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Kaladin had barely closed the door to his quarters before slumping to the floor with his back against the wall. His melancholy thoughts, like so many men on a battlefield, clamored for his attention, demanding salvation but, as had become his custom, he sat in overwrought inaction. He wasn’t enough. Moash had been right. Kaladin was just going to keep hurting. Everyone he loved was going to die and there wasn’t anything Kaladin could do about it. Unable to cry, Kaladin curled on himself feeling an aching hollowness inside, wishing he could simply crumble to dust and be spirited away by the winds like one of those Fused husks. But he couldn’t. He was trapped by the weight of his own gravid existence. There was only one way out and nothing and no one could help with this. It was inevitable, so why bother fighting? It wasn’t like anyone cared—

A knock came at Kaladin’s door and he ignored it, still knuckling his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut against the crushing despair. Then Shallan’s voice—no, that was Veil’s lazy drawl—drifted through the door, “Eh, bridgeboy? You gonna open this door or am I gonna have to make Pattern unlock it?”

What on Roshar could be so urgent that she was bothering him now of all times? His head snapped up and he looked around desperately for Syl hoping he could send her out to speak with Veil instead, but she was nowhere to be found. The room was empty except for a veritable legion of agonyspren, and Veil was about to break into his quarters. Kaladin panicked. He got to his feet, straightened his jacket, and took a deep breath. The agonyspren receded. Whatever it was, he could master himself a little while longer. He had his hand on the knob poised to open it, his feigned composure securely in place, when he saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye and the door suddenly swung towards him and he jumped out of the way as Pattern burst from the lock. Veil stood there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, wearing her usual relaxed expression, a traitorous Syl coalescing from a ribbon of light to rest on her shoulder.

“Mind if I come in?” Veil asked, not waiting for a response before she pushed off the wall, sauntered in, and sat on his bed. Kaladin inwardly cursed his lack of proper furnishings; his bed was the only place to sit apart from the floor. Even though she was wearing Veil’s face, it was really Shallan, and Kaladin felt a disquieting trepidation settle on him at the prospect of being alone in a room with her without a chaperone so he made no move to close the door. Instead, he stood awkwardly in the doorway as if he were the guest in his own quarters.

“You going somewhere, bridgeboy?” she asked idly cocking her head at him as she spoke.

“No, but you shouldn’t be here,” Kaladin answered, continuing to stand awkwardly in his doorway, “it is improper for us to be alone without a chaperone.”

“Shallan is a married woman but Pattern can chaperone, if makes you feel better. He used to do it all the time when Adolin and Shallan were courting. Although I should warn you…I am not here to do anything proper with you.”

“No mating!” came an enthusiastic voice from Kaladin’s bedspread making Kaladin’s face heat.

“He says that a lot,” she said smirking with ironic amusment, then lowering her voice, she continued, “but that is exactly why I am here so why don’t you close that door so the rest of Urithiru doesn’t hear me shouting your name as you bed me?” Kaladin froze unable to believe what he was hearing. As he processed the words, he immediately surveyed the hallway but blessedly saw no one so he rounded on her.

“Veil! You shouldn’t say things like that, even in jest.” Kaladin hissed, glaring at her and closing the door. She clearly wanted privacy and to get a rise out of him and he had to admit she was succeeding on both fronts. As he turned to face her, Veil patted the bed next to her, inviting him to sit there. He stiffly obeyed not wanting her to cause another scene or say something as recklessly obscene has she just had. And yet, his mind couldn’t help but wander…yes, Shallan and Adolin were married and, yes, they were good together and, and yes, he was happy for them and yet he would be lying to himself if he said he held no attraction to this woman. Her words had affected him. Even if he had buried it deeply and she wore a different face, the attraction to her had not simply disappeared because he had willed it away or logicked that their combined traumatic mental illnesses may not lead to healthy outcomes. His head and his heart as well as another part of him did not always agree. He scowled. This was a pointless and inappropriate line of thinking, Shallan had taken oaths and he respected them as much as he respected the person to whom she had made them. Adolin was a good friend and a good man so Kaladin felt guilty for letting his unruly thoughts stray as much as they had already. He needed to find out what she needed from him and send her on her way as quickly as possible because he may no longer be fit to command Dalinar’s forces but he certainly commanded the majority of Shadesmar’s agonyspren of late and they would dutifully return. Soon.

As he settled on the bed a respectable distance from her, Veil eyed him intently and shifted next to him so her arms and legs abutted his. Kaladin sat rigidly, acutely aware of where their bodies touched, not even daring to breathe, knowing he should shift away but not quite being able to force himself to do it. His mind and heart started to race unhelpfully as Veil reached out her hand and slid it down his thigh and back up whispering dangerously low, “What makes you think I’m joking, bridgeboy?” she asked, fixing him with an intense stare. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. I see how you look at Shallan.” Storms, he couldn’t help that his body responded to her touch and he didn’t quite meet her eyes as her gaze bored into him. Of course he had thought about it. Extensively. But thinking about it and acting upon it were different things. He shoved her hand away and got to his feet, “Veil, this is inappropriate. You should leave before you do something Shallan regrets.”

Or something I regret he thought anxiously, fighting the urge to swallow dryly as he met her eyes. He could feel that his composure was close to cracking. Why did she have to come to him today of all days?

Veil stood, closing the distance between them, determinedly backing him into the wall as he stumbled away from her. Crazy woman. What had gotten into her? She spoke confidently as she drew close to him and his blood heated further. “I’m not leaving, bridgeboy, until I get what I came for. I meant what I said.” All of his military training seemed to flee beneath her predatory gaze as he stupidly allowed himself to be backed against the wall without even a small shove against her in his own defense. Even more foolishly, he had defenselessly affixed his palms to the wall in an effort to restrain himself from touching her, a mistake he would have never made with an ordinary adversary, as it left his face wide-open for an attack. But this attack, a pathetic part of him admitted, he wanted to land, as the woman he had come to love but could not have, advanced on him with a different face. If Veil touched him at all, he deserved a brusque slap for allowing this impropriety to progress as far as it had but he shamefully craved her touch in whatever form it took. It was deplorable but he also wished Shallan had been wearing her own face so that he could be watching Shallan back him against his wall with hunger in her eyes, not Veil.

Time seemed to slow as she pressed her body squarely against his and he hated himself for inopportunely recalling imagined scenarios from over a year ago. Before she had made her decision. Hopeful fancies that could have been but weren’t. Imaginings that had remained well past the time they were welcome or beneficial flashed, half-formed, through his mind. Her looking up from his chest during the height of the highstorm, him cupping her face gently and pressing his lips to hers comfortingly, reassuringly, acceptingly, the intimacy of their words finding a natural physical expression as a tenuous first kiss. Her meeting his eyes across the warcamps and flashing him a dazzling yet encouraging smile accompanied by a quip about him not wearing one of the boots he had made such a fuss about as she departed with Dalinar’s expedition. Her swatting him playfully then falling into him in a fit of laughter on the ship in Shadesmar as they traded clever gibes and puns. Her seeking him out on the wall walk over the destruction and chaos of Thaylen Field and yanking him by the coat into a smoldering embrace, not caring who saw. Wanting him instead of Adolin because… even though Adolin was a good man, was he smart enough to keep up with or even appreciate Shallan’s witty repartee? And how could a man like Adolin ever understand how it felt to be broken like she had been? Like he had been. Like he was. Like they both were. Stop it. Adolin was a good man and his friend. Bitter questions and hypothetical scenarios served no purpose except to torment him further.

But he deserved the torment.

She had chosen Adolin. Of course she had. He wasn’t a screw up like Kaladin was. How could anyone ever want a wretch like him? He had never done a single thing right in his life. He had abandoned his training as a surgeon and disappointed his father, for what? To fight meaningless battles against innocent people. To continue to survive while everyone he loved died around him. He had been able to protect some but even that had been taken from him today and now the wife of his best friend was here and…

He felt the tantalizing warmth of her body pressing into him, and the fact that he knew this was wrong did nothing to subdue the base eagerness of his body. Storms. He hated himself. A low growl escaped him as he turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut in a useless attempt to pretend he did not want this. He could feel her warm breath against his neck and his pulse quickened further. What on Roshar was she doing and why? His heart thumped and his body thrummed with anticipation but he didn’t trust himself to move, talk, or even open his eyes for fear of what he might see or fear of what he might do. His honorable intentions and precautions didn’t seem to matter though. She grabbed the back of his neck and, before he could react, she wrenched him down to crush his mouth against hers. Her lips were warm and soft as she opened her mouth to him but Kaladin’s mind went blank with shock and he froze as Veil moaned a relieved sigh into his mouth. Then, automatically, his body started to respond before his brain could catch up to what was happening. He released the breath he had been holding and yielded to the kiss, returning it. Momentarily letting it overwhelm him while Veil’s fingers tightened in his hair and he groaned weakly against her lips.

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Veil hummed in pleasure rocking her hips into his, which only stoked his base arousal further. “I knew you wanted this, bridgeboy,” she rumbled.

Her words startled him out of his brief descent into perfidy. Somehow his hands had moved to tenderly cup her face but he dropped them now, abruptly jerking away from her and cracking his head painfully against the stone wall. “Storms!” He exclaimed, furiously massaging the back of his head, “Veil, you’re married to Adolin. You took oaths!”

