Work Text:
"Ike?"
Soren carefully opened the door, trying to avoid the squeak it could let out when not opened in a very specific way, and peered through the darkness. From the light seeping in with him, he could see Ike sprawled awkwardly on his bed, one casted foot propped up on several pillows while the rest of his body twisted around itself in a way that seemed beyond uncomfortable. Perhaps it was only Rhys's healing magic that kept him asleep.
Nevertheless, asleep he certainly was. Soren looked down at the bundle in his hand, torn between disturbing Ike and risking losing the treat. Boyd and Rolf had certainly already consumed enough of them.
Deciding, he slipped into the room and closed the door behind him just as carefully. After months sleeping here, he was able to navigate the room in the dark to his own bed. He pulled off his shoes and sat sideways on it, up against the wall, bouncing a little on the thick mattress as he moved. He'd never slept on such a thick mattress before he came to the Greil Mercenaries.
He curved both hands around the napkin-wrapped treat. Not wanting it to go cold, he called a little heat into his hands. Not enough for one of the spells he'd need his books for, but invoking the beginning of fire magic before a spell directed it. He'd found this trick when he was on his own, and it had helped him survive more than one winter.
After that, he waited. He wasn't sure how long, and he didn't want to open the curtains to see how late it was and potentially have the sun wake Ike. But he waited until Ike groaned and began to mutter as he shifted. Soon the mutterings gained a little more awareness.
"Be careful of your foot, Ike," Soren called, once he was sure that Ike was waking up. He didn't want Ike, in his drowsiness, to hurt himself further.
But perhaps he'd neglected to think about the impact of an unexpected voice emerging from the darkness. Ike yelped and jumped, partially rolling over and sending his pillows tumbling down as his limbs flailed. His propped foot fell down, prompting another, more pained, yelp.
"Ike!" Wincing at his own stupidity, Soren jumped forward. He pulled the curtains open on the way, allowing late afternoon sunlight to illuminate the room so Ike could see, before he rushed to Ike's bed but stopped once there, unsure what to do.
"Soren?" Grimacing, Ike sat up, picking up his leg to shift it to a position presumably more comfortable. "You startled me!"
"I...sorry." Was this a stupid idea? He hadn't wanted to disturb Ike, and yet he'd ended up causing him more pain. Should he just leave?
"It's fine, it's fine." Ike waved off the apology before smiling up at Soren from the bed, the pain on his face easing. "You let me sleep, didn't you? You didn't open the curtains when you came in so you wouldn't wake me up?"
Soren relaxed, nodding. Ike understood. Somehow, still, Ike understood. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I want to be on the opposite end of a battlefield from Titania and her horse from now on," Ike replied wryly. "Please tell me Mist didn't see me trip over my own feet and end up with one under a horse's hoof."
"She didn't, but Boyd was happy to repeat the story as many times as she asked," Soren informed him, not without sympathy. Ike had always been taller than him, but recently he'd been shooting up even more, and his limbs didn't always seem to listen to him.
Ike groaned, this time more embarrassed than pained. "At least Rhys is here," he said, around a hand covering his face. "It'll be healed in no time with him. My pride might take a little longer."
"No doubt Boyd will do something more embarrassing soon," Soren said.
The pillows on Ike's bed were still scattered, but Rhys said he should elevate his foot. Should Soren help? Would that be overstepping?
But when he reached out, he remembered the napkin-wrapped treat in his hand at the same time Ike noticed it. "What's that?" Ike asked, nodding his head at Soren's hand.
Soren looked down at his own hand. "An apple turnover," he said, holding it out to Ike. It was still warm. "Oscar made them. Boyd, Rolf, and Mist near polished them off by themselves, but I saved this one."
Ike blinked. "For me?" His fingers twitched, but he didn't take it.
Soren kept holding it out. "I wanted to make sure you got one," he said softly. "Here."
Smiling brightly, Ike reached out and took the turnover. "Thank you, Soren," he said. "I really appreciate the thought."
His offering accepted, Soren relaxed even further. Ike didn't seem to remember their first meeting, years ago. Bringing food to a starving Soren, who had never experienced anything like Ike before. Kindness for kindness's sake.
Part of Soren had wondered if the memory would spark at the gesture returned, but it didn't seem to. Ike bit into the turnover with every evidence of pleasure but none of remembrance.
