Work Text:
Once is an occurrence.
Twice, a coincidence.
Thrice, however.
Three times is a pattern.
This third time, Essek, stuck attempting to piece together his presentation, once again stretches out his shoulders from their stoop, his writing hand from its work.
Once again, the fireplace of Caleb’s mainroom pops with Essek’s neck, ice in the low table’s pitcher realigning in its warmth.
Once again, he glances over his notebook, the translations and considerations within, the puzzling filling its pages.
And, once again, he meets Caleb’s eyes.
Wholly unabashed, Caleb has been periodically staring since returning from his bath, long enough ago that his red hair has now taken on its lighter, dry shade. Draped over shoulder, brushed against the pale line of his neck, it looks exceptionally soft in the shine of the hearth.
What to do about this….
There is always the option of nothing, letting Caleb stew where he lounges against the far arm of the couch until he breaks the comfortable quiet himself.
Then again, curiosity is as much a vice as any.
“You have been thinking awfully loud, Caleb.”
Without missing a beat, tone light, nonchalant:
“Can you hear me?”
He must have been waiting on Essek.
Strange. Suspicion wells fond.
And, right- their absolutely existent telepathic bond, of course.
Essek leaves the sarcasm out of his voice, settling for thin inquisitiveness instead.
“Is this a guessing game?”
“Would you like to play?”
“Will I need to put my book down?”
“Ideally.”
Hm.
Something hands-on, then?
“You ask a lot of me, Caleb Widogast.”
“Hopefully not too many. Just the one.”
“No need for an echo?”
“Unless you’re offering.”
So, not an arcane matter….
“What for?”
In lieu of speaking a reply, Caleb shifts aside, watching where he sets his outside hand while he presses himself into the back of the couch.
And then, looking back to Essek, he pats the open space next to him, smiling.
An invitation as clear as any.
Essek marks his page with the scrap notes he’s been using, vaguely smug in the notion Beauregard is not here to reprimand him for such.
It is quite nice that Caleb deepened the couch; even like this, Essek has no worry of falling off like Caleb had.
Settling in with plenty enough space between them to keep from crowding, Essek tucks his hands under his chin, same as Caleb.
“Hello there.”
“Hallo.”
“And what can I do for you, Caleb?”
Again without a word, Caleb ever, so, slowly, takes one of Essek’s hands in his own.
Slipping them together carefully, palm to palm- he’s awfully delicate through the whole process, far more so than necessary.
He is clearly up to something.
What, remains the question.
And then he blinks his pretty eyes, brows down, upturned. Beguiling?
“I never apologized for overstepping, suddenly pulling you in before you had to leave to help Verin.”
What?
Well.
That’s… unexpected. Uncharacteristic? Maybe not. Surprising, certainly. Since when do the Nein apologize for harmless invasions of space, let alone belatedly?
If anything, Essek is now curious as to what made Caleb consider this a necessity.
What this is clearly a cover for.
It does explain the sudden hesitance though, as if he’s attempting to prevent a repeat of Essek’s quick exit.
Essek is not so skittish, really, and even if feigned, the caution here is… very endearing, he decides.
Caleb’s hands are warm, after all.
Still, Essek cuts off this path before it can begin.
“Apology accepted.”
Caleb’s lips quirk a tiny smile. There’s the hidden mischief, revealed just a peek.
“I haven’t said it yet.”
“I have long since moved on, but I appreciate the gesture. Though, ah.”
Essek takes his hand back, testing the waters with only a minor pang of multi-layered regret as he speaks behind an index finger.
“If the tone here is apologies, I am also sorry.”
Caleb draws his eyebrows again. Case in point, he clearly doesn’t know what Essek could apologize for either.
Essek clarifies.
“For not sending at all while away.”
Caleb shrugs away tension as if there is nothing to forgive. What is he pacing around?
“I figured you were busy.”
“I was, but that’s beside the point.”
And Essek attempts a slight underbelly display in taking further fault, ready to pounce should Caleb let his true motive slip in appeasement.
“Promising a conversation and then vanishing into deliberate silence is not a kind thing to do.”
Verin was quite insistent about that, anyway.
Caleb wears a too-placid smile.
“Consider conversation delayed, my friend, no slight felt. At least you said goodbye.”
Essek will rub his brother’s nose in this the next chance he gets.
