, but that only serves to make Flins's smile curl a bit more. Illuga can feel the cool tip of a finger sliding across his collarbone, trailing down his sternum, finding its way between the parting of his ribcage— "And you're being vulgar! All in the guise of your cordialness and charm."
"Say the word, and I shall cease this vulgar behavior that the young master seems to like so well."
Illuga responds with a final, sharp tug, pulling Flins down for a kiss—a proper kiss this time.
Flins's kisses are calm and measured. Compared to him, Illuga feels like a puppy lapping at Flins's mouth, starved for every scrap of affection he can get. Flins moves his lips to press a light, playful kiss to the tip of Illuga's nose before returning to Illuga's lips again. Illuga wants them to weave and crash together; Flins wants to relish this infuriatingly slow, savoring this like sips of fine wine.
Flins’s hands run along the shape of Illuga’s waist. Illuga feels his arms wrap around Flins's neck. He tries to pull himself closer, seeking the warmth of another body. This intimacy, this attention, all these kisses—Illuga wants more.
But Flins withdraws his hand and pulls away for a moment. Scanning Illuga's face, he seems to like what he sees below him. And then—not even a little breathless—he repeats himself. "Now—is there anything else the young master desires?"
Illuga chews on his bottom lip. "Why did you stop?" he whispers.
"Should a mentor cater to every whim of his protégé? Overindulgence is a sure way to spoil you."
"You can't leave me like this."
"And what do you mean by that?" Flins asked it so innocuously, like he didn't know the exact way to rile Illuga up. "Specificity would serve us both in this instance."
Illuga can feel his hands balling into fists, catching some of Flins's hair. "I… I'm all worked up. All thanks to you. Take some responsibility and help me. Please."
Feigning a sudden realization, Flins’s expression lights up. "Ah, perhaps you crave more of my touch?"
Flins's hand slides down to Illuga's chest, trailing down until it rests on Illuga's belly. His thumb is dangerously close to slipping into the waistband of Illuga's pants. Then his hand moves even lower until it rested between Illuga's legs, gently cupping an erection that was sorely unattended to. Then he gives a soft squeeze, slowly rubbing his palm up and down. Illuga squeezes his eyes shut. Whatever breath he was supposed to take was caught in his throat. Oh, this feels really good.
But he won't give Flins the satisfaction of saying that out loud. Instead, he focuses on taking the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head.
He doesn't miss how Flins's eyes flit over his body, drinking in the sight.
"Don't act like you didn't have the slightest idea of what you were doing. You like watching me squirm."
Flins's smiles like he might devour him whole. "That, I do."
Illuga frowns. "Take off your coat."
Flins slowly unbuckles the fastenings of his coat, then neatly folds it over the back of a chair. "I am at your service, Master Illuga."
Illuga scoffs and blushes at the same time. "We're indoors, you know."
"Forgive me. I was under the impression until recently that I'd be taking my leave at this hour."
"Just—sit down, will you?"
Flins sits on the edge of the mattress, and he's positively bubbling with mirth. Illuga knows he's probably pouting, something that Flins is keen on for some godsforsaken reason—an expression that's endearing to him. Why the man makes light of such silly things, Illuga has no idea.
But he does know what he wants right now, so he swings his leg over, settling himself atop Flins's lap. Between his legs, Illuga can feel a telltale bulge of Flins's growing erection pressed against his own.
Illuga pushes his hips forward, delighting in the way Flins's breath hitches, the way his gaze falls out of focus.
"May I kiss you again, Young Master?"
"Why all these questions?" Illuga huffs. "Just do it."
Flins kisses him a little more insistently this time. He wraps his hands around Illuga's waist, around his back. Up and down, mapping Illuga's body with his touch.
Illuga slides his body back and forth, pressing their cocks against each other through their clothing. The pleasure coiling in his core is accelerating at a rapid pace, growing and growing with a voracious hunger. Illuga kisses Flins back with a desperate ferocity, grinding their bodies back and forth.
Flins turns his head to take the tip of a gloved finger between his teeth, pulling it from his hand. He moves so quickly, Illuga hardly notices until Flins's deft fingers are unfastening his trousers
A little tipsy, a little emboldened, Illuga takes Flins's erection into his hands, wrapping his fingers around the length, then slowly pumps his fist up and down.