But that was all right. He wanted Ike to remember still, but Ike was here, and that was more than he'd had for so long.
"Here," Soren said abruptly. The turnover didn't seem enough, in the face of everything Ike had already given him. "Let me help with the pillows and your foot."
"Thank you, Soren," Ike said again, after another bite. He shifted to allow Soren access to the pillows before beaming at him, flaky pastry crumbs lingering on his lips.
This wasn't enough either, but it was a start.
--
Winter dried the air and made his lips crack until Mist tentatively offered a balm that Titania had shown her how to make. Soren, at first, had merely blinked at her, but when her eyes fell and she began to draw the little jar away, he reached out and plucked the jar from her hand. "Thank you," he said, and almost had to turn away from her answering smile.
The balm helped.
But the dry winter air, sharp and colder than the southern winters he was more used to, also left him with a tickle in his nose and throat that the balm could not assuage. Soren tried to spend more time inside, prioritizing the accounts over training -- which was just as well. Greil had agreed to let him serve as staff officer on the strength of his education, and Soren needed to prove he had not misplaced his trust.
It turned out, though, that winter was a busier time for a mercenary company, and a mercenary company's staff officer, than he might have thought. Bandits were more active, preying on small villages that barely had enough to get them through the cold themselves, and Soren needed to keep track of the company's injuries. The supplies were even more complicated -- they needed to keep track of food even more closely while also making sure they stayed well stocked with weapons and armor, as well as the tools needed to maintain them.
Even without training as much, Soren found himself staying up late over and over, staring at their budget and deciding what they needed most.
The first time he sneezed, he dismissed it as the dry air, but the second and third formed a pit in his stomach. The cough that appeared shortly afterward made the pit grow larger. No matter how many times he told himself that he was in Crimea now, with the Greil Mercenaries, part of him couldn't help but wince at how loud he was. How annoying must he be to listen to?
He spent even more time in the office, working on the accounts.
Then one night, after he'd about driven himself up the wall with his sniffles, sneezing, and coughing, someone knocked on the door. Soren quickly blew his nose, but before he could hide the handkerchief, the person opened the door. He frowned, about to caution whoever it was about rudeness, but--
"Ike."
"Soren." Smiling endearingly, carrying a mug of something that steamed gently, Ike came further into the room and nudged the door shut behind him. "I feel I've barely seen you for days."
Soren gestured at his account books. "A lot of work to do, as you can see."
Ike glanced at the books, nodding, before his attention returned to Soren. "I brought you this," he said, holding the mug in his hand out to Soren. "It's ginger tea. Rhys says it helps with colds."
Soren paused in the midst of taking the mug. "Ike?"
Stubbornly continuing to hold it out until Soren took the mug, Ike frowned. "You're sick, aren't you?" he asked. "No wonder, if you've been holing up in this stuffy room. You should come and train with us more."
"I don't want to get anyone else sick," Soren told him. He took a sip of the tea, and it slid down his throat with an ease and warmth he'd missed from the other food he'd forced himself to eat these past few days.
"Don't worry so much about us!" Ike replied with a cocky smile. "We're hardy folk. But don't come train with us yet," he added suddenly, startling Soren and sending a chill running through him. "You shouldn't work so hard when you're sick, Soren. You need to rest more."
Oh. Ike was concerned. Of course he was, it was Ike. "The work doesn't stop just because I get sick," Soren said dismissively, though he took another sip. More of this might get him through the rest of his illness just fine anyway.
"Dad is impressed with your work, you know," Ike said, coming around the desk to rest a hand on the back of Soren's chair. "And your work ethic. But he's not going to mind if you take care of yourself."
Soren tried not to show how much the reassurance meant. Ike was kind, but he was also honest. He wouldn't say it if it wasn't true.
And yet it was still difficult to pull himself away, even as the numbers almost seemed to swim on the page in front of him. When Soren's silence stretched, though, Ike huffed a laugh, then pulled the chair out from behind the desk with Soren still sitting on it. The tea slopped against the side of the mug as Soren jumped slightly in surprise, but thankfully the liquid level was now low enough that it didn't spill.
"Come on, Soren," Ike said warmly. "Come take a break. The accounts aren't going anywhere."
Soren allowed Ike's hand on his shoulder to draw him up.
Ike was right. A break wouldn't hurt.