Now with something closer to a tease on his lips, Caleb peers.
“Deliberate, though?”
A detour off the beaten path? Or is this closer to the destination? Through a road of potholes, regardless.
“I thought it would have been um- difficult, in twenty-five word chunks.”
His step is clumsy, but Essek manages.
“Ah, well, that is true. And now?”
Blue eyes relaxed, this doesn’t seem much like Caleb’s impatience, more simple inquiry than anything. So this must not be the angle he is aiming for either.
“Not- ah.”
And still, Essek stumbles.
“Not just yet.”
Ever generous, Caleb dips a quiet nod of leeway.
A coward, Essek covers his retreat with a taunt.
“If you were really so desperate to speak while apart, I’m surprised you haven’t expanded your repertoire to do so.”
“Desperate?”
Caleb takes the fighting words in stride, back to familiar ground and much to Essek’s delight.
“Bold of you to assume I’m without Sending.”
So Essek smirks.
“Cast it now, then.”
“Very bold of you to assume I have it prepared today.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“I have no need for it.”
“I can’t imagine I am the only one you can think to send to.”
“You overestimate the others’ excitement for paperwork.”
“You underestimate their interest in your research.”
“You are, and I cannot emphasize this enough, a nerd.”
“Spoken as though with firsthand experience.”
“Ja, well, time with Beauregard will do that.”
“Says the one who nearly suffocated under tomes yesterday because he, and I quote, ‘needs those newest manuscripts more than air’.”
Caleb grumbles something about hyperbole and a sore ankle but otherwise provides no further quips.
Having finally caught Caleb on his back foot whilst toe to toe, Essek’s nerves settle pleased.
The pause, however, yawns to awkward as they both continue to stare.
A last-ditch attempt, Essek prompts an end.
“Was this all, or-? I have things--”
“May we try it again?”
With that rushed request, like a wrist caught before exit, this might actually be Caleb’s point.
Then what, pray tell, is ‘it’?
Clearly something they have done together before, as evidenced by ‘we’. ‘Try’ and ‘again’ imply an attempt that was left incomplete or unsatisfactory. It is also something Caleb considers needing permission for, posing this as a question in the first place-.
Oh.
Of course.
What have they been talking around this entire time.
Essek resists the overwhelming urge to lay his face into his palms.
Caleb has merely been intending an embrace.
It is polite of him to ask, though. Unless- is this some ploy, another layer of such? Alternatively, for some occasion? Likely no, not that Essek can presently conjure.
Because, then again, Jester has received blanket permission for unprompted hugs and such, whereas Caleb, technically speaking, has not. Maybe that’s all it is.
Essek’s made far worse a fool of himself before. It is fine.
Still, he attempts an investigation to smooth his internal ruffles.
“You have made some discovery, Caleb?”
And Caleb gives a light chuckle, more a bump between them.
“Getting there, perhaps.”
Hm.
Glancing between Caleb’s eyes, Essek lets his voice slip a bit earnest.
“I do hope to see it someday, then.”
The corners of Caleb’s mouth lift a little farther.
“We’ll see.”
How hopeful indeed.
Very well.
Given the odd angle the two of them lie in, Essek opens his hands at his collar, palms out and unsure where precisely to place them.
Taking hold of Essek’s couchside hand, Caleb makes room by draping his other arm around Essek’s back, and with some mildly coordinated wiggling, Essek ends up tucked to Caleb’s neck with his arms around Caleb’s shoulders.
Though this isn’t particularly new, Essek categorizes this touch for future retrieval.
He’s grown more practiced at not freezing with Caleb’s contact, though it often still takes a moment to warm up and ease into it. Caleb hasn’t seemed to mind much, if he notices at all, still offering the same touches he always has.
The fits of recent embraces are very different between Jester and Caleb, though. Even Verin isn’t so tall or broad, and Caleb doesn’t parallel Yasha much in the opposite direction either. Neither Jester nor Verin nor Yasha are quite so wiry. Caleb fits just as himself.
Nose to shoulder, Caleb is currently scented distinctly as himself as well. Warm skin, a tickling trace of whatever he must have used in his hair tonight, somewhat different from simple cinnamon.
And Caleb is very warm, only warm, far from discomforting.
How did this happen? Essek continues to wonder, taking another deep breath, relaxing further with a sigh.