“Technically, Shallan is married to Adolin. I am very much unattached and I find your dark and brooding countenance particularly enticing. You glare in the most satisfying of ways,” she drawled licking her lips and eyeing him in a predatory way. Kaladin glared at her. “Mmmm, yeah, that’s the look right there,” she growled huskily, sliding her hand down her body and biting her lip as she touched herself sensually. Storm him for all ten fools if he didn’t watch that hand intently as blood flooded his groin, but he set his jaw, crossed his arms, and controlled his breathing, restraining himself with extreme difficulty at such an overt display from a woman about whom he had fantasized. When he next spoke, he forced calm into his voice despite being nearly hysterical with barely contained want, shame, and righteous anger.

“You share a body with Adolin’s wife! I never should have—”

“You hardly did anything.”

“Yes, I did. I kissed you and it was wrong, Shallan.” His voice was rising despite his best efforts to keep it controlled.  What was it about this woman that provoked him so? He was so frustrated that he didn’t care about keeping up the charade that Veil and Shallan were different people, he wanted to remind her that whether or not she wore Veil’s face, she was married and this didn’t only affect her, “Adolin—” he gritted out harshly, intending to begin a deprecatory tirade, but she cut him off, barely acknowledging the fact that he had called her Shallan while she wore Veil’s facade. She was usually touchy about that and that secondarily shocked him into silence.

“First of all, I initiated the kiss and—wrong?” She refuted, “I practiced that with Adolin for nearly a half hour before coming here and I’ll have you know I succeeded in getting him pretty…distracted and you were, too, until you suddenly withdrew like some wind-chastened rockbud and had a storming conniption!”

She had practiced on Adolin? And they had…almighty. He pictured the two of them distracted and felt his body respond to the salacious ideation. Stop it. That was…unimportant right now.

Kaladin opened his mouth to unleash a vehement torrent of choice words regarding morality and nuptial oaths, but she cut him off again, “Didn’t Syl tell you?” Veil asked incredulously. Kaladin could only gape at her. Told him what exactly? She had told him he didn’t tell her how great she was often enough, she had called him a stumer, whatever that was, she had mocked him for being unable to sleep when babies could…But, no, tired as he was, he was quite sure that Syl had not mentioned anything about Veil coming to his rooms to seduce him this evening. He would have remembered something like that and lashed himself far away, accordingly. His eyes cast about the room for Syl so he could glare at her properly for her involvement. “She came to both of us. Adolin wants this to happen as much as I do. He might be a little jealous of me but we thought it would be…easier for you to deal with just one of us to start. The one we knew you wanted. Besides, there is something I need to tell you.” Kaladin was only half-listening as his eyes distractedly searched the room for Syl. He was ashamed to admit that his first notion upon thinking of her was abject panic as he thought about her witnessing this, which almost immediately turned into embarrassment as his brain unhelpfully pictured Syl watching this escalate and calling out encouragement and advice from the headboard. Except that he didn’t have a headboard. Still, why did that thought always have to occur to him any time he thought about a woman in that way? He was going to have to get past that eventually. He shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge the unwelcome thought. The idea of sleeping with Veil while Syl watched disturbed him profoundly but this would not escalate. Veil was…

Veil’s words finally settled on him and that immediately unsettled his mind. Adolin wanted this? And he would be jealous of Shallan? Why? That almost sounded like…storms. He almost groaned aloud. His eyes finally fell on Syl, hovering behind Veil above his bed. She didn’t even have the decency to look abashed for covertly colluding with his friends about this. She had absolutely no concept of boundaries, privacy, or discretion whatsoever. Storming spren.

Syl nodded in confirmation. Then, clearly visible to Veil as evidenced by Veil’s sharp head turn in her direction, she spoke, “Adolin did suggest this himself. We all agree that you need this, Kaladin.” Oh, they had, had they? Didn’t he get a say where his needs were concerned? “It’s not breaking any oaths if all parties are informed and in agreement. After the day you had, you should not be alone. Physical intimacy is important for humans especially for releasing tension and with Shallan you also have—”

“Enough,” Kaladin snapped, cutting her off before she could reveal more. He was now increasingly sure Syl could sense his unresolved feelings toward Shallan through the bond and he winced at hearing that Syl, of all people, had discussed his intimate life, or lack thereof, with his closest friends. How much had she told them? He didn’t want them feeling sorry for him or thinking him pathetic. Even if he was. He could not think of anything to say so he just stood there staring blankly as his mind slowly spun up some fairly standard gloomy thoughts. That he wasn’t worth their time. That he wasn’t worth anyone’s time. Not even Syl’s. He couldn’t fulfill his oaths by going to battle to protect them anymore so he was useless to everyone. And physical intimacy? It just led to more loss. He had courted Lyn. She had rejected him, wasn’t that enough? How much more rejection did he have endure before they would leave him alone? Couldn’t they see he wanted to be left alone?

He did not need physical intimacy he told himself, even if his too-tight trousers clearly objected to this line of reasoning. If he wanted sex, he could afford a trip to a brothel but that had never appealed to him. When the need arose, he preferred to deal with the troublesome affliction promptly and on his own. He needed to feel a connection with a person before he could fathom being physically intimate with them so it was much easier this way. He could admit that he felt a connection with Shallan but this was Veil and, by her own admission, she was not the same person.

Even if Adolin had given his blessing, and he must have done because Syl would not have encouraged this otherwise, Kaladin did not want to be intimate with Veil. Veil was alluring in her own right, objectively attractive, but in a dark and dangerous sort of way. He could understand the appeal, but Veil hadn’t been vulnerable with him nor had she verbally sparred with him using the most maddeningly clever of tactics. He just wasn’t in l—no, he just didn’t feel that way about Veil.

Not to mention, he still could not fathom how Adolin could be okay with this. Affable Adolin with his damnably infectious smile, so singularly in love with Shallan. The storming princling could make him feel better just by being there but he wasn’t here now and, if Adolin knew the depths of his feelings for Shallan, feelings that would probably overwhelm him when Shallan inevitably left him after her humanitarian efforts tonight, he wouldn’t want this to happen. It was nice to know they cared about him but this didn’t mean to them what it meant to him. He was a burden. Shallan didn’t return his feelings and Kaladin did feel something. He felt a lot of something so it felt wrong give into a meaningless lustful encounter with Veil. Even if it felt good or fulfilling in the moment, he would end up feeling emptier, if that was even possible, than he already did, when it ended. Colder for having felt the warmth of her embrace than if he had just weathered this night alone.

“Kaladin,” Veil said, interrupting his thoughts, her tone softening as she closed the distance between them and took his hand in hers, her approach was surprisingly gentle this time, and he needed gentle right now, so he didn’t fight it, “even if you are a malodorous and onery bridgeman, this isn’t charity work.” She entwined her fingers with his and he watched, stupefied. “I still love Adolin but I love you too and I want this.” She moved their entwined hands to her breast, “I have tried pretending I don’t want you like this and I am quite good at keeping up an act but denying this does not serve either of us.”

She paused before continuing and Kaladin focused on their hands watching them rise and fall with each breath Shallan took and feeling a numb disconnect, as if he were watching this happen to someone else. “Your order speaks oaths but mine speaks personal truths so here is the truth: I have wanted you in every way since that night we spent together in the chasms, not just because Veil finds your scowl attractive, but because you are able to spar with me mentally in the most delightful of ways and you understand my pain, the sorrow of a life hard-lived, in a way no one else can.” She paused, then even more softly, “do you not feel the same? Swear an oath to me that you do not feel the same and I will leave you alone tonight.” Even though her hair did not change back to red, he knew it was Shallan speaking and he felt a stirring warmth at her words. She also must have been entirely truthful because there was a flash of light as a glyph formed behind her in frost and she started to glow. He was only vaguely aware of an excited humming coming from his bed because, when she exhaled, his quarters disappeared and they were back in the alcove with the highstorm raging around them, lightning flashing, dry illusory rain buffeting them from all sides. He struggled to form a coherent thought as blood started to pound away from his rational mind but, even if he was not resisting being overcome with desire for this woman, he could not swear an oath to her that he held no feelings for her. That he was not attracted to her physically, mentally, and emotionally. He had loved her, he did…no, she had chosen Adolin and he had accepted her choice. But now she was here telling him she returned his feelings and that Adolin wanted this. Syl had confirmed it.

“I just bared my soul to you, bridgeboy. Are you going to say anything?”

It was all too much. His breathing intensified as he processed her words, his feelings, and her proximity. He felt dizzy. She was still tenderly holding his hand and he gripped her back firmly.

“Storm you, Shallan.” He whispered, his voice low and laced with a desperate restraint.

“Not exactly what I had in mind but it’ll have to do…” she said shrugging slightly and trying for a smile.

Storms. He still felt conflicted. He wanted nothing more than pull her into a passionate embrace but he was afraid of losing her because it seemed that everyone close to him ended up killed or ruined sooner or later. But she understood that. She had experienced it and her experience had been so much worse than his own but she still found a way to smile. It was truly the most beautiful thing on all of Roshar. He didn’t deserve her, she was too good for him and she probably only loved the idea of him. But that wasn’t true either. That was the melancholia talking, she did know him. Maybe better and more honestly than anyone else and she still wanted this, wanted him somehow…But what if he disappointed her and lost both Shallan and Adolin because of it?

“So you can’t swear an oath?” her voice a cool challenge and there was sly hint of a smirk forming at the corners of her lips. Veil had returned and she was sizing him up, as she palmed him through his trousers with her gloved safehand. He gasped at the unexpected touch, Veil smiled more broadly as she moved her hand on him, and he held his breath.  A beat passed between them and Kaladin felt something inside him break.

“No. I can’t,” he whispered, breathing heavily then slumping forward as agonyspren repopulated his room.