--
As much time as working as the Greil Mercenaries' staff officer had taken, it was nothing to serving as the primary strategist for an army. More nights than not, Soren fell asleep at his desk, his cheek pressed against a map of Daein, with notes on terrain and formations spread out around him.
Ike was worried about him. Soren knew it, and he didn't like worrying Ike, but part of him also...appreciated it. Hoarded the concerned glances and hesitant approaches to himself, as if they were in limited supply and he had to make sure he got enough before they were gone.
Soren berated himself for worrying Ike, as he berated himself for liking it, but he still could not bring himself to stop. He could lose Ike's concern. No matter how unlikely it was for Ike to turn away from him, given his whole...Ikeness...it was still possible.
People like him belonged nowhere. Beorc and laguz alike turned them away. Soren had known it for all his life, in which Ike's kindness had truly only been a blip, and until they'd reached Begnion and he started to understand why he'd been treated the way he was, he'd begun to think that he truly could have a place for himself.
Telling Ike the truth might burst that bubble for good.
Paradoxically, avoiding Ike was the truest way of preserving his good opinion. He advised his general on strategy as best he could, watched Ike's back in battle with a determination matched by none but possibly Mist, but when Ike sought him out on a personal level, he hardened his heart against those wrenchingly yearning eyes and turned away. He cooked meals for himself at odd times, joined the mages rather than the Greil Mercenaries for training, and pored over maps and strategies by himself in the dubious solace of his own tent.
That night, too, he'd fallen asleep at his desk, and yet he woke, cracking his eyes open to the dim light of his lantern turned low. At first, he wasn't sure what had woken him, and then it came again.
"Soren? Are you here? Are you awake?"
Ike. Still persistent. Both wonderful and terrible.
Closing his eyes again, not shifting the head pillowed on his arms, keeping his face turned away from the entrance, he didn't respond. Ike would wake him up if he was needed, but he'd let him sleep if he wasn't.
Fabric moved, and a warm presence filled the tent, stepping up to loom over him in a way that was still, somehow, more comforting than disturbing. Ike sighed.
"Still falling asleep at your desk, Soren?" Ike's presence moved away, but further into the tent rather than towards the flap again. "Someday you'll learn not to deny yourself comfort. I'll see to it personally." A pause. "At least, if you let me."
He sounded sad. Soren couldn't bear it, almost rose to reassure Ike somehow, but the rustle of moving fabric, and then the susurrus of fabric moving against the canvas floor, stopped him. Then Ike came up behind him again, and the fabric draped over his shoulders. The blanket from his bed.
Ike tucked the blanket around him carefully, trying to cover him without waking him, fixing it when a fold fell away. Then he felt something move in front of his closed eyes until the light on his desk went out. Ike must have turned the lantern off.
"Come back to me soon, Soren, would you?" Ike murmured, still standing close. "Things just feel wrong when you're not at my side."
Then he stepped away and finally left. Soren waited until his footsteps faded into the distance before he squeezed his eyes shut even further, his hands creeping down to grasp the blanket tucked around him. He rolled his forehead against the hard desk, taking in a shaky breath and then biting his lip when it threatened to come out on a sob.
He felt wrong too.
--
Under ordinary circumstances, Soren had neither sympathy nor patience for overindulgence. He'd seen what drink could turn people into, and a fool was the safest option. Voluntarily putting oneself in that state was beyond ludicrous, and Soren felt no need to coddle anyone suffering the consequences of their own poor decisions.
Ike, as always, was his sole exception.
Soren was reading at the table by lamplight, the room's curtains closed against the morning's bright sunlight, when Ike began to stir on the bed, and he looked over in time to see Ike groan, press a hand against his forehead, and turn his face back into the pillow. Closing his book, he stood, picking up the tall glass of water and bringing it to the bed.
"I brought water, Ike," he murmured, sitting down on the edge where the curve of Ike's legs made room for him. "Drink it. It will help."
"Killing me will also help," Ike said, voice muffled by the pillow.
"I haven't worked this hard to keep you alive this long only to kill you now," Soren informed him, still patiently holding the glass. "You'll just have to keep living, I'm afraid."
Ike groaned again, his arm stretching out and prodding at both the bed and Soren's hip until Soren took it and curved his palm around the glass. He didn't let go until Ike's head emerged from the pillow and he sat up enough to drink it without spilling.
