Work Text:
1.
Raziol was alone in the Academy’s library, trying to decipher the calculations he had written the night before while half asleep; yet his surroundings were too quiet for his unrelenting mind, thoughts circling in his head and making him lose focus on the scribbles on the paper. He never learned. He wasn’t going to make it. All those hours of work wasted by an apparently minimal decision. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was happening. It wasn’t happening. He—
He wanted to move. Get up. He wanted to breathe. Go home. To—
A hand on his shoulder. Raziol raised his head from where it rested against his palm as a familiar notebook was placed next to his arm, a handwritten note greeting him. It read:
Are the stars not being merciful today?
And immediately Raziol wanted to laugh, his anxiety dissipating slowly with his next breath. Sulvain sat on the chair next to him after pulling it closer to the astronomer’s, kind smile making his heart skip a beat before continuing with a steady, much calmer pace.
“I don’t think I can blame the stars this time,” Raziol answered, a tired smile of his own softening his words. “It’s all on me wanting to accompany them all through the night instead of, you know…”
Sulvain leaned closer, green eyes attentive to every single one of his gestures as his eyebrows curled up with worry.
Do you need help? Do you want to go for a walk?, his notes offered.
Raziol felt a blush starting to burn the tip of his ears, the warmest of feelings melting away his intrusive thoughts.
“Thank you, Sulvain,” he murmured, his hand unconsciously moving to caress the necromancer’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers. The sensation made them both blush a little deeper. “But I can’t today. If I leave now, I’ll never finish on time.”
There was an apology hidden in his words that Sulvain responded to by intertwining their index fingers, a whisper of fondness in the movement. It lasted for no longer than a second, both of them pulling back as the spark created by the touch quickly started to become a flame.
Raziol cleared his throat and Sulvain wrote.
Then, if you don’t mind, I will stay here with you to make sure you don’t drift off. And then: Again.
That made a laugh ring through the room, between the bookshelves, the sound absorbed by yellowed paper and leather covers and a golden heart that jumped quietly.
2.
That same night, as Raziol was undressing to change into his sleeping garments, he noticed something unfamiliar in his pocket, small and fragile at first touch.
Cautiously, he took it out, and a small gasp fell from his lips at the sight.
It was a pressed, dried up cornflower, the blue of its petals still bright even in the dim light of his room. He only knew of one person who carried pressed flowers with him, and the memory of the quiet evening they had spent together made him blush helplessly all over again.
Raziol took the flower slowly to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to its petals, his eyes looking up at the night sky; the stars twinkled in promise that he was looking back.
3.
“Where are we going now?” Raziol asked when the carriage took an unfamiliar route, his curiosity seeking an answer by making him look for any recognizable details outside the window.
He turned to Sulvain as he was presenting his notebook.
I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. She has a lovely shop I’m sure you’ll like.
The answer caught Raziol off-guard, who looked up at Sulvain with bright, wide eyes, his mouth falling open quietly. Even though the necromancer was looking back at him, there was some tell-tale nervousness in the flutter of his lashes and the discreet pout on his lips, accentuated by a small smile.
Raziol knew how private Sulvain could be. He was, in fact, the most private person he had ever met; but he was slowly starting to know more of him by each passing day. They were just coming back from a date that had taught him which genre of books he liked most. Being introduced to someone he knew— someone he trusted— was a huge step.
“Oh”, Raziol exhaled. He realized his reaction could easily be misinterpreted, so he quickly added, “that’s, that’s wonderful!” He took a deep breath and only then did he notice how hard his heart was beating. Sulvain tilted his head in a silent question, and Raziol remembered he couldn’t keep anything from him. “F-Forgive me, the prospect of meeting new people always agitates my nerves…” he admitted, looking down in resigned defeat.
A couple of seconds passed before Sulvain got closer, leaning down to look for Raziol’s eyes. When they met, he offered the astronomer a reassuring smile and matching words.
Please, do not apologize for that with me. I understand. If it’s of any help, know that I want to do this because I’m certain you both will get along well.