“Storms. Kaladin!”

The shocked illusion of Veil vanished as did the highstorm alcove and, to her credit, Shallan’s petite form managed to seize him under the arms so that he sagged against her rather than dropping to the floor. She hugged him against her fiercely and that eased something inside of him. Even so, at first, he hung there limply until he heard Shallan’s strained voice puffing from somewhere near his armpit, and that snapped him back to the present moment, “Storms, you’re as heavy as a chull! And some of us don’t have the surge of gravitation,” she complained, “could I get a little help here, Kaladin Swoonblessed?” He smiled at that, retaking his weight, and slowly returned her embrace. The agonyspren faded. She could make him feel better. Like Tien always had.

It felt good to be holding her. Really good. He felt his arousal returning but he only gave her an affectionate squeeze and kissed the top of her head, pulling back to look at her.

“Storms, how do you even stand?” She grumbled making a show of dusting herself off, “you Alethi giants ought to need luckspren.”

She looked up at him then and he raised his hand to sweep a few errant strands of her brilliant red hair from her face and tuck them behind her ear. She smiled, looking nervous for the first time, and he returned her smile. He cupped her face gently with one hand and she closed her eyes leaning into his touch. He allowed himself a moment of chest-aching delight at the intimacy of the moment. Her tender response to his touch felt like she really did love him. He pressed his forehead to hers breathing in her scent, floral and sweet.

Tilting her face up and gently brushing her cheek with his thumb, he he hoped she would open her eyes and she did. Their eyes met and he searched them for moment. He saw vulnerability, tenderness, and want there. His own feelings mirrored back at him. His resolve coalesced like a Shardblade and he wielded it with the precious grace, fixation, and respect he would a Blade. Closing his eyes, he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her reverently. He lifted his other hand to cup the other side of her face as he worshipped her mouth, pouring all his repressed longing into the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his waist and sighed, melting into him.

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“See wasn’t this a great idea?” Syl asked jovially, effectively shattering the blissfully tender moment, “You need to listen to me more.”  Annoyed as he was at the interruption, he was glad that she had spoken sooner rather than later, as he also became aware of an approving humming emanating from his bedspread. He had no wish for Syl or Pattern to bear witness to whatever might unfold between the two of them. He was becoming painfully aware of what Veil had said she had wanted from him and now he felt more willing to give it.

“Do you two mind?” Kaladin asked eyeing Pattern and Syl. Syl looked like she was about to say something but Pattern spoke first.

“Mmmm, mind. Cognitive Realm!” Pattern buzzed excitedly. “Yes, we both mind.” Kaladin stared nonplussed at the faint raised outline on his bedspread from where the voice emanated, not sure if Pattern was mocking him or not. He raised an eyebrow at Shallan, who shrugged.

“You better not be trying to get rid of us, Kaladin. I’ve been your spren for ages and never got to see you—”

“And you won’t.” Kaladin interrupted firmly. “Syl, if you want anything to happen between the two of us,” he eyed Shallan for confirmation and she nodded, “you will leave. I will not allow myself to become…distracted while you are here.” Shallan smirked at his word choice and he resisted smiling as well as an unanticipated warmth effused him.

“How am I supposed to make sure you are acting honorably, if I’m not watching you?” Syl asked petulantly.

Kaladin gave her a withering look, “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

A long moment passed where Syl looked dejected and they all remained in awkward silence, except for Pattern’s contemplative humming, but then she perked up again and Kaladin would bet several emerald broams that this was about to become even more awkward. Somehow.

“How am I supposed to help you, if I’m not here? What if you need pointers?” Syl asked sincerely, trying and failing to suppress the eagerness in her voice. Kaladin sighed. If he needed pointers, he would ask Shallan. Why did he have to explain this? “Before you banned me from watching other couples,” Syl continued, “I saw some very interesting things…” She trailed off mysteriously waggling her eyebrows in a very human invitation for Kaladin to express his intrigue at her words. He was not intrigued, not even a little bit, and gave her a flat stare. Surely, she wouldn’t keep talking. The mood was already feeling deader than all the Recreance blades on Roshar. 

“This one couple,” Syl ventured onward, storms, she wasn’t done, “had this long, thin-looking fruit. The woman smeared something on it and then she—"

“Syl!” Kaladin exclaimed, “Please, stop.” He felt Shallan quivering against him and was relieved to see her smiling, when he looked down. The quaking was from suppressed mirth not anguish, thank the heralds.  Uncomfortable though he was, he found himself chuckling too at the ridiculousness of it all. Being a Knight Radiant certainly had its perks but this was not one of them. He suddenly had a lot of respect for what Adolin must have had to deal with for the past year or so with Shallan and Pattern. But, no, the Highprince was so easygoing, it probably didn’t even phase him, like it did Kaladin. Kaladin wished he could be as easygoing as Adolin. Was he really thinking about Adolin again?

Kaladin mentally shook himself as he cast his mind about to think about something, anything else.

His thoughts were vaguely swept up in sonder as he contemplated other members of Bridge Four and whether or not their spren were as intrusive in their intimate lives. Was Drehy’s spren like Syl? Unbidden, his mind pictured Drehy and Dru with Drehey’s spren hovering above them watching them and asking questions as they…no. He felt uncomfortable imagining it. And why was he thinking about Drehy and Dru? Why not Peet and Ka or Skar and Ristina? He was uncomfortable imagining any of his team members being intimate but he was more bothered that his mind had conjured two men first. It wasn’t that two men being… together was wrong but it made him uncomfortable at the present moment in a way he couldn’t quite define. It was something he usually shrugged off and accepted with a good-natured internal eye roll and a chuckle. Like Adolin’s clothing. But he didn’t feel like laughing now. He felt…disturbed. When Shallan had said that Adolin had become distracted, had he…? No, his reaction had been because he had been thinking of Shallan. He didn’t think of men or Adolin that way and it was as simple as that.

Kaladin was jolted from his discomfiting thoughts by Pattern.

“The honorspren has asked a good question! Shallan, should I stay? I have studied human copulation methods and—"

“No. Thank you, Pattern.” Shallan answered resolutely but still grinning. Kaladin couldn’t be sure but it almost looked like Pattern’s complex network of lines slowed after she responded. Was that an expression of sadness in Cryptics?

“Okay…” he buzzed sullenly, but then his pattern sped up again and he started to muse aloud, “Can the male impregnate the female? Custom dictates that only the male—”

“Pattern!” Shallan chastised, “you know Adolin and I are taking precautions. You asked me about it. At length. Two weeks ago.”

“But this male is not Adolin, is he unable to—”

“Pattern, can we discuss this later?”

“He does raise a good point, Shallan.” Kaladin replied begrudgingly. He felt awkward discussing it but Pattern was right. Even if Adolin did agree to this, it would not do for Shallan to give birth to a darkeyed child. “I would never want to jeopardize your marriage or the succession of the Kholin Princedom and, as I’m sure you are aware, there are certain diseases—"

“Diseases! Fascinating! What kinds of diseases? They are spread by copulation? What do—"

“Pattern! Later.” Shallan reprimanded, then looking at Kaladin, she continued more gently, “Kaladin, Adolin and I had examinations before the wedding,” Kaladin’s stomach flipped nervously at the mention of Adolin’s name, “and neither Adolin nor I had any diseases then. Although, considering why I am here, I would be willing to submit to an examination…if you wanted to perform one on me yourself.” Her smile held just a hint of a sly wink and he felt a tightening in his abdomen. He had completely forgotten her purpose in his quarters, given the surfeit of unpleasant distractions.

Kaladin did not feel that he was particularly fussy when it came to romance, but the present environment made him feel about as amorous as the time Tarah’s father had walked in on the two of them. Tarah had been unable to persuade him to return her advances that night or for several nights after. Following the encounter, every time Kaladin came to collect her for a date, her father had glared at him and Kaladin had struggled to look the man in the eye.

“Ah, this one was a surgeon! I remember. I went to fetch him in Kholinar when you were stabbed and he almost touched your—"

“Yes. Thank you, Pattern, for reminding us.”

“Kaladin!” Syl cried, looking less aghast than she sounded and practically bursting with excitement, “You almost touched her—what? I’m not sure if I can trust you to be honorable now. I think I am going to have to stay and watch…”

“You drew many pictures of this one!” Pattern continued as if there had been no interruption to his vocalized stream of consciousness. Kaladin let his protest to Syl die in throat as his curiosity peaked and he found himself listening intently to Pattern. “In Kholinar you made his disguise hideous because Jasnah reprimanded you for your wandering eyes during—"

“Pattern!” Shallan interjected.

“Wait, no. I want him to finish. During what, Pattern?” Kaladin asked, curiously.

“A meeting, yes!” Pattern buzzed excitedly. “With the Radiants. Shallan was supposed to be taking the minutes but drew the young captain instead. Jasnah called a break and reprimanded her for it.”

Shallan blushed.

“So you did like me? And you drew me during a meeting?” Kaladin asked, incredulous. He managed to restrain himself from bouncing up on his toes but failed to contain his grin.

“I thought that was obvious given the ideal you just witnessed and what Pattern just said.” Shallan groused. “Don’t make me take back that bit about you being able to mentally spar with me. I’d hate to fight someone who is unarmed.”

Kaladin ignored her clever insult; his mind was racing again. How had she drawn him? Jasnah had been bothered by it. He had to see this drawing. “Do you still have this drawing?” he asked nonchalantly. Could she do that drawing of herself in a bridgeman’s uniform? That was a persistent image that had never left his head. He had been forced to send away Syl for some personal time on several occasions because of its emergence in his mind. In fact, now that he thought of it…

“You could at least try not to look so excited.” She grumbled. Perhaps he had not been as nonchalant as he thought. Shallan cleared her throat and chose not to answer him about the drawing, instead turning to address his spren instead. “Syl, what embarrassing things can you tell me about Kaladin that he wouldn’t want me to know?”