Flins's lashes flutter and he groans—a deep, reverberating sound that stirs excitement in Illuga's gut. He alternates slow movements with faster ones, admiring the minuscule changes in Flins's expression—little tells of what he likes best. He groans again when Illuga concentrates his attention toward the head of the cock, swiping his thumb over the slit where he finds a bead of precum.
Illuga brings his thumb to his mouth, and Flins watches with rapt interest as Illuga licks the saltiness from the tip of his finger.
Flins slips his hands under the waistband of Illuga's sleep pants. He slides them to cup the shape of Illuga's ass, and then they trace the waistband to the bulge at the front. Flins free's Illuga's erection, cupping his balls as he traces a finger up and down the length of the shaft.
Illuga watches it all with rapt interest, trying to focus his sight as the edges of his vision go hazy. Squirming on top of Flins's lap, he feels a moan being pulled from the back of his throat as he presses his hips forward, seeking more friction. Flins looks up with a coy grin—his princely mien conceals an animal look in his ravenous eyes.
Illuga breaks their kiss for a moment. He leans over to the nightstand an arm's length away, paws at the small drawer, then rifles through the contents until he finds what he's looking for.
The bottle is small, purchased in Nasha Town where people are less likely to ask questions or recognize him at a glance. Illuga opens the vial with hands that feel shaky and clumsy, then tips it over until the oil falls in a thin line over the head of his erection.
Flins slides his hands all over it, coating his palms and making Illuga his in the process. Then Flins takes both of their cocks, holding them against one another. His voice sounds lower than normal, syrupy with the suggestion of what was to come.
"Does this feel pleasurable for the Young Master?"
"Again, the questions, Sir Flins… Of course it does. I'd really wish you'd just—oh—"
Illuga doesn't recognize his voice. It sounds thin and needy when Flins squeezes both of their cocks in his hand slowly rubbing them together. Sheer pleasure washes over Illuga; he can't think of anything else but how good he feels, and how badly he wants to come.
Flins kisses Illuga's jaw. Grazed his teeth against the shell of Illuga's ear before moving to kiss at Illuga's collarbones.
He begins to move his hips a little faster, a little more insistently. Flins chases his mouth for kisses. The room is filled with their heavy breathing, rustling fabric. Slick sounds. The slight creak of the bed frame. Illuga moaning into a kiss, his voice rising higher as he fucks into Flins's hand, rubbing their cocks together.
Flins comes first. His eyes close and he stills, holding his breath as he squeezes both cocks in his hand.
Illuga feels a new, warm wetness spilling over the head of his cock. He looks down from his heavy-lidded eyes, watching spurts of cum spill over Flins's long fingers, dripping down both of their erections.
Illuga hears himself whimper, and his hips stutter, pushing as far as he can into Flins's hand—he comes, too, with a violent shudder. It feels like the air is being pulled from his lungs. His thighs shake. His belly flexes and twitches. With his arms wrapped around Flins's neck, he watches as their semen pools together over Flins's hand.
Flins gives their cocks a few more gentle strokes and a placating squeeze. He lowers his head, resting his forehead on Illuga's shoulders. His breath is warm and uneven.
Illuga's in a daze. He slumps against Flins's chest, letting his head loll from Flins's shoulder. He hears a soft chuckle. The world seems to tilt as Flins moves Illuga's body, laying him onto his back.
Still reeling from his orgasm, Illuga watches Flins walk over to his coat. He procures a handkerchief to clean his hand, tucks his cock back into his pants and redresses himself.
“You’re leaving?” Illuga asks. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and his eyes grow heavy.
Flins turns at the sound of Illuga’s voice. He retrieves his missing glove from the bedding, then unfolds a blanket so he can tuck it around Illuga’s shoulders.
“I’m glad I was able to tend to the young master tonight.”
“Sleep here.”
“I have a night watch to keep.”
“Then return here when you’re done."
Above him, Flins smiles. “You’re sure to be gone in the morning. But I will come back to see you tomorrow evening.”
Illuga nestles into his pillow, closing his eyes. “That’s an order, Sir Flins.”
Flins moves silently toward the door. “Then I will be sure to return to you, Master Illuga.”