Like this, Essek can feel every shift of Caleb’s breath.
His slow inhales pressed against his own chest.
His soft exhales warm against his own neck.
Though the latter draws minor tingles up Essek’s nape, this is still… nice.
Calming.
Very comfortable, actually.
All too soon, Caleb unwraps and leans away, back into the sink of the cushions.
“Thank you for indulging me.”
What?
Essek reclaims his arms entirely.
“Caleb Widogast, this is not a concession.”
Caleb’s brows draw the thinnest line; there’s the littlest quirk to his lips.
“Even so. I ask much of you.”
He really doesn’t. It was sarcasm earlier besides.
“I would decline were it truly too much.”
And Essek does have will and agency. He’s not some creature trapped by instinct or convention, or- not so much with this bunch, at the very least.
Caleb’s eyes flick between Essek’s own, before settling low-lidded. Disbelieving, or deferring?
Though really, what marks a difference?
Then, before spite can fully set in, his mouth squiggles just a bit.
Ah.
It’s interesting, Essek thinks, now entertained, that he has come to learn the look of Caleb’s consideration when it follows a just-occurred inquiry.
Content to stay put for the time being, Essek waits for him to decide if his thought is worth voicing.
His patience has only just established itself when Caleb raises his gaze and asks, words softened to breath.
“May I kiss you?”
“Why?”
Caleb stares. Blinks twice.
Thrice, the hearth pops as its fuel shifts.
What a horrifyingly clumsy question of reflex- Essek could bite his own tongue off. A yes or no is all he needed; Caleb has always readily accepted both, if Essek’s trials with Caleb’s goodnights have been any indication.
But he sits in the spiteful sands of his graceless chagrin and leaves the word to fill the seconds grating between them, now committed to being genuinely curious.
Caleb’s gaze, slightly narrowed, roves his face. Essek hasn’t the slightest what face he should be wearing.
He settles on his pleasant default, which seems to be the opposite of Caleb’s wishes based on the blatant confusion—upturned brows and a well-squiggled mouth—seeping into every inch of his lovely visage.
Too bad, he’s the target of inquiry now.
“I thought it might be nice.”
“And that’s all?”
Caleb draws his eyebrows, an upward twitch to his flat lips. Ah, amusement?
“In summary, ja.”
There’s his grin- amusement indeed.
So, keeping private, it’s not the quick sort like most they’ve shared that Caleb has in mind at the moment.
Neither is it layered manipulation nor an unadulterated attempt to use Essek against himself- he has enough confidence in the Nein’s intentions by now to dispel such a line of thought. The fact this is even a consideration in the first place does Caleb a disservice as well; he is not so sloppy as to accidentally leave room for questioning; in the spaces of uncertainty lives assurance.
As always, trust is a hard bargain, but Essek has grown better at negotiating his leaps of faith, one skipping stone between others in a steadier pond. His friends have only ever proved themselves to align with kindnesses towards him, varied as they may be.
And though it’s not an activity Essek has especially enjoyed as recreation before—well before—kissing is not inherently terrible and kissing with Caleb in particular is not… unpleasant, to say the least. It has been nice with him, really, or- more like, nice enough outside of idle imagination that Essek can forget to count seconds as distraction- a marked departure from prior attempts at underwhelming physical preoccupation.
It’s- not… easy, per se. It is a facile matter, to let himself be kissed. A dull chore at its very worst.
But, that’s….
That is not how this has seemed, has felt as of late; the straightforward sincerity of Caleb’s affections is ever baffling as much as reassuring, and Essek is still determining its depths.
He has yet to find the well running dry.
Some fragment of him hopes that it won’t.
Then again, perhaps the difference is that, nowadays, he frames the act as a puzzle to solve, stimulating his mind more than it bores his body.
Perhaps he is taking an unconventional approach, but it is far more entertaining like this; it was certainly amusing to watch Caleb wrestle with his same request the morning after Beauregard and Yasha rejoined them here in Zadash.
Even a thread of gravity presents itself on occasion, twining into a distinct sense of interest, as it did then, and as it sometimes does before they part in the evenings.
And maybe this is how Caleb feels about it too, maybe intensely so, since he seems to actively enjoy this sort of thing, though there’s really no way to definitively know how such subjective feelings compare. As far as Essek has been able to glean, Caleb has a complicated relationship with connections as well- two green beans in a pod.
