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Guideau rarely ever spares thoughts about Ashaf – about anyone, for that matter. He only pays attention to threats; Ashaf’s been one once, an unknown hovering by his side and harassing him about nonsense for nebulous purposes.
Guideau doesn’t really know when the mage stopped registering as dangerous. Ashaf has been skilled at worming himself into his life.
Guideau isn’t the same as he once was, and he knows it’s because of the mage.
“Ashaf!” He snaps, loud enough that the mage can hear from outside the changing room.
This body still hurts from their fight against the vampire queen. They’ve just returned and Guideau’s finally allowed to take off his clothes. Damn pain in the ass, these things.
“Yes?” Ashaf asks.
“The corset!”
He doesn’t need to say more. Ashaf knocks and enters. He hasn’t finished changing: he’s missing his usual vest and tie. The top buttons of his shirt are undone. His throat looks naked.
Guideau stares at him. Ashaf smiles. Weakness still clings to the delicate lines of his face. He thinks Guideau hasn’t noticed.
“Troublesome things, aren’t they?” The mage says lightly.
“Yeah. Take it off.”
Ashaf steps forwards and Guideau turns away. Gentle, careful fingers brush between his shoulder blades before the mage starts undoing the corset. The echoes of the touch linger on Guideau’s skin like the taste of that small witch’s tea.
Guideau doesn’t mind when Ashaf touches or watches him. He did mind when it was that damn vampire doing it. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t care to ask.
Ashaf finishes undoing the corset’s laces. His knuckles slide against Guideau’s skin as he carefully pries the piece of clothing open and takes it off.
That touch, too, lingers.
“Touch my back again,” Guideau orders.
“I’m sorry?”
“Just do it.”
Ashaf’s fingertips hesitantly press on each side of Guideau’s spine. It doesn’t feel right, too light, too hesitant, but then the mage’s hands shift; his fingers press fully on Guideau’s shoulder blades, then his palms.
“Move them.”
Ashaf obeys wordlessly. His touch is slow, gentle in a way that’s both satisfying and starting to make Guideau crave something he can’t quite name. Ashaf’s hands slide from Guideau’s spine to his shoulders, then down to his back and to his hips again and back, drawing idle patterns on his skin.
It feels good. Pleasant. The kind of things he doesn’t mind letting Ashaf do, like offering him good food or speaking to nuisances in his stead.
Yet –
“Is it enough?” Ashaf asks after a while, his tone unreadable.
It isn’t. Aimless hunger gnaws on Guideau’s guts.
“Yeah.”
Ashaf stops and steps away. Guideau’s whole back is echoing with the mage’s touch.
“Can I do something else for you?” Ashaf asks.
There’s something in his voice. Guideau isn’t knowledgeable enough to understand what it is.
“No.”
“Call me if you need me,” Ashaf replies softly.
Guideau only moves to watch him leave once he’s sure that the mage has turned away, though the man’s probably aware of it. Something transpired between them just now, something that Ashaf understands, something that Guideau doesn’t.
I’ll tell you again… I am not your enemy. And I act in your best interest.
Trust or faith… I won’t ask those of you.
For now, please just accept all this intellectually.
(Guideau has often thought he’d kill Ashaf once he’d be back in his real body.
He doesn’t know, either, when he stopped.)
He’s certain, however, of one thing: whether he should trust Ashaf’s words or not, whether it’s to kill or contain or for that other thing hungry and expectant in him –
One day, he’ll feel these hands on his real skin.