"Don't let me drink that much again," he said, exhausted, once Soren took the empty glass again. "I don't care how many nobles destroy their livers to cement a friendship. Elincia doesn't need me to do it."
Soren stood up to return to the table and refill the glass from the pitcher, then turned back to the bed to see Ike's outstretched hand fall limp to hang off the edge. He returned to his previous seat and offered the glass again, but Ike's hand crept up to rest on his knee and stay there.
"She doesn't," he agreed. "I know you want to help her, but you should do what you're good at."
"Which isn't making friends, huh," Ike said, laying back on the bed but leaving his hand on Soren's knee.
Soren put the glass of water on the bedside table and shook his head. "You are good at making friends," he corrected, "but you do not need to spend effort to do so for inflated toadies who need to be flattered into supporting their rightful monarch. If Queen Elincia needs that done, she has other people who can do it."
Ike laughed, then winced. "My particular skills aren't really suited to helping her anymore," he said, a little glumly.
"Your skills are," Soren said. "Every kingdom needs generals. But your personality is not. And if Queen Elincia is half the friend to you that you are to her, she will encourage you to go somewhere that suits you better."
"She has," Ike admitted. "I just worry."
Soren looked at Ike for a long moment. That heart, too big for his own good -- it got him into trouble sometimes, but also found him more than enough people to help get him back out of it. "She no longer needs you as a bodyguard," he said. "And you can't help her with politics. If she needs you, of all people, for that, then she'll fail with or without you. At this point, all she needs from you is your friendship, and she'll have that wherever you go."
A long sigh of relief escaped Ike, and he relaxed back into the bed as if all tension suddenly fled. "I think I knew, but I needed to hear you say it," he murmured. "You'll be with me when I go, won't you, Soren?"
"My place is at your side." He'd wanted it, been afraid of it, couldn't trust it -- but it was true. Where Ike went, Soren would follow.
This time, Ike scooted over in the bed, leaving a wide enough space for another person. "If you'd like to make that literal, I could do with sleeping a little more," Ike offered hopefully. "And if I know you, you haven't slept enough yourself."
Soren rarely lingered in bed himself past the early hours of the morning...but as always, Ike was his exception. And he could admit to himself that he did want to lay beside Ike, feeling his breathing with the movement of the mattress beneath them both. Since the end of the war, they'd edged closer and closer to something new to both of them, and Soren wanted to see where it led.
He pulled his shoes off, but before he drew his feet up on the bed, he picked up the glass of water and handed it to Ike. "More water," he said, "before you sleep. Alcohol dehydrates, you know."
"Thank you, Soren," Ike said, blinking affectionate eyes as he drained it and handed it back.
Soren put it away, and this time he got in the bed properly. Both of them stayed properly on their own sides, but the heat of Ike's presence beside him was soothing. He didn't think he'd sleep, but watching Ike's eyes close and his breathing even out was no hardship.
Perhaps when Ike finally rose for the day, they would be able to make arrangements to leave Melior.
--
Begnion's army, supported by Daein, drove them hard as they retreated back towards Gallia. Ike was already shaken by the reappearance of the Black Knight and his inability to prioritize their renewed fight, and having to first safeguard the army through the lava-strewn Kauku Caves and then pacify the Goldoans had taken more out of him than he tried to show.
Still, he was usually better about taking care of injuries than Soren saw in their tent the first night on Gallian soil, the first time they'd be able to properly rest for days. Ike swirled his cape off and winced as it stuck for a moment to his back. He made a small sound that drew Soren's attention, who stepped closer to see that the crimson of Ike's cape had darkened over his shoulder blade.
"When did this happen?" Soren asked, quickly stepping forward to take the cape himself and ease it from Ike's back, carefully pulling when it stuck. Beneath it, Ike's leather armor had a bloodstained slice splitting it, with the wound itself an inches-long gash peeking through the sliced leather and torn fabric of his shirt beneath it.
Soren ran his hands down Ike's arms to tell him to remain still, then began taking off Ike's armor. "In the caves, I think," Ike replied as Soren worked, cooperating when Soren moved him around. "You and I got separated for a bit and I got surrounded. One of them must have gotten me, though I didn't feel it until later."
Soren frowned. He drew the armor away to store on the armor stand, though they would need to get it repaired before Ike used it again. He then returned to Ike to take a look at his shirt, but between the size of the tear and all the blood, it was beyond saving. Too bad, for how much Ike liked that shirt. "I can't leave you alone for a moment, can I," he said. "You always dodge better when I'm there."