Or Essek is being presumptuous with his speculations. Either way, he’s been thinking for far too long without answering to be polite.
Practice and perfection and such; why not try it again?
Blinking air-dry eyes and with no small amount of trepidation, Essek lays his palms flush to either side of Caleb’s collar.
He is only warm.
Relaxing, Essek lets his fingers curl into a light grip against soft fabric. A little worn, the shirt must be tangible instead of tower-conjured, as real as Caleb before him.
How much easier this has become, reaching out, with Caleb so close at hand. The concept stretches in Essek’s chest like a cat turning in its sleep, chilled claws marking tallies on the bars of his ribs.
The pitcher rings- ice realigned.
Drawn from further thought, the sound grants him only enough air to dare. He tugs, meets Caleb’s eyes.
“Show me.”
And a small grin lights Caleb’s face, an ember warmed into quiet hearth-kindles.
As if tending such a same flame, Caleb cups his cheek, and Essek has to ask again: why is it so easy to lean into his touch?
Regardless, this is plenty alright; Essek quite enjoys Caleb’s smiles.
With the focus he uses to count his components, Caleb’s other hand tips Essek’s chin up, eyes flicking between Essek’s own.
Amused yet unimpressed, Essek simply arches a brow.
Ah- there’s another captivating smile, a little wider, brighter. Caleb really does wear delight so well; he can do as he likes.
Essek remembers he issued a challenge just as Caleb closes his pretty eyes and meets it.
Caleb’s lips are dry in the soft way they have been as of late- certainly more so than in Eiselcross, less cold-cracked.
This is unsurprising, as the weather here is far more conducive to such. It is an interesting thing to note, Essek considers, being able to tell the difference between places Caleb has spent his time, the conditions of such and how they treat his skin.
With a second kiss, a little firmer after a short breath, he is warm as he has been, though-. So close, he smells sharp with what’s perhaps the faintest lingering of aftershave.
Unbothered to open his eyes to inspect, fingertips along Caleb’s smooth jaw affirm Essek’s guess, much to his satisfaction.
Caleb hums with the touch, tickling against Essek’s lips in a way that sets them into a reflexive smile that Caleb matches. Maybe a little silly, but sweet nevertheless.
Third- a break from the pattern, present and prior.
Caleb draws away minutely, taking Essek’s lower lip with him, soft between his own. Too steady to be anything but deliberate, too gentle to be demanding, Essek allows this, following to keep close.
Having spent long enough forging paths alone, he doesn’t really mind going along with Caleb’s coaxing on occasion. Caleb seems to know what he’s doing, besides.
Proving the point, Caleb shifts their angle, inhaling slow between just-as-leisurely assured presses- still warm, though somewhat… hm. More supple, but- wetter.
Essek breathes alongside him with his nose only a little wrinkled, because what much else is he supposed to do other than stop entirely or start timekeeping, both of which he’d preferably not for now. It’s rather trivial to match Caleb’s rhythm at this, though Essek really could do without the slight smack of sucked parting burning its way into his ears. But this is fine- like a stray piece of gristle in an otherwise alright bite, he sets the notion aside.
Caleb gives a light sigh and, still set on a course of distracted reflection, Essek returns the same.
There’s then a gentle glide of distinctly wet warmth, brushed once over his lip.
Essek pulls away in time to see Caleb’s blue eyes blink open and his cheeks bloom from pink to red. The latter is a particularly pretty shade for him, but it does not distract Essek from consideration as he looks between Caleb’s eyes.
This, with Caleb specifically, a lick technically, is without precedent, though apparently not enough to be surprising.
Surprised at the lack of such, Essek entertains the continued thought, a tip-toe seeking an old line. His eyes, Caleb’s parted lips.
There is, still unexpectedly, no strain to the concept, no revulsion in his throat nor taut bound of pressed comfort….
Intriguing.
In that case, perhaps now is different- he is a changed person in many regards, isn’t he? Who’s to say maybe this can’t be a part of it too.
And who is he if not willing to at least try something in a new light once, within reason.
Curiosity and Caleb’s contentment seem reasonable. Satisfying the former and determining his own of the latter seem reasonable.
So Essek begins to lean- but the both of them end up mirroring precisely, angled in the same direction. Over-correcting, both tilt opposite and end up with their noses gracelessly butted.