And then, in another line, written a little bit smaller, as if whispering:
Both of you are very dear to me.
Raziol looked up to him again, blue eyes glistening with wonder and affection. He was about to say something in response when the carriage stopped, both of their attentions turning towards the door. Sulvain smiled brightly as it opened, quickly getting down to let Raziol get through. After he did, they both walked towards the door of the shop.
At the threshold of the Maison des Libellules, once they both were outside the eyes of onlookers, Raziol felt the cold hold of Sulvain’s hand on his own, and his heart soared.
4.
Wait here, Sulvain spelled on his palm, the gentle touch of his fingertip matching the pressure of his lips against Raziol’s bare shoulder.
The necromancer got up with steady movements that Raziol followed with glazed eyes, the remaining echoes of his pleasure making his limbs too sensitive to move. A couple of seconds passed before the cold morning air that had filtered through the cracks and corners of the room finally made its way under the sheets, and it was right then when it finally dawned on him.
They had both been warm.
Raziol inhaled, tremulous, as he lowered his eyes at the empty space next to him. He knew the reason for that: he had done it. With his lips and his palms and his breath. Each passing second under the sheets had made both of their bodies warmer, softer, until they lost themselves in the other. Butterflies fluttered in Raziol’s chest at the still-fresh memory, the taste of Sulvain’s skin lingering on his tongue.
A question panged in his head and the astronomer did everything he could to muffle the sound.
And it was easy when Sulvain reappeared in his line of sight, washcloth in his hand, a tender curve on his lips and a blush still coloring his cheeks and ears.
“Hey,” Raziol couldn’t help but exhale.
The necromancer greeted him with a kiss placed on his temple. He proceeded to delicately wipe away the remaining sweat of his lover’s forehead, chest and stomach, his touch feather-light, leaving behind trails of clean skin and devotion. Then, after he set the washcloth aside, he used the same hand to untie the ribbon in Raziol’s hair, letting the strands fall freely over the pillows.
Sulvain was so lost in his task that, when shy fingers brushed one of his curls behind his ear, he jolted a little in place, looking back at Raziol, who let out a small, breathy laugh, his face incandescent with blush. He whispered a small apology as he moved to hold Sulvain’s wrist, ever so gentle, ceasing the necromancer’s movements. As Raziol looked up at him, Sulvain noticed the slow, heavy movement of his eyelids, and couldn’t help the fond smile that softened his expression even more.
Are you tired?, he spelled with his free hand.
“Are you not?” Raziol mumbled, eyes unfocused as Sulvain got closer, laying down next to him. The necromancer’s skin was cold again, and Raziol welcomed the familiarity with a kiss to the inside of his wrist.
Then, almost imperceptible: “I was about to ask you to stay.”
Sulvain’s eyes glimmered and Raziol was almost certain it had nothing to do with the sun that tried to leak from behind the curtains.
I am not going anywhere. His fingertip lingered over Raziol’s heartbeat, constant in the promise of his presence. He would keep it that way. He would. Come, let us tidy up before we sleep.
5.
“Go,” Sulvain signed as Raziol looked back at him, a stolen last glance they both knew the meaning to. “I’ll be here.”
+1.
And he tried.
As he ran through the Palace, he tried. To be there. On time. Before it was too late.
As he ran to the Gardens, he tried. To be there. Differentiate his silhouette in the dark. Hold him close, fast, and run.
As he ran into the Woods, he tried. To be there. Not imagine the worst case scenario, even as his hands were stained with blood— his blood— so, so cold—
it should have never been this cold—
As a sharp intake of breath pierced his throat, he tried. To be there. To get rid of the pressure on his neck, the hold getting impossibly tight. He tried. The first syllable of his name getting stuck right at the back of his mouth and oh he tried. Once, twice, three times, a fourth one that hurt and kept hurting but what wouldn’t he do for him. What wouldn’t he try. Anything, anything, anything. To cry out his name into the night, to look for him between the foliage, under every rock, any sign that he had been there and that he could be there, on time. Anything, anything, anything. He would do anything.
He tried everything.