There was no need for that.

“Wait. You’re always complaining that I’m scowling. Now, I’m not and you’re complaining that I’m excited. There’s no pleasing you, is there?” he demanded teasingly, taking a chance, hoping she caught his gently stressed innuendo and was distracted by it in a good way.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re excited Kaladin!” Syl exulted. “Might I remind you that this was my idea. Imagine how much happier you’d be if you listened to me more…you really don’t give me the adoration I deserve.” Syl sniffed, “As for embarrassing—”

“Syl.” Kaladin warned but it was unnecessary, Shallan was focused on him and the way she was looking at him…he shivered.

“Oh, there is.” Shallan said appraising him, “I look forward to you pleasing me very much.” She fixed him with a predatory stare like Veil had and bit her lip. Except, now, she was Shallan. His heart started to race and he swallowed dryly under her lustful inspection.

“Mmmm,” Pattern hummed, “flushed skin, rapid pulse, dilated pupils, these are indications of human—"

“Out.” Kaladin and Shallan commanded at the same time. Pattern’s lines slowed their turning but he obediently slid off the bed and rippled across the floor towards the door.

“But—” Syl argued.

“Out.” They both said more forcefully.

Syl gave Kaladin one last miserable look then took off after Pattern as a ribbon of light. Kaladin stared at the door where she had vanished, feeling mildly guilty at her harsh dismissal, but there was no being circumspect with her. He would apologize to her later.

Chapter Text

“Well, that was awkward.” Shallan said, grinning nervously.

“Yeah, it kinda killed the mood, didn’t it?” Kaladin laughed, hoping she would disagree and resume her inveiglement. But she didn’t.

“Not completely,” she said, more seriously, looking him up and down, “but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel like doing anything now.” She said it offhandedly and shrugged. Was she just being charitable? Her tone sounded…indifferent. Almost formal, was this Radiant? Did she not want this?

He had wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she melted into him again but he suddenly felt awkward. In truth, his idle fancies had never gone much past what they had already done. They had seemed too unrealistic, and unlike his horrible nightmares, which greatly outpaced reality, his mind had trouble running away with pleasurable experiences so he had no idea how to initiate more without some feedback from her. Actually, now that he thought of it, most of his fancies had involved her initiating. Left to his own devices, he had no idea how to proceed in these sorts of situations, which is why he tended to avoid them. He would not force himself on her or any woman. The mere idea made him feel sick.

Storms, he thought he would feel more confident once their spren had gone but he didn’t. He felt more nervous alone with her, but, almost completely incongruously, he felt panicked that she would leave too. He knew he would likely be miserable company and that made it feel wrong to ask her to stay so he just stood there eyeing her, unsure of what to say or do. Should he reach out to tuck that loose lock of hair behind her ear? Should he offer to perform an exam on her like she had suggested? He had performed and assisted with countless pelvic exams. He knew what to do when it came to medicine. Perhaps things would fall into place after that. No, he did not want to be that forward. His poor leadership when they were lost in chasms loomed in the back of his mind and he wished she would figure this out for them both, like she had before. Despite his vehement dismissal of Syl’s pointers, he found himself wishing for some direction but he didn’t feel comfortable asking for it. This wasn’t like clarifying details for a scouting mission, this was something natural that he should inherently know. Except he didn’t. His only real experience had been with Tarah and that had been years ago and even that hadn’t felt completely natural most of the time. Shallan was almost certainly more experienced than he was. She had had over a year with Adolin...

Adolin, who was unfairly attractive, confident, and likeable. Adolin who always knew what to do.  Adolin, who had courted every Alethi lighteyed woman of any note and perhaps the men too. How could anyone resist the man? The storming princling had almost certainly taken Shallan effortlessly. Not that he blamed her. Those broad shoulders, that hard, lean, muscular torso, his eye catching black and blonde hair that always managed to fall perfectly around his handsome face, his winning smile and uplifting presence that made you want to be around him… Storm it, Kaladin wanted to hate the man but he just couldn’t. That didn’t stop him from being envious of his friend though. Especially now. If he had even a fraction of the princeling’s good looks, playful magnetism, disarming sense of humor, undeniable charm, or confident bearing, he probably wouldn’t be feeling so awkward. But Kaladin had always been this way in these sorts of situations. At least, at first.

Kaladin found himself wishing his friend were there to lubricate the present situation. Adolin, ever the affable leader, tactfully taking charge, guiding Kaladin as he...Kaladin’s heart started to pick up as he thought about how Adolin’s touch would feel. He would be attentive, intentional, skillful, even artful. The same way he swung a blade. Sex could be a lot like a duel, Kaladin realized, and Adolin was unquestionably an excellent duelist. The best Kaladin had ever seen so it was not a far leap to imagine that Adolin was an equally talented lover. Not that that mattered to Kaladin. Not really. Kaladin was merely interested in Adolin’s presence for the reassurance that it would provide to the situation with Shallan. Kaladin would feel more confident that what he was doing with Shallan was right, if Adolin were there. That was all.

His distracted thoughts must have shown on his face though because…

“Are you alright, bridgeboy? You’re not going go all Kaladin Swoonblessed Highmarshal of all agonyspren in Shadesmar on me again, are you?” Shallan asked with concern.

“No. I mean—yes.” He stammered.

“Which is it? Maybe make yourself weightless while you decide.”

“I’m alright. I just—I’m not sure what to do next.” He confessed, “Maybe…you could show me what you like?” He thought he might have seen her grimace slightly and he felt a stab of uncertainty at that but then her smile was back in place before he was sure.

“Sure thing, bridgeboy. You got any booze in this sorry excuse for a bedchamber?” She demanded, stepping away from him to shed her jacket and hat then looking around his mostly empty room with interest. Veil was back. Great. Maybe he would be better off alone after all. He was not very interested in Veil and he was even less interested in drunk sex with Veil, not that she would find a bottle in his rooms. Besides, maybe this would go better with Adolin present…

“It’s been a long day and I could really use to get some sleep.” He noted, trying to stretch and yawn casually, as if he were relaxed and ready for bed. “Maybe we should call it a night.” He knew his act was a poor one so it was a good thing that she was currently facing away from him, ostensibly still looking for a bottle. She froze, bristling slightly.

“Seriously?” she asked with a hint of contempt in her voice. “I didn’t think you’d get discouraged so easily.” She turned to him. “Where’s that fighting spirit, that barely leashed anger, that passion. You fought a chasmfiend. You killed a chasmfiend.”

“You still sound pretty upset about that last part.” What was he supposed to do, let it kill them? He wasn’t sure why but he felt annoyed all of a sudden. And hurt. Usually he enjoyed her wit, it felt like a challenge, a competition even, but he just wasn’t in the mood for games right now. He was also pretty sure she had just bled through all three of her personalities in a matter of minutes and he didn’t have the patience or desire to deal with that either.

“I am. They are truly magnificent creatures.” She reproached him earnestly.

He grunted.

“Ah, yes, the bridgeman grunt dialect. I am becoming quite fluent. I believe that meant: Yes, Shallan. I am quite passionate and intense and I still very much want to please you. I will pounce on you now and lash us to the bed so I can ravish you against my sad two pillows and stark bachelor mattress.” His pillows and mattress were not sad. They were quite comfortable and of good quality, too, as were his sheets and blanket. Sure, Adolin had picked out most of it and these particular sheets had been at Adolin’s behest, but still, he had them. It was his own fault he couldn’t sleep most of the time, it had nothing to do with his bedding. His bedding was nice.

“Storms, Shallan. Is that what you want?” He asked, dumbfounded. Despite his current churlishness and intentional disinterest, his pulse quickened a bit.

“No, I was joking. I have no interest in you whatsoever. My ideal was a sham and I’d like to keep standing here awkwardly while you think depressing, untrue thoughts about yourself and probably find a way to blame yourself for every bad thing that has ever happened to anyone you’ve ever met.”

Storms. She sure had a way with words. But she wasn’t completely wrong either. He scowled at that.

“Shallan, I don’t think I can be who you want me to be.”

She stepped up to him. “Perhaps not.” She agreed, eyeing him critically. Her eyes took on a mischievous glint and she smirked. “Yet.”

Storms.

She breathed in stormlight and exhaled. He saw an illusion take shape, drift toward his face, and settle there. Why? Did he look that bad that she had to cover his face with a lightweaving? No, it was probably the face of someone better-looking. Delightful. He suppressed a contemptuous scoff as he exhaled loudly through his nostrils. She had a keen talent for insulting people.

“Have you changed me into Adolin?” he asked scornfully, giving her a long-suffering look.

“Of course not. You could never be Adolin. You brood too much. Besides, you’re too tall. Your head would stick out of the top of the illusion.” She said this all matter-of-factly, frowning at him as if this were obvious.

“Couldn’t you just make it whatever size you want?”

“I could but I wouldn’t. Much more comical with your head sticking out. Highbrow comedy, you might say.” He groaned, fighting the appreciative smile that tugged at his lips. “You have no appreciation for good puns, Kaladin Stormface, so I’ll resist making another one about the insignificance of size if you know what you’re doing. Keep guessing.” Why? Why was she like this?

“Is it that horrific disguise you gave me in Kholinar?”