They settle with foreheads together, a single chuckle caught between. Caleb’s apparent amusement, and seeming lack of disappointment, keeps Essek one notch down from flustered flight.
“Why um. Why don’t I try my other left?”
Face clearly feigning serious and tone set just so, Caleb seems to be presenting this as a truce.
Ridiculous- Essek now can’t help but laugh alongside him.
Right-side and righted, they meet again well enough in the middle.
In this kiss, Essek can feel Caleb’s continued laughter, the flutter of it into his own chest, and he draws in a surprised little gasp alongside.
To which he receives another swipe.
Mn.
Fine- Essek returns it, finds…
There is a definitive boundary, beyond which Caleb’s lip is exceptionally smooth.
Unexpected? No, but- interesting, like heated satin or silk, butter to the tongue- what? No, none of that is apt at all.
Caleb repeats his own touch before Essek can reevaluate or retreat, and it is-
Fine?
Essek matches him once, tentative, and twice, emboldened when unrepulsed, and so again, again, and….
And he tries to pay attention while refraining from too much of a single-mindedly clinical focus, but Caleb tastes of mouth which- isn’t particularly appealing now that Essek spares it a thought. Nor the knowledge that he now has a distinct notion of what ‘mouth’ with regards to Caleb tastes like.
And surely mouths aren’t made for this, gestures and textures so cloddish and moist.
But then, even despite a nagging twinge of distaste and damp ineptitude, some unpinned aspect of this—maybe the closeness, the warmth, Caleb in both presence and concept—begins to filigree each moment, pleasantly tugging at Essek’s stomach, prickling up his spine.
He’s really not of much a mind to question the sensation, not when the loose, unhurried ease of every nudge and slide somehow soothes the apprehensive thrum under his skin.
Especially when Caleb draws back enough to see, holding him with the exact sort of deep-set smile around his blue eyes that pulls Essek’s icy heart into his throat. He has no means to speak around it, unthawed as it is.
With effort, he swallows it back down before it can melt a mess. Mh- that is an unappetizing thing to do too.
Regardless, he promised Caleb words, and here they are, some several weeks later and still without. In fairness, Essek has been deliberately growing his vocabulary, but literal dictionaries and thesauri alone do not phrase sentiments.
Though, he has alternate means at his disposal for the moment, doesn’t he?
A shared flick of eyes his permission, Essek brushes his mouth to Caleb’s, close-lipped.
Caleb presses back, ever so faint.
Hm, that feels more akin to a question. One asked, but not necessarily one with an answer.
Essek leans, tries again. Lingering kiss, a parting breath together.
Better, maybe a little more to the point, but….
Short surge, tip of the chin, a little looser.
Caleb matches him back, and they align to soft repetition, almost conversational.
Or- no.
No, not ‘almost’.
That is exactly what this is, has been-? Has been.
A dialogue, a conversation.
Inaction and declination are obviously choices as any, and he and Caleb are not acting independently of one another.
Did he know this? It isn’t a surprise. He knew this.
And, like this, maybe Caleb really can hear him then- feel him, understand him, at least somewhat. How useful it is, Essek rationalizes through the sudden heat in his ears, to build yet another line of communication.
What has Caleb been saying, then? Rather, what has Caleb been attempting to tell him?
Essek can focus on that, variables, trials- an experiment.
His hands find their way to cradling Caleb’s face, just how Caleb had his. It’s not too far to be an effort, raised from collar; Caleb is hearthstone to his palms, warm cheeks and trim jawline easily examined by fingertip.
But the grin Caleb suddenly breaks into is really very distracting, mouth too wide and taut to pillow, far too toothy.
Still, Essek can parallel him that, and with even less effort than remembering to breathe.
Besides, this pause affords him plenty of room to do so; Caleb’s accompanying breath, lightly labored, is warm to his chin as their noses stay brushed.
Then, inexplicably compelled, Essek peeks.
So close that his pink mouth hides in proximity, the smile Essek felt is so easily visible in the pretty curve and crease of Caleb’s darkened blue eyes.
What is Caleb meaning by this- now watching?
Ever clever and mouth unbusied, Essek realizes he can ask.
“What?”
It’s a whisper where he doesn’t intend it to be, but he finds himself lacking some air.
A low murmur between, Caleb replies just the same.
“Is this nice?”
