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The night was quiet, but the forest was alive - outside Muriel’s hut, leaves rustled in the wind and nocturnal animals great and small made their noises. Asra thought of forgotten ghosts stalking between the trees, of the charms he hung from dozens of branches to keep Muriel safe. None of it touched the cramped little room. Everything was still. By the fire, Inanna took a deep breath and let it out in a noisy sigh.
Asra did the same, filling his lungs until his chest almost hurt and letting the air out through his mouth. Faust lifted her head, uncoiling from her spot right next to Inanna’s belly and sliding across the dirt floor. “Awake? ” she asked, poking her head over the low mattress.
Asra put a finger to his lips. Behind him, Muriel shifted in his sleep, his back a long line touching Asra’s out of necessity. Fonder of his pile of furs than more modern conveniences, it had taken Asra many long talks to convince Muriel to accept the gift of a real bed. The mattress had to be small to fit in the room, and it left little space to spread out, but Asra thought that was something of a perk. Muriel generated a great deal of heat, especially under the skins, and Asra liked that it kept him close.
Faust stuck her tongue out. “Can’t hear. ”
“No,” Asra whispered, a small smile curling across his lips, “but still.”
Muriel stirred again, making a low sound. Asra swiveled to look over his shoulder.
“Nightmares? ”
Asra hummed. “I hope not. Go back to sleep, Faust, I’ll take care of him.”
Reluctantly, Faust slipped back to the ground. Bypassing Inanna, she slithered up an exposed root and into the rafters, draped along the ceiling in a dark corner. Her eyes were lost in the gloom, but Asra knew she watched them intently, her curiosity and worry pulsing toward him in wordless waves. Rolling his eyes, he closed himself off to further communication with her - at least, for now. They would make it up later.
Rolling carefully, Asra turned to face Muriel’s back, crisscrossed with old scar tissue and beaded slightly with sweat. The furs had fallen down to tangle around his thighs, and yet when Asra gently laid a hand on Muriel’s shoulder blade, he felt like he was burning. Maybe it was a nightmare, maybe it was a fever. Asra couldn’t say.
“Oh, Muriel,” Asra sighed aloud.
Muriel’s muscles shifted under Asra’s hand. It was Asra’s only warning that Muriel was waking up, before he jerked away from the gentle touch and breathed heavily through his nose, like he’d run a race. Asra pulled back and watched Muriel curl into himself, running a broad hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Once the initial panic passed, Asra slid into the dip in the mattress Muriel made and touched the tips of his fingers to the ladder of Muriel’s spine.
“Bad dreams?” he asked. Slowly, he replaced his hand with his chest, sliding the arm up to wrap around Muriel’s torso. Muriel let him, but he stayed still, fingers tangled in his own hair.
“...I don’t remember,” he rumbled. His voice seemed to vibrate out of his body and into Asra’s, settling deep in Asra’s chest and making a home there, like Inanna in front of the fire. It hurt that Muriel still struggled, sometimes, but it gave Asra a little thrill that Muriel let him see those struggles instead of pushing him away.
Asra felt his way blindly to the flat of Muriel’s sternum, looking for the hammer of his heart. “That’s something. Would you tell me, if you did?”
Muriel’s silence spoke volumes. Asra huffed a soft laugh and pushed his forehead into Muriel’s back, fluttering his eyelashes. The skin there jumped like it tickled, like Muriel still hadn’t adjusted to soft touches even from Asra. He hadn’t, really. Kindness from anyone still struck him as foreign, at first, but that was changing. It would get better.
“Nadi told me,” he said softly, tilting his head so his lips caught Muriel’s skin when they moved, “you’re going to the palace to visit in two days. Will you stay with me after?”
Muriel stayed quiet. Asra pictured him, red-faced and sulky at having his fondness for Nadia discussed in the open, and couldn’t help another laugh. He had to see for himself. Pulling away, he tugged at Muriel’s shoulder until he begrudgingly turned onto his back. His cheeks were in fact flushed, and he avoided Asra’s eyes with the practiced ease of someone who had been doing it for a very long time. A very, very long time.
Asra’s chest ached at the thought, at the memory of the lanky boy with the hungry eyes that he’d met so many years before. The memory hurt, but it was a nice sort of hurt, the kind he was trying to get used to. He had a bad habit of trying to paper over the past.
“You’re smiling,” Muriel said. He made it sound like an accusation, like Asra had done something terribly wrong or insulting.
Asra made his smile even bigger and lifted himself up onto an elbow. “Yes,” he said. Muriel lifted his head to follow, but Asra pushed him back down. “I thought about you.”
Muriel scowled. “Why.”
“Because I like you.”
Asra turned and threw his leg over Muriel’s chest, settling himself over the hard lines of Muriel’s stomach and coming to a gentle seat. Startled, Muriel put his hands around Asra’s waist, either to hold him steady or to throw him back onto the mattress. Luckily, he didn’t seem able to decide. Asra liked Muriel’s hands - big and careful, and he liked them on him, wherever Muriel wanted to put them.
“I thought you knew that by now,” Asra added, threading his fingers in the spaces between Muriel’s. “And you didn’t answer my question about Nadi.”
“It wasn’t about Nadia,” Muriel said. His lips pursed into an appealing pout. “You asked - you know.”
“If you’d stay with me in my rooms at the palace. Or at the shop, if that’s better for you.”
“Why would that be better?”
“I know opulence makes you uncomfortable,” he teased. “The shop is quiet. Just us for a night, no one offering you nicer pillows or fancy cakes.”
Muriel furrowed his brows and glanced out into the room. “It’s just us now.”