“No. It’s much worse.” She said with a complicit grin. Her eyes were sparkling playfully and he felt a slight jolt behind his navel. She nudged him. “Give up?”

He grunted.

“Ah, yes, the bridgeman grunt dialect for: Shallan, please reveal what you’ve done to my face, the suspense is killing me!” He rolled his eyes but she took his hand dragging him over the mirror above his washbasin.

“You are really taking some creative liberties with your translations.” He grumbled as he followed her.

“Oh, hush, Kaladin Gloombringer.” She huffed as she towed him in front of the mirror. He stubbornly looked down at his feet.

“Look.” She said poking him insistently in the ribs. He only complied because her jabs tickled after a while and he did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him smile in this stupid illusion, whatever it was.

Ironically, the illusion was him and his face was smiling jovially instead of the scowl he knew he actually wore.

“See. It’s much more unnerving.” She said, smiling up at him indulgently. “Positively dreadful.” His heart started to race. He felt like a fool. He had been deliberately ornery and all along she had just wanted him to be happy. Storms. Warmth flooded him. He turned to her and he smiled a genuine smile underneath the illusion. “I feel like you might actually be smiling under there.” She teased, reclaiming the stormlight from her illusion, then looking up at him. She shivered under the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t worry, I won’t—”

Tiny bits of crystalline snow materialized around them as he seized both sides of her face and captured her mouth in a kiss. Passionate and intense like she had wanted.

Chapter Text

He sucked her lip into his mouth and bit down. She moaned loudly into their kiss, fumbling with the buttons on his coat then falling into him as if her body had been lashed to his. He shrugged off the coat, grabbing her around the waist, and groaned at the feel of her pressed against him, his cock starting to fill at the contact. She grasped at his abdomen, tugging out his shirt so she could reach underneath. She ran cool and gloved fingers up his abdomen and chest and, when she grazed his nipple, he gasped. Noticing this, she focused some attention there, undoing the first couple buttons of his shirt and teasing him. Storms, he was getting hard and, they were still both fully clothed. Shallan seemed to be thinking along similar lines because she paused her ministrations on his chest to gather the material of his shirt, lifting it. He broke the kiss raising his arms and to allow its removal. One heartbeat passed then two and his vision and access to her mouth were still obscured.

“Storms, you’re tall.” She remarked, jerking it around his shoulders, unable to reach high enough to remove it. He chuckled, hurriedly helping to remove the garment before diving back in but she turned away, pushing him back. Storms. Had he been too forward? Had she changed her mind?

“Hey, bridgeboy, slow down.” She chided. “I’m an artist. I need a minute to admire the canvas.” She needed to—what now? Shallan stepped back visually inspecting him then, stepping forward again, she slowly removed her safehand glove exposing pristine skin and elegant fingers. His eyes widened and he tracked her safehand’s movement keenly as she reached toward him. His breath caught as she traced her fingers over the muscles of his chest, his sides, the ridges of his abdomen. She looked up at him, her eyes studied his face and she bit her lip. Storms, did she find him attractive? The way she was looking at him…he stiffened further in his trousers and he couldn’t help that his surgeon’s studies came to mind—increased blood flow to the genitals, rapid breathing and pulse, dizziness and perspiration—sexual arousal occurs as a result of... Her eyes dropped to her hands on his hipbones, descending slowly with her gaze. As a result of…She thumbed the waistband of his trousers then continued her descent, finally caressing his hardness. Sexual stimulation. He closed his eyes exhaling slowly. It was all he could do not to groan loudly in the quiet room and buck into her hand as she was touching him. All too soon, her touch vanished and he opened his eyes in time to see her safehand reaching for his face. Without thinking, he defensively caught her wrist, startling her. “My turn.” He smiled, trying to disguise his instinctual paranoia. “To admire the canvas.” He lightly traced his fingertips along the back of her fingers and hand before entwining his fingers with hers and guiding her safehand to his mouth. He half expected her to pull away but she didn’t. She just watched him intently as he marveled at how small, soft, delicate, and pale her hand was, the way her fingers could fit almost completely inside his palm, its cream color contrasting sharply with his tan skin. He reverently kissed each of her fingertips, and, as he thumbed the pulse point on her wrist and pressed his lips to her palm, her eyes fell closed and she sighed contentedly, letting her freehand come to rest lightly at the base of his neck. This was the most intimate he’d ever been with her.

Panic and elation fought for dominance within him. 

He turned over her safehand, kissing her knuckles then slowly working his way up her arm, gathering the loose sleeve as he went. Her breath sounded a little hurried and the hand at the base of his neck tightened satisfyingly in his hair but she didn’t move away or stop him, which he thought were good signs for him to continue. When he could no longer gather the sleeve at her shoulder, he bit lightly at the skin there. Her breath hitched. He paused wondering if that was a sound of pleasure or discomfort. He leaned forward closer to her ear and whispered, “Was that alright?”

“Yes.” Her response was less a vocalization and more a rush of air mingled with a sigh but that was all he needed. He nuzzled into her, grazing his teeth along her ear, and he felt her body quiver as a quiet moan escaped her lips. He pressed into her side feeling his cock fill more and exhaled warm air below her ear before kissing lightly down her neck. She moaned again then turned swiftly into him using the hand on the back of his neck to crush their mouths together in a smoldering embrace.  He unbuttoned her blouse as he devoured her mouth, eager to see and appreciate her body as she had appreciated his.

She moved to unceremoniously shrug off the garment but he seized the blouse at her shoulders, halting its shimmying progress. She froze looking at him incredulously, “I’m still appreciating the canvas.” He said, eyeing her approvingly, as he glided his hands underneath the blouse, over her shoulders, down her arms, and over her back with a gentle caress, taking in her lithe form, as it was unveiled.

She was gorgeous. Tousled red hair, lips pink and puffy from their shared affection, blue eyes wide, full of want…She blushed under his scrutiny. Once the blouse had pooled at her feet, he reached for her chin, tipping her face up towards his as he guided her against him with a hand on her back, kissing her deeply. One of her legs slotted between his and her body slid against his as she started to ride his thigh, moaning into his mouth. He answered her movements, rolling his hips into her and dragging his cock in a torturously slow way across her abdomen, occasionally turning out of the kiss to release his own sounds of pleasure against her cheek and into her floral-smelling hair. Soon the pace of their grind quickened and their kiss turned sloppy, as, fully hard and throbbing, he felt more like he was rutting against her. He groaned breaking the kiss. A few more erratic thrusts and he probably would come like this but he doubted that would be very enjoyable for her.  “Shallan.” He panted, pausing, resisting. “Is this what you want? I’d like to…” He smirked with effort through labored breaths and a lusty haze. “Make sure I please you.” He dove in briefly to nip and mouth at her jaw, earning him a small moan, before he withdrew again, cock complaining at the decreased friction. She stilled, looking a bit dazed as she looked up at him, a crooked smile on her face. In the brief stillness, the sounds of their breaths echoed in the room. She moved to unbutton his trousers and he felt dampness on his thigh where she had been grinding against him. Almighty. He hadn’t even touched her yet, not really, and she was already so wet. He closed his eyes suppressing a whimper as he imagined…

He squeezed her hips pressing her against him hard before sucking in stormlight and mastering himself to speak again. “I seem to remember you mentioning something about wanting to be lashed to the bed and ravished against my sad pillows and bachelor mattress.” He had wanted to sound casual but the words definitely sounded strained. Oh well. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

She snorted but she didn’t disagree so he adhered their boots to the floor as he lashed them upward and out of them. She squealed with delight as they rose into the air. Another rush of affection bubbled up in him and, although he usually resisted impulses like this, this time he didn’t. He embraced her, running his hands up her back, and into her hair, his tongue finding hers.

They hovered for a moment, in a weightless embrace, surrounded by passionspren, before he lashed them over to his bed. As he was setting them down gently, with a complex set of lashings, he moved his hand to unhook her bra. She pulled out of the kiss. Did she want it left on? He looked down at her bra and up at her questioningly. She looked over his shoulder pointing, her attention focused on something behind him. With a stab of panic, he looked, but saw nothing except their discarded clothing. She laughed, “I can’t believe you’re just leaving your boots unguarded. Aren’t you afraid I might steal them while you’re distracted?” She cocked her head obviously waiting for a clever rejoinder but he just rolled his eyes. She swatted him lightly on the shoulder.

 “What makes you think, I’m going to be the one who is distracted?”  he asked and, with that, he lashed her trousers to the floor and began kissing his way down her body. She looked at him like she was memorizing him. No, that didn’t make sense. Sizing him up, maybe? She said nothing though. So she didn’t have a response to that. Good. She really did talk too much sometimes and maybe, at those times, she needed something put in her mouth to...his cock pulsed and he groaned as he imagined her mouth on him. Focus. He ghosted his fingers over her shoulders and removed her bra as he went. She squirmed under him, crossing her arms across her chest, effectively blocking him from his subsequent destination. He looked up at her. “Is something wrong?”

“I guess I’m just a little shy about my breasts…or lack there of.”

He frowned looking her over. He could see nothing wrong. Her breasts were perfectly proportional and they were just as beautiful as the rest of her. He made his way back up to her so his face was directly over hers and brought his hand to the side of her face, gazing deeply into her eyes. She shied away slightly at first but he waited until she relaxed and met his eyes before speaking. “You are beautiful, Shallan.” He spoke the words with the deliberateness of an ideal. She blushed and it almost sounded like she might have made a small squeak of protest, eyes darting away before meeting his again. He knew he was looking at her intently but he wanted her to know he was serious so he continued to stare with the same intensity until she nodded accepting his words. “See, it’s not that hard to let me win an argument,” he said smiling, trying to lighten some of the apparent discomfort on her face. Perhaps he had been too intense.