There’s a warm caress of a thumb across-. Oh- Caleb’s hand’s on his face. And Essek’s are on Caleb’s. This is. Cramped, and Essek is suddenly, alarmingly aware of the heat surrounding him, Caleb before and hearth behind, their relatively short positions apart, every inch of space he himself takes up, his own body some stuck floe, trapped in a polar strait.
So he draws down a deep breath and lowers his hands to Caleb’s collar, eyes again pressed closed as chill curiosity wars with the squirm of rapidly rising nerves.
This is far from terrible, but to say such verbatim and in so many words… that seems like another missed hurdle.
With a tremoring exhale, he just nudges a nod. He has a study to conduct; more information needs to be gathered for a satisfactory conclusion to be drawn.
Then, what is this, what is this? Why the question?
Has Caleb been doing this for Essek’s own benefit? He’s seemed entertained in his own right. But, smile aside, he did stop.
So maybe Caleb is done with him now. Which is fine. Essek can return to his attempts at defining all of this to himself and shelve this particular aspect for later consideration.
Inertia’s pendulum: curious, coward, curious, coward, curious.
Flip a coin, maybe. Let chance decide. Maybe that would-
“Ess-mn?”
And he is stealing his name off Caleb’s lips.
But- Caleb remains stiff, still.
Oh.
Impulsive. Rash. Foolhardy mistake. Recoil, a fractional second of regret, why did he-?
But then Caleb laughs through his nose, eases, is holding him, is kissing him back.
Terror bleeds a tremble into thrill. Maybe he simply caught Caleb off guard.
This is fine, then. Nice, even.
Laughter contagious, Essek tries that shift in angle from before, and Caleb replies with an adjustment, a short hum in his throat- Essek can tell where by feeling alone-
He refocuses to his study.
Adaptation, middle ground, a fair step- makes sense for an endeavor of balance such as this.
What next?
As with any element of yet-unknown volatility, he treads lightly, taking Caleb’s lower lip between his own, only for Caleb to pause against him.
Patience or- reception?
Drawing Caleb into pursuit, he even seems to relax into the motion, pliant to whim. So this gesture could be a request for attention.
Then, what was….
Essek gives a soft sigh and is met with a light, slippery swipe, just the same as before.
Recognition clicks: an invitation.
How could he have missed that?
Without a thought beyond etiquette, Essek takes it and Caleb’s breath best he can, and is promptly rewarded for his effort with a distant sound he’s almost sure he can taste.
With a proud heartpound, he can’t help a smile as this little triumph sits content in his belly.
But Caleb then tilts away. The loss of heat draws stopped-up questions from Essek’s throat, clatters them behind his teeth while he leans to meet Caleb again. He’s only just discovered this frame, this avenue, why take it away before he can thoroughly investigate and understand?
Or is that rude, selfish to ask- outside the bounds of this arrangement-?
Or, nearly worse- Caleb has found something displeasing.
Essek is recalling every last thing he’s consumed today when Caleb returns firm as if answering, relaxing quick into a chuckle against him—it is an answer—and doubt melts into a building bubble, humming in Essek’s ribs, his throat, thought at large purling into brook-tumbled notions of continued touch, of playful warmth. Of Caleb.
Hands freezing, seeking heat, collar, neck, they sink into soft, soft hair, even softer than it looked. Still a little damp underneath- Essek would dry it could he remember the words.
It’s fine, doesn’t matter.
Caleb is warm, warming him in kind.
And he takes a lip again, tugs Essek’s attention.
‘What is here?’ perhaps he is asking, palm skimming over Essek’s shoulder, or maybe: ‘what else may I find?’
No- not ‘I’, Essek is suddenly sure.
Two can play at this; it is we.
It’s still odd, this exchange. Strange but… amusing, based in such give and take.
Before Caleb can offer a sigh this time, Essek reaches first and imparts an answer for free.
Caleb’s quick pant of a tactile grin sends a spark to Essek’s heart, a kickstart of proved accuracy so much as relief.
A few now-familiar glides, and Caleb’s tongue catches over sharp eyeteeth, one, and then two, with something like a short, low whine between breaths.
Does he like that?
Essek gives the noise back as seems polite, seems nice, feels nice, pressing closer with a requited trace of his own finding blunt—interesting in novelty, in difference—and Caleb shivers against him, sharing yet another lovely sound that winds its way to join the tensing coil nestled between Essek’s lungs.