"Then you really shouldn't leave me alone, huh?" Ike suggested, still pulling up a small but roguish grin. Even Soren's quelling look didn't stop it. He still sat when Soren pointed at a stool.
"I'm going to cut your shirt open, then clean the wound," Soren informed him. He set up a basin of water and a cloth, then retrieved his scissors. "I can't heal it before then. Who knows what's gotten into it since the caves. Why didn't you get it healed before then?"
Ike grimaced as Soren began cutting the shirt away from his wound. "It didn't seem that serious, and I had other things on my mind. And the army was worried enough without seeing their general injured."
Soren was a little less gentle than he might be as he began to clean the wound. "Don't be stupid, Ike," he said, hoping Ike could hear the severe frown Soren wore. "You're better than risking yourself out of some sense of pride."
"It wasn't that, really," Ike said apologetically. "Just, you know, there are a lot of expectations on me. I don't want to let anyone down."
Sighing, Soren gentled again. "You're not letting anyone down by showing that you're a person and you can be hurt. It's just the truth, and it would do the army well not to forget it."
But this attitude was something that Ike had begun to be confronted with after his victory in the Mad King's War. People saw him as a hero, not as Ike or even as the leader of a mercenary company, and already Soren could see how that weighed on him. Ending up as a general again didn't help. People expected him to save them, and few looked to save him in return.
"They need me to lead the army," Ike protested reluctantly.
Soren finished cleaning Ike's wound, then put the bloody water and cloth aside and retrieved his Mend staff. He couldn't fix the impact Ike's growing reputation was having on him, but he could at least cast his spell and watch the wound rapidly close. A scab remained after one casting, but a second left only clean, healthy skin.
"Ike," he said, and waited until Ike swiveled on the stool to face him before he continued. "Take care of yourself without caring about what people think, but not because the army needs a general or the people need a hero. You're talented as a fighter and a general, but there are others who are also talented. You're replaceable as a general, and people should rely more on themselves rather than holding out for a hero. The general, the hero -- they don't matter. Take care of yourself because you're Ike, there's only one of you, and you're not replaceable."
Then Soren dropped his staff as Ike wordlessly wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close to bury his face against Soren's stomach. Smiling slightly, Soren put a hand on Ike's newly-healed shoulder, rubbing up and down his back.
"And if you need someone outside of you to think of, consider me," Soren murmured, head curling over Ike.
"Causing you trouble, aren't I?" Ike joked, muffled against Soren's robes.
"Always," Soren replied fondly. "And I would have it no other way. Take care of yourself, and in doing so you will take care of my heart as well."
Ike hugged him even tighter.
--
Traveling with Ike alone was different from traveling with either any of the Greil Mercenaries or with any of the armies they'd found themselves among, or even his wanderings by himself before he'd found his way to Ike. He'd never traveled just for the sake of it before. He'd always had a purpose, a destination, a reason to make a plan and stick to it.
But now their only goals were to explore and enjoy themselves. They could stop at scenic locations, where Ike prompted him to take a moment to enjoy the beauty. They could linger in villages that grew sparser the further east they went. They could wander down intriguing overgrown paths and only later find their way back to the main roads.
And with every step that Ike took away from the main countries of Tellius, he seemed to shed another pound of some invisible burden. When they'd first set off, Ike had used a pseudonym to avoid the furore that often ensued when people realized that the General Ike was in their midst. The further east they'd gone, though, the less that had been necessary. At the last village they'd encountered, his name had inspired no more than a hummed "that sounds familiar."
Hopefully they would eventually come to a place where no one had heard of Ike at all, had no expectations for the hero who defeated a goddess. Maybe then Ike would shed his invisible burden entirely.
However, the further they moved from civilization, the further they moved from all the amenities, including both inns and established, well-used campsites. On this particular stretch of road, they'd begun looking for good places to camp once the sun began to set, but darkness fell before they found one. Both sides of the road were strewn with rocks and bushes, with no easy place to step off the path. Soren had to get out his lantern before they finally found a place to set up camp.
Soren got the fire started easily, grateful to get off his feet for a moment. He was about to rise to start working on the rest of his camp chores when Ike put his hands on his shoulders and pushed to keep him seated.
"Let me take care of camp tonight, Soren," Ike said, voice warm as the growing fire.