“I know.” Asra squeezed Muriel’s fingers and let him go again, leaning back in his most inviting way. He hoped those hands might move somewhere more intriguing. “I like to think about doing things with you. Was I wrong to suppose you knew that, too?”
It wasn’t the right question. Muriel averted his eyes again, his grip on Asra’s waist tightening before it slid away completely. Asra scrambled to catch his hands, pinning them to his thighs.
“It’s all right,” he said, “I’m just having fun.” Leaning forward, he put a hand on Muriel’s jaw, cupping his face so he would turn to look. “It’s good to think about the future. To plan things. I want to do that, and I want to do it with you.”
Muriel’s lower lip stuck out in another pout, but this time, tears threatened to well in his eyes. Asra recognized the expression too well. He touched the skin under Muriel’s eyes, anticipating the first few drops and wiping them away as they came. Muriel, to his credit, didn’t turn away. He glowered, teeth clenched, but he let Asra tend to him with no verbal complaint.
“I don’t,” he said. His voice cracked on the second word. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I don’t get to have nice things.”
“Muriel…”
“I don’t. Or, if I do… I don’t get to keep them.”
Asra thumbed at another tear. “You have me. You can keep me.”
Muriel huffed. The tears were already stopping, but the mood hadn’t lifted. Asra felt it lingering, like a stubborn fog clinging to a misty morning.
“Go ahead,” Asra murmured. “You can say it. I won’t be upset.”
Closing his eyes, Muriel did something surprising — he reached up and put his hand over Asra’s, tangling their fingers together in a fierce grip. “For how long?” he asked. “How do I know you won’t leave?”
Asra pulled his hand out from under Muriel’s. Muriel’s mouth twisted like he’d been slapped, but before his fears could spiral out any farther, Asra folded himself in half and wrapped his arms around Muriel’s shoulders, burying his face along the flat line of Muriel’s sternum. The hair there scratched a little, but he loved the feel of it, and the way he heard rather than felt the inner workings of Muriel’s body: Stomach noises, shallow breaths, and the steady pounding of his heart, reverberating like a drum right into Asra’s ear.
One of Muriel’s hands tentatively skirted up the side of Asra’s body and settled near the base of his spine, right at the small of his back. His palm was hot against Asra’s skin, chilled in the night air. Wriggling his own hand free, Asra reached for the furs that had slipped down and tugged them into place, resting over them both.
“I haven’t been very good to you,” Asra mused. “Have I?”
Muriel tensed, his fingertips digging into Asra’s skin only for a moment. Asra wished he might grab a little harder, but it wasn’t the time.
“That’s not true.”
Asra traced the edge of a scar under one finger, the barest hint of raised skin. He wondered which one it was. “I don’t mean now. Before.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“No, Muriel. I don’t mean that, either.” Kissing the skin under his lips, Asra took a moment to put together the words he wanted before he spoke again. “It’s not easy, is it? Watching someone you love fall in love with someone else?”
Asra almost wished he could see Muriel’s face, but Muriel deserved a bit of privacy. He waited, still dropping kisses indiscriminately, until Muriel’s chest expanded with a long, deep breath. The movement carried Asra with it, lifting him up and dropping him down again, and he laughed at the sensation. Muriel must have felt that, too. He squeezed Asra, gently, and his touch drifted down an inch or so to rest a little closer to where the swell of Asra’s backside began.
“It still wasn’t your fault,” Muriel said. His voice was low, sweet and intimate. “I never told you.”
“If I had been paying attention to you, I might have noticed on my own. I was…” Asra sighed. “I was so lost. Even after the ritual, when things should have changed, I couldn’t find my way home. It took over three years for me to stop running, and when I stopped, there you were. Waiting for me, all that time, and I never saw it.”
“I didn’t want you to see it.”
Asra laughed again. He couldn’t help himself — he opened his mouth and worried at the underside of Muriel’s pec, gently, his teeth barely scraping the skin. Muriel jerked and made an undignified sound, clearly surprised.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but you weren’t very good at hiding it.”
Tipping his head up, he rested his chin on Muriel’s chest and gave him his most playful smile, eyes half-lidded. He knew his hair tumbled down just so in white curls, and he must have looked particularly appealing. Muriel’s flush traveled down from his face, where it bloomed in full force, and appeared in patches on his chest, underneath the thick hair.
“My point is,” Asra continued, pulling another hand free to trace circles around Muriel’s nipple, “now that I’ve opened my eyes, I see you. I want you. I…” He swallowed down the words neither of them were ready for, after feeling them weigh heavy at the tip of his tongue. Too soon. They could wait. “You’re important to me, Muriel, and I don’t want to go anywhere. Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes,” Muriel said, without hesitation. It was as good as his own declaration.
Asra’s mouth twitched into a real smile. Muriel’s own lips quirked upwards into a rarely seen grin. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.
“Then I’ll stay,” Asra said, settling again into Muriel’s chest. “Go back to sleep. No more nightmares tonight.”
Muriel moved his hand up Asra’s back in a caress, rubbing him slowly as if he were trying to keep Asra warm. Then his hand slid down again, further than it had been before, so that his fingers dipped ever so slightly into the dimple above Asra’s tailbone.
“I’m not tired,” he lied. There were dark circles under his eyes, and Asra knew he didn’t sleep well or often as it was. Still, Muriel reached with his free hand and brushed the hair from Asra’s brow, stroking Asra like he’d shatter if Muriel was too rough.
Shimmying his way up Muriel’s chest, Asra held Muriel’s chin in place and touched their lips together. He would just have to prove Muriel wrong.