Perhaps even the slicker noises are permissible, if some of them lead to this.
Because this isn’t so bad. This really isn’t so bad at all.
And then the purr snaps its rusty seal, an avalanche rumble.
“Ah-.”
Essek startles back with his lips pressed flat, eyes wide, his own mouth hidden to the side of a fist.
So that’s his baseline estimation of this then, newfound comfort a double-dealing snitch.
Caleb dons a grin as big and bright as dawn, his eyes crinkled deep; he is never going to let Essek live this down, of that, Essek is certain.
Despite how awkwardness burns in his cheeks, self-consciousness, his ears, with Caleb wearing this warm expression, looking like nothing but blatant amusement, Essek can’t bring himself to stop the hum of his heart. This heat is downright balmy in comparison to tactile discomfort of months past, and, in honesty, the purr’s appearance now somehow isn’t nearly as mortifying as the first time it happened in like circumstances.
So this is also fine, tolerable, if it decides to start in a context such as this; Caleb still smiles, face prettily flushed, his lips shiny and red from-.
Essek did that. He can do that. He can do--
He promptly shushes whatever stupefied part of him finds it fit to marvel.
Cause and effect, this is not a surprise. It’s not.
But the notion rounds, sharpens: he can do this.
Essek also squashes this inkling of possession crawling its spindly way around his windpipe. Better to nip that in the bud; Caleb is his own, an entirely distinct person who can do as he pleases with whomever he pleases. What right has Essek to lay any claim over him.
But, what other things might they learn to do, together? Where else might Caleb think to put his mouth, might let Essek put his?
Oh.
That is a thought. That is very certainly, most definitely a thought.
And, interestingly enough, it is not reflexively unwelcome nor as unwieldy of a concept as it has been in the past, despite being well outside present lines of actionable comfort.
And at least Essek’s prior flush probably hides this newer one; he can keep it to himself.
More importantly, Caleb is staring, and Essek is, disconcertingly, fresh out of masks.
And they do need to talk about other things- this.
He clears his throat, tongue heavy to his own teeth.
“I need to get back to my work.”
Grin still affixed, Caleb simply dips a nod, their foreheads now tipped together.
“Alright.”
Somewhat regathered, Essek has enough wherewithal to tease.
“You seem pleased.”
“You are not wrong. And you?”
Oh.
Is he?
Purr aside, it’s as though there’s… a glow, permeating his chest. An upended iceberg diffusing light.
Imagine that. Attainable satisfaction.
He’s learned enough for now.
So, hardly hesitating, Essek replies with a peck, placed gentle upon Caleb’s cheek, a hug, angled as well as he can manage, and an unplanned pause.
For a fleeting moment, all Essek is able to do is breathe Caleb in; if warmth can flavor the air, it does so just like this.
The room around filters back into calm existence, the soft crackles of the hearth joining the rustle of Caleb's breath, the pitcher making itself known with a delightfully crystalline chime.
Even seeds of doubt remain dormant under this presence of peace.
Surely this makes sense, then?
Leaning back, Caleb’s staying smile indicates yes.
Still, not wanting to further his career as a hypocrite in this moment, Essek also uses his words.
“I believe so.”
All he can find in Caleb’s face is understanding as his pretty eyes watch Essek’s own gaze, before they settle soft to Essek’s own smile.
An itching twitch in his mind: he could kiss Caleb again. Caleb might just let him.
He's also yet to extricate himself from Caleb’s arms. One apparently found its way around his waist, a warm palm digging directly into his spine.
A frigid twinge in his heart: Caleb could stab him in the back. Essek might just let him.
Sudden, nervous aversion rears itself just enough to fray this frozen thread of interest, pausing the purr, and before he can tip too far into the gravity well, Essek returns to his own side of the couch.
With his guard so far down, what’s a little risk in trusted company?
He asks his prancing heart this as if it’s presently clever enough to answer, clumsy bumbling thing.
This was nice enough.
Maybe, then… maybe a directed guessing game as a talk will do, to start things off at least.
Something playful, with an element of challenge to stave off stark embarrassment.
Maybe that will be fitting.
Maybe that will even work.
Hiding behind his translations and his own tied tongue, he’ll think on it.
This has the potential to be fun, it seems.