Soren frowned. "It's late, and chores will go faster with both of us," he protested. "I can do my share."
He hoped Ike wasn't trying to coddle him because they'd been walking today for longer than expected. He didn't have the physical reserves that Ike did, but he was still capable of walking for a day without collapsing.
Ike peered down at him, seeming to read the stubbornness in his face, and didn't try further to convince him to laze about. "Will you cook tonight, then?" he suggested next.
Soren did not miss that it was another task that would allow him to rest more, but it did need to be done. They still had about half of a rabbit they'd caught for their lunch, so that might go well in a stew with some of the other vegetables and herbs they'd foraged throughout the day.
And perhaps...it wasn't a bad thing for Soren to let Ike do more, when he was volunteering. He didn't think Soren wasn't pulling his weight. He wasn't going to send Soren away from the journey he'd specifically wanted them to take together.
"All right, I'll cook," he agreed, and Ike beamed.
So Soren let Ike set up the tent and gather water and chop more firewood and everything else he wanted to do while Soren chopped vegetables and began his stew. Ike still seemed to have an almost disturbing amount of energy, though Soren supposed that walking, even for a full day, didn't require anywhere near the amount of effort Ike had to sustain during the wars.
Ike's energy might still work out well for them later that night.
Soren's cheeks heated slightly, so he focused again on his stew. They'd been lovers for over a year now, and yet it still sometimes overwhelmed him. He sometimes felt like he'd been in love with Ike for most of his life, and Ike's reciprocation still sometimes felt surreal.
Ike finally settled down beside him, the camp chores finished, and Soren passed out bowls of stew when it was ready. "Delicious!" Ike enthused once he dug in. Soren, as usual, didn't have the appetite that Ike did, so he finished eating after one bowl, but Ike polished off the rest of it.
Soren insisted on doing the dishes, and Ike gave in and directed him to the stream where he'd retrieved their water. When he came back, Ike was leaning back on his hands, looking up at the stars, though he straightened up to reach a hand out to Soren.
"Come here, Soren," he said, drawing Soren closer when Soren put his hand in Ike's. "Take off your shoes. Let me rub your feet?"
"Ike?" Soren paused until Ike tugged his hand again. "You don't need to. My feet are fine."
"I'm sure they are," Ike agreed, smiling at him. "I know how tough you are. I'd still like to rub them anyway, if you'll let me."
...Truly, Soren had no real reason to refuse. He sat down in front of Ike and pulled off his boots and socks, setting them aside, and allowing Ike to take one foot and draw it into his lap. His warm hands stroked over the arch of his foot, then his thumbs dug in, and Soren closed his eyes.
Ike had talented hands, and Soren wasn't surprised that those hands, so often used to kill, were just as adept at dissipating the aches and pains of the day. Ike had long since proven how softly he could touch Soren, or that he could be just as rough as Soren wanted. Now his hands were firm, his fingers pressing in deep, and Soren sighed.
Ike switched feet, and soon Soren found remaining upright a more difficult task than expected. Those callused hands pulled any remaining tension out of him until he just wanted to slump over. Only his self-discipline kept him from falling backwards into the dirt.
Finally, Ike's hands came to a stop. Soren's feet no longer ached at all, and now what he wanted most was to be close to Ike. Preferably in their tent.
Ike seemed to read the desire in his eyes, and he reached forward to scoop Soren into his arms and rise in one smooth motion. "Get the fire, would you?" he asked, low and smoky, and Soren's quickly-called wind blew the flames to nothing.
As he was laying Soren down inside their tent, though, Ike unexpectedly murmured, "Thank you, Soren."
Soren reached up to trail his fingers over Ike's face. "For what? I should be thanking you."
"You let me take care of you. I know you struggle with that." Ike's own hand cupped Soren's face, and he leaned down to kiss him before settling down at his side.
"You let me as well," Soren replied. He couldn't see Ike very well in the darkness, but he knew the curves of his face almost better than his own now, and he could see the way Ike's cheeks pulled in a smile. "Because we're partners, aren't we, Ike?"
"We are." Ike leaned in and kissed him again. Warmth resided in Ike's voice, in the closeness of their entwined bodies, in the trust Soren held in that partnership. "Soren."
They kissed, and undressed, and touched each other. And by the time Soren was drifting off to sleep, he knew they'd cared for each other well.