She swatted him again. “Did you even mean that?”

He caught her hand. “That it’s easy to let me win an argument?” He asked. “Of course I did.”

She groaned in frustration. It was wonderful irritating her.

“I am right about you being beautiful.” He said seriously, then, smirking, “So if you’re done saying false and deprecatory things about your body, I have other things I’d rather be doing with my mouth than arguing with you.” To make is point clear, he slid his hand over her womanhood as he sucked and bit at her neck. He had no idea where he had gotten the nerve to be this forward or confident with her, and in this setting no less, but he was not going to question it because she did not argue further. In fact, she seemed to really like how he was playfully dominating her. He would have to remember that. He continued to nibble and suck at her neck and he could hear her breath hitching and gasping even before he started kissing and smirking his way down her body. He lavished her breasts with special attention, savoring them, hoping to convey that he genuinely appreciated them before tracing down her hipbones and licking and mouthing along her inner thighs. She was squirming again but her moans, how she clutched the sheets, and the way anticipationspren were sprouting from the bed around her, told him these were good squirms. He paused before reaching her center. “Let me know what feels good for you,” he said looking up at her.

She grabbed the back of his head pushing it down towards her center, “it would feel good if you put your mouth on me already. Are you lost, bridgeboy? Do I need to draw you a map again?" She asked petulantly.

He fought the pressure on the back of his head as he replied with an authentic smile, fully enjoying how worked up she was, “I always knew you were a spoiled and impatient lighteyes but, yes, I’d love a map. Could I keep it when you’re finished?” She opened her mouth to utter some acerbic riposte, no doubt, but he didn’t really want a reply. He lowered his head to her center and her remark died on her lips as gasps and moans were born instead. Thank the heralds for his surgeon’s training so he didn’t actually need a map to identify certain critical parts of the female anatomy. Once the fluids of her arousal were running down his chin, he inserted a finger.

She cried out.

“Stormfather!”

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked withdrawing his finger. He thought he had been gentle but…

“No.” she panted, grabbing his hand and unfolding a second finger and thrusting them both inside her. “More.” He had had some objectionable orders in the past, but this order was not one of them. He was more than happy to give her more. He would give her even more if she wanted it. He groaned against her skin as his cock ached in it confinement.

Before long she was yanking at his hair, rocking against him, and clamping his face so hard against her with her thighs that he was thankful he had stormlight otherwise he would have suffocated. Not that he minded. As far as ways to die went, this was a better possible death than he had ever dared hope for himself. Except for the painful pressure in his loins as his cock strained against his trousers. He undid the buttons, freeing it somewhat, and squeezed it through his small clothes to relieve some of the pressure, as he chased the sounds of her guttural pants and quiet moans to a—

She suddenly released him, urgently pulling him up to her.

“Are you—" He had been about to ask her if she was alright but his voice died in his throat because…

She gripped his shoulder steering his ear to her lips and palmed his cock as she whispered. “I want you inside me.” Her words sent a thrill through his body, like a lightning bolt that exited through his cock with a sizzling energy that burned. He felt dampness as his cock pulsed against her hand, leaking precum into his small clothes, and he failed to suppress a whine. Almighty, he wanted that.

“Are—are you sure?”

“I know you stuttered but did I?”

“No, it’s just that, isn’t this a bit fast and what if you were to get pregnant?”

“I won’t. Do you have any idea how much sex Adolin and I have had since the wedding? We’ve had sex every day.” Almighty, he had suspected but hearing her say it…“Sometimes several times a day,” he tried not to groan as he fought picturing it. Why did she have to say that? “And I have never gotten pregnant. The precautions are working.”

He flushed, unable to fight the images in his mind any longer. Shallan under Adolin. How Adolin would take command, like he had been trained to do. How they would both look when they…

He swallowed dryly, nodding. “Okay. Let me work on you a bit more first though.”

If she wanted to have sex, he’d probably be struggling not to come the entire time but women were…more complicated. Best to take care of her because he wasn’t sure if stormlight would help him with his refractory period or not and his hopes were not high that he would last.

He returned to his enjoyable suffocation until her movements were feverish and she suddenly she arched up, tightening around him and letting out a protracted moan. He applied gentle undulating pressure with the flat of his tongue until the spasms around his fingers had subsided and she dropped limply to the bed, still gasping, but releasing her grip on his head with her thighs.

Kaladin popped up eagerly.

“So was that—”

“What?” Shallan snapped, through labored breaths, cutting him off. Clearly his overly chipper tone this soon after her orgasm had aggravated her but he had a good pun to share. “An orgasm? Yes, bridgeboy, that was an orgasm. And a storming good one. Is that what you wanted to hear? You are insufferably prideful, you know that?”

“I am glad to hear that.” He replied, then, indicating her thighs, “In fact, I’m glad to be able to hear anything.”

“Sorry about that.” She said, her tone softening as she cupped his face apologetically to pull him up toward her.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed being suffocated.” He said good-naturedly, and kissed her lightly on the lips before pulling back to look at her. “I was going to ask if that was what you came for?” He smiled at her expectantly. He couldn’t help himself. He had been so desperate to say it since the idea had popped into his head while she had been suffocating him against her womanhood.  

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Unlike you, I will admit that was a good pun.”  She sighed resignedly. “Yes, that was what I came for.” She smiled, reaching up to kiss him. Her hands ventured down his neck, chest, and abdomen, pausing to thumb the waistband of his small clothes. She looked down at his undone trousers and the prominent bulge, then back up at him, fixing him with a heated stare that made his heart stop even before she spoke. “Although, there is something else I would come for.”  She bit her lip as she palmed him and he hissed as his cock throbbed relentlessly in her grasp.

She slid her hands around his waist then reached down into his trousers and small clothes, squeezing and kneading his ass, which felt remarkably good, as she slid off…his trousers got stuck. “Could you do that that strip-lash thing again?” She asked, tugging vainly on the immovable waistband. He obliged and it was a relief when his cock finally sprung free.

Her eyes widened. “Stormblessed.” She gestured at him. “Is this how you got that name?”

He smiled sheepishly, choosing not to answer as he swept her hair back with one of his hands and swooped down to kiss her. He inhaled sharply as he felt her hand on him again and an exquisite slippery warm wetness. She moaned in his ear and he looked down. She was dragging his cock along her folds. Stooooorms. He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. He hoped he could make her come again before he did but, with the way she was moving on him, he felt close already.

“Kal?”

He opened his eyes from where he was gritting his teeth and panting into the crook of her neck.

“Yeah?” He bit out, turning towards her.

Her hand was still on him and he felt pressure start to envelop him. He wanted nothing more than to feel that sensation surround him completely but...

“Wait.” He pushed himself back onto his hands to look at her, “are you sure?”

“No, I’m a person. How could you possibly mistake me for a land mass bordering water?”

“Storms, Shallan. Do you always have to—I just wanted to make sure you still wanted—"

“I do.”

“Well, in my defense,” he gestured to where they were almost joined, “you are pretty wet so mistaking you for a shore—"

She grimaced as if she knew she had set herself up for that response.

“Shut up.” She wrenched him down to kiss him so he didn’t have much of a choice but to shut up.

He pulled back smiling at her, she was so cute when she was annoyed and impatient. He knew he was torturing them both, but he had needed a minute to let the heat go down and make absolutely sure that she...Shallan was clearly ready and had had enough waiting because her legs wrapped around him forcing his hips down as she guided him into her. He idly thought about lashing her legs to the bed and resisting a little longer just to irritate, her but he reached his hand to cup the side of her face. He was ready. Their eyes met briefly, his still seeking confirmation in hers. She nodded closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. He watched her expression intently as he entered her. A high whine leaking slowly from his lips as he felt warm, slick, pressure around him and, despite wanting to watch her, his eyes closed, burning the slow-motion image of her slight reassuring smile giving way to parted lips as her head tipped back and she gripped his pillow. He dropped his forehead to her cheek, hips sinking into her and angled slightly forward, as he settled his weight on her, sheathing himself in her completely. They both moaned in relief. She felt so good. He still couldn’t believe this was really happening as he adjusted to the feeling of being inside her. Part of him thought he would open his eyes to an empty room and a raging erection but, when he opened his eyes, she was still there, warm and wanting him to…

“Move, storm you!” Lighteyes, he thought affectionately, so storming demanding. But he obliged. He started thrusting with deliberate slowness, biting her neck a little harder than he normally would as a form of tender punishment, which she repaid in kind by scoring her nails down his back. He hissed in pain but angled his hips so that he hit her front wall with his next thrust. She cried out clenching hard around him. He thought he knew his anatomy but had he been mistaken?

“S-sorry. Did I hurt—”

Her hand flew to his hair gripping him exigently.

“Do it again.”

Between her tone and how good it felt when she had clenched around him, he didn’t need to be told twice. He sped up continuing to aim his thrusts in the same spot that had made her cry out, as she met him in opposition, slamming her hips down against him so each thrust was exquisitely deep and inciting.

Her moans were getting louder and he hoped she was as close as he was. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced through clenched teeth, barely able to respond to her mouth with disjointed kisses, as he drove up into her, feeling like the next slap of his hips against hers would send him over the edge as her slippery walls rhythmically clamped around him tighter and tighter. After a particularly deep thrust, his hips started to stutter erratically and he felt the inevitability of his orgasm. Storms, he was not going to last, he was going to…He captured her mouth in a desperate kiss. Shallan made a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry, her body seizing around him and arching up in pleasure. He wanted to let go, to ride out his orgasm slumped on top of her, but he didn’t want to crush her and he knew it would be better for her if he held deep keeping gentle rocking pressure on her gemheart so, with sweat burning his eyes and a protracted animalistic growl into her neck, he managed to hold, hips twitching involuntarily around her spasms, as he spent himself inside her. Then, in the cacophony of ragged breaths and relative stillness, he collapsed.

Chapter Text

Kaladin wasn’t sure how much time had passed or if he had lost consciousness. Both the surgeon and the soldier in him panicked somewhat at that revelation as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. Specifically, there were fingers tracing light circles on his backside and it tickled in a way that sent pleasant tingles up his spine and made his cock twitch in the warm, wet…he bit back a groan opening his eyes. He had just had sex with Shallan and he was still inside her. Storms. Her beautiful red hair was tickling his nose and, if he hadn’t felt so numb with shock and existential torpidity, he would have felt like weeping or affectionately kissing her all over. Grinning, he nuzzled her gently. This was the woman about whom he had fantasized, the woman who knew his soul and understood the sorrow, the woman whose clever tongue pushed back the darkness, the woman who he could never have because—

The grin fell from his face.

“Nice of you to join me, Kaladin Swoonblessed. That’s twice in one night now that you’ve collapsed on me. Although, I’ll admit the second time was much more enjoyable than the first.” Her lips pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek.

Because she was the woman who was married to Adolin Kholin. His gut twisted, his heart started to race, and his breaths came shallowly.

“You ready for another round already? Adolin usually—” Shallan teased, then catching sight of his face, her tone turned serious, “Storms, Kaladin, you look like you’ve seen an Unmade. What’s wrong?”

Was Adolin really okay with this? Kaladin had been so…distracted. He had made sure this was okay with Shallan but, shouldn’t he have talked to Adolin first to confirm? He should have. Syl might be an honorspren but she was no expert on humans. This was wrong. He needed to get up and talk to Adolin now. The remainder of the passionspren vanished as he jerked upward, his overly sensitive cock and Shallan protesting at the sudden movement.

“Woah, woah, woah, bridgeboy! Where’s the Highstorm?” she asked, stopping him with her hands on his back.

“I need to talk to Adolin.” He said determinedly addressing the wall behind them.

“Right now? You can’t be serious.”

He looked at her.

“Yes, I have to make sure this is okay with him.”

Shallan gave him a flat stare, then when he stared right back in challenge, she frowned raising her eyebrows in a disappointed way that seemed to imply that she thought he was being unbelievably stupid.

“And you plan to, what exactly, run off all half-cocked right after sex with me and ask him?” Her words dripped with condescension and he bristled, opening his mouth to tell her yes. And that he wouldn’t be running off half-cocked because all of his manhood was still intact, but she continued before he had a chance. “I already told you, and so did Syl. Adolin is more than okay with this.” She assured him failing to keep exasperation from her voice. “Didn’t you hear me when I told you he’d be jealous of me?”

“I did and I wanted to ask about that, actually.”

Storms, how did he say this?

“What did you mean by: he would be jealous of you? That almost sounds like…like…” He couldn’t just come right out and say what those words seemed to imply. What if his interpretation was wrong?

He was spared from his uncertain thoughts, however, as Shallan’s next words hit him like a punch to his gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“Like Adolin fancies you?” Shallan supplied, helpfully. Then, gesturing at where they were joined, “That he wants to do this with you? He does. We talk about you quite a lot in the bedroom and, with how much we all flirt with one another, I’m surprised you couldn’t tell he fancied his bridgeboy’s spear on and off the sparring grounds.”

Kaladin had never felt so wrongfooted in all his life. Flirted? Adolin? Wasn’t that just his personality?

“Storms, I—It’s just that. Well, women are…” He stammered, awkwardly trailing off. What was he going to say? Women are what exactly? His preference? They were, weren’t they? He had never thought of a man in that way. He had never thought of Adolin…

“It’s okay, Kal. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate. Unless you do, in which case…” she smirked slyly in a way that was very reminiscent of Veil earlier that night, then, she moved her hips in an inciting way that felt…not bad.

“I…don’t.” He confirmed haltingly. That was the truth, wasn’t it? He didn’t think about Adolin…like that. But Adolin thought about him that way? Something stirred within him at the thought and he felt a distinct tightening in his abdomen, not unlike the feeling he had had after Shallan had spoken her ideal. How long had Adolin felt this way? Shallan had said they had talked about Kaladin a lot. Nalan’s hand, did that mean…every time he and Adolin had sparred and Adolin had bested him, but before Kaladin had yielded, Adolin had been tortured by their proximity and resisted pulling Kaladin into an embrace? That all those times Adolin had given him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder or a platonic hug, Adolin wanted to do more but stopped himself because he hadn’t wanted to make Kaladin uncomfortable? Had Adolin’s good-natured smiles, that he had always given Kaladin so freely, disguised a desperate want that Kaladin hadn’t recognized? No, Adolin had never…but Adolin knew people. Perhaps, Adolin had thought—no, knew—that Kaladin wasn’t interested. And Adolin was right, Kaladin wasn’t. It was as simple as that.

“I feel like Pattern would be humming if he were here.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He almost groaned aloud. Kaladin never had been one for noticing these sorts of interpersonal subtleties. Storms, he could respect Adolin’s fortitude and his ability to read people, if nothing else.

But it wasn’t just that. Kaladin respected a lot about the man. He was everything Kaladin had thought and dreamed lighteyes could and should be. Well, except perhaps for the absurd clothing he wore but that was mostly forgivable. Adolin genuinely cared about his people. He cared more about others than he did about himself or his own comfort. Kaladin’s heart swelled as he recalled Adolin’s act of solidarity, incarcerating himself alongside Kaladin after the duel, and how he had dragged Kaladin’s gloomy ass out to taverns on more than one occasion, when Kaladin had really needed companionship but had refused to ask for it. That, Kaladin figured, had been at least as bad as spending two weeks in prison. Maybe worse. But he had never made Kaladin feel like a burden, he always made Kaladin feel accepted and welcome. He made everyone feel that way. It was truly beautiful and uplifting. Kaladin could understand why Shallan had chosen Adolin over a miserable wretch like himself.

The man maintained such a strong constitution and a tireless enthusiasm. Kaladin didn’t even think he possessed a tired enthusiasm. Storms, the man had witnessed his own cousin’s murder and persisted easily. Elhokar had only been Kaladin’s charge, but it had been Kaladin who had broken. Kaladin, who had needed to be rescued from his agonized trance in Kholinar by Adolin. Despite it all, Adolin smiled so easily and joked so companionably that just being around the man cheered Kaladin…not that Kaladin would ever admit it to him.

A thought occurred to Kaladin that probably never would have before he had been relieved of duty. What a stupid word. It was no relief at all.

With everyone around Adolin surpassing him and becoming Knights Radiant, might he feel as Kaladin did? Lost. Redundant. Useless. Maybe the Highprince understood. Something warm and expansive blossomed in Kaladin’s chest as he became aware of this likely kinship with the Highprince.

Was it was tearing Adolin apart inside to be excluded? To watch his closest friends and family become Radiants, while Adolin remained an ordinary Shardbearer. To know that Kaladin and his wife had excluded him from this. Kaladin felt a stab of anguish. Did Adolin view it that way? Kaladin had to know.

Then what? What was Kaladin going to do about it? He couldn’t force Adolin to abandon that Blade the man loved so much, bond a spren, and become Radiant. But. If Adolin felt excluded from Kaladin’s affections…that was something only Kaladin could do something about, something only Kaladin could give.

Kaladin felt a rush of warmth, and, bafflingly, Kaladin felt his cock hardening inside Shallan again. Storms, he was not going to do this a second time before speaking with Adolin. Shallan gasped and he suppressed a hiss as he withdrew from her and rolled onto his back. A part of him felt despicable for neglecting her but the part of him that felt worse for betraying Adolin was in control of his actions and he felt helplessly unable to be affectionate with her like she deserved. He covered himself with the sheet, closing his eyes, massaging his temples, and taking deliberate calming breaths as he willed down his erection before speaking. Blessedly, Shallan said nothing.

“I guess—I could…try it. What Adolin wants. See if maybe…”

“Kal, you don’t have to do anything with Adolin if you don’t want to. He wouldn’t want to force you into this.” No he wouldn’t, would he? Did a part of him want Adolin to force him into it? To skillfully and artfully take command of Kaladin. To teach him how to best maneuver and grip a longsword. To handle him with the same expert care that he did a blade. No, that wasn’t it. It was about restitution. Kaladin wanted Adolin to force him into it because Kaladin deserved to be punished for violating the oaths of his marriage to Shallan and it would feel more equitable somehow, if Adolin were included. It was right for Adolin to demand restitution, wasn’t it? Kaladin was not a coward, it was not that he feared voluntarily...Kaladin’s stomach squirmed with apprehension. Adolin was arguably his best friend. What if this ruined their friendship?

Fear gripped him like an icy fist around his heart.

There was no one more deserving of love than Adolin but there was no one less capable of giving it than Kaladin. He needed to be honest with the princling. Clear the air. Otherwise, this would pollute the friendship as surely as rotspren would proliferate in an unclean wound. But what should he say? Kaladin grimaced.

“Storms, I’m sorry I mentioned it.” Shallan huffed, noting his grim expression.

“No, it was right for you to tell me.” He assured her placing his hand, in what he hoped was comforting way, on her shoulder. He felt the muscles under his hand relax and she turned to him expectantly. “I will…” He had been about to say talk. Talk? Where would they talk? In the meeting hall, after tomorrow’s meeting with Dalinar and the rest of the court? In the quiet rooms Adolin shared with Shallan?

No, there was only one way he could talk to the princeling. He swallowed with effort at the thought.

“I will invite Adolin to spar tomorrow and discuss it with him then.”

“Okay...” Shallan wore an expression of bemused incredulity. “What about, bridgeboy?”

“I’m not sure yet but I will figure it out.”

“Well, while you figure it out, do you think you could hold this for me?”

She extended her hand towards him but her hand was empty. Kaladin cocked his head at her, raising an eyebrow. Was this some kind of leadup to a joke?

“Hold what?” he asked, looking again but still saw nothing in her palm. She proffered her hand more insistently so, perplexed, he reached toward her empty hand with the same guarded trepidation he might employ petting a whitespine. She took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers.

Oh.

He felt a tugging sensation in his chest and he gripped her back intently, bringing the back of her hand to his lips and pressing a tender kiss there.

He released her hand and pulled her close, still fretting over Adolin. She shifted against him, her body an effusive warmth in his arms. “I’m sorry, Shallan.” He murmured pressing a kiss to her hair and squeezing her against him, trying to focus his mind on her and the present moment.

“No, you’re not.”

“What do you mean?” Kaladin asked defensively, releasing her somewhat so he could glance at her as he spoke. “Of course, I am.” How could she think he didn’t feel sorry for neglecting her?

“No, you’re not sorry.” She replied smirking. “You’re Kaladin.”

“Shallan!”

“You walked right into that one. Like that wall earlier.”

He smiled despite himself.

“You’re a real beach, you know that.”

“Is that a shore pun?”

“Yes.”

“You make me so proud, I’m positively berming!”

Kaladin rolled his eyes but he kissed her all the same. How could he find a person so aggravating and adorable at the same time? And what of the princeling? Kaladin was at a loss.

Chapter Text

Kaladin felt odd waiting for Adolin outside the meeting hall but he felt too uncomfortable to go to Adolin’s rooms to ask him to spar. He wanted to ask the Highprince in a public place so as not to give the wrong impression for his visit.

Maybe odd didn’t quite cover it. Shallan would be in there too and he felt guilty and awkward about how he had acted with Shallan after they had…it still didn’t feel real. Could he have actually dreamt it? No, the part where he almost jumped out of her and out of the bed after his orgasm was still starkly and mortifyingly clear but, before that, they had been intimate. Kaladin hadn’t just had sex with Shallan. He had…well, he couldn’t quite define it but something about it had terrified him and, simultaneously, had made him feel fulfilled, whole, and connected, if only briefly.

Perhaps, it was a good kind of fear, like whatever had spurred him to protect Shallan in the chasms, but less fatalistic. The assurance of almost certain death in the chasms, when facing down the chasmfiend, and his conviction at the rightness of his actions to defend Shallan’s life had been a comfort. Facing Shallan and Adolin today probably wouldn’t result in his death and he wasn’t sure what was right. That made it all the more terrifying and uncomfortable because surviving the encounter meant living with consequences, whatever they ended up being.

He told himself that he hadn’t wanted to ask Shallan outright where this was headed because he had to confirm it was okay with Adolin first but the truth was he was afraid of knowing. Not knowing was more thought-consuming and beguiling than outright rejection but he feared acceptance too. Deep down he knew that Adolin had given his blessing so that wasn’t really the answer he sought or feared…from Adolin. From Shallan, he feared that she returned his feelings and would wish to deepen whatever this was and he also feared that she did not return his feelings.

What if he wasn’t enough? He felt like he was already failing. He had interrupted what should have been postcoital bliss with panic and neglect. Sure, he had eventually held Shallan but he had also been such a bore, so consumed by his own insecurities about the future and thoughts of Adolin that his heart hadn’t been in it. Had she sensed it and was she upset with him? He had already defensively walled himself off from the intimate experience in anticipation of rejection but she hadn’t left until the morning and she had acted normal enough until then.

But Shallan was good at acting.

Kaladin didn’t know how to act. Especially, right now. He didn’t know how to act around Shallan or Adolin. They were married. What was his role in all this?

This was turning into a right crem storm and this was exactly why he didn’t get involved with people in this way. It was messy and Kaladin did not like messes. Unsettling thoughts rattled around his mind like loose shutters in a Highstorm of confused emotions, both protecting him but also keeping him from seeing the storm clearly. Periodically, the tempest whipped and gusted within him, threatening to tear open the shutters and expose him to the intensity of what waited on the other side.

A particularly strong one of these currents beat at Kaladin’s proverbial defenses, as the Highprince emerged from the meeting, amid the rest of the rest of the Alethi court, Shallan walking gracefully at his side. Kaladin lost his nerve. He turned on his heel to flee down the corridor but, unfortunately, Adolin had spotted him and called out to him before he had taken a single step.

“Bridgeboy!”

Storms, he still didn’t know what he wanted to say. Kaladin thought about running away and pretending he hadn’t heard but Adolin’s booming and jovial voice was hard to miss. Kaladin would just seem insolent and guilty. He had been told he was the former on several occasions and he knew he was the latter, but it would only make the situation worse. If he ran. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t run from difficult situations. He was Kaladin Stormblessed. He had faced a chasmfiend, the Assassin in White, and an entire host of Parshendi on his own. He could face Adolin storming Kholin. Rousing as his mental pep talk was, he would rather face all three aforementioned foes at once than ask Adolin to spar or have the conversation he needed to have with him.

Damnation.

He pivoted to face the Highprince, who had confidently stepped up next to him, and Kaladin schooled his face to impassivity.

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Shallan said, nudging Adolin playfully and excusing herself. As she turned to go, Kaladin caught sight of her expression as her eyes briefly met his. She looked like she was suppressing a knowing smile. What was that about? What did she think she knew? If possible, Kaladin felt more unsettled.

“Highprince,” Kaladin said, lowering his head deferentially as he turned to Adolin, “I would like to—”

“Storms, man, Highprince? Since when do you address me as Highprince? And that was vaguely reminiscent of a bow.”

“That’s your title, isn’t it? And is your rank not higher than my own, should I not bow?”

“Yes, but since when have you ever cared about anyone’s title or rank or shown even the smallest modicum of deference? Storms, do you have to sleep with a man’s—”

Kaladin swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. Adolin was right, he didn’t care about titles or rank and he wasn’t sure why he was being so formal. He just felt uncomfortable in his own skin and he wanted to disappear. More than that though, he did not want Adolin to finish that sentence.

“I’m sorry, Adolin. I—”

“You feel awkward about last night.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And you think I’m angry with you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. Kal, I wanted what happened between you and Shallan. She needed it and you needed it so don’t you dare start blaming yourself for acting dishonorably or whatever it is that you’re….” He reached his hand to grip Kaladin’s shoulder as he continued to speak. It was a friendly and comforting gesture that perhaps pushed the boundaries of Alethi propriety but was normal coming from Adolin.

Except, today, Kaladin hyperfocused on it and it was anything but comforting. Kaladin’s tense awareness of Adolin drowned out the Highprince’s words as Kaladin’s singular focus became that hand, blazing with heat on his shoulder. Kaladin’s eyes traced along the muscular too-friendly arm that extended from that hand, up to a set of broad shoulders and a powerful chest that rippled under the Highprince’s shirt with a deadly prowess. Kaladin’s gaze ventured up the Highprince’s neck and strong jaw to his lips, lips that were still moving with words unheard by Kaladin. Kaladin let his gaze linger on the princeling’s piercing blue eyes in what he hoped was a politely engaged expression before his eyes wandered to Highprince’s perfectly messy dappled hair. Kaladin’s hands clenched into restrained fists but not because he wanted to hit the Highprince. Body thrumming, Kaladin forced his breathing to remain calm as his pulse pounded in his ears. Kaladin realized that Adolin’s head was cocked to the side and his eyebrows were raised. What had the princeling been saying? The volume returned to his ears.  

“Kal?” Adolin asked, shaking him lightly with the hand still on his shoulder and peering more closely into his eyes. “You alright?”

Storms, how long had he been staring? Kaladin uneasily bit his lip, meeting Adolin’s gaze. Something flickered behind the Highprince’s eyes and the hand on Kaladin’s shoulder moved to tense behind his neck. Then, as quickly as the look and touch had flared, they fled. Concern returned to the Highprince’s eyes and the grip slackened back to Kaladin’s shoulder. Kaladin felt an odd sense of loss and, more disturbingly, he felt dizzy as a familiar heat started to build low in his core. That could mean only one thing. Kaladin needed to leave. Now.

“Sorry, Adolin. The last couple days have been…” He grimaced thinking about what Dalinar had said yesterday. He did not want to discuss it yet, the wound was still too fresh, too painful. “I think I need to lie down.” It wasn’t completely a lie. It wasn’t as if he had slept well the previous night, and, thankfully, as if to punctuate his words, a few exhaustionspren, like little clumps of brown dust, circled him.

“Shallan said you wanted to spar and talk but that can certainly wait. Do you need help you back to your rooms?”

“That would be…” For some inexplicable reason, Kaladin wanted to agree to the Highprince’s help but a sobering voice overrode it. Bad idea. “Not necessary but thank you for offering, princeling.”

“If you’re sure…” Adolin peered into his eyes once more studying him with concern and perhaps some not-so-innocent interest. Kaladin held his breath and resisted squirming under Adolin’s close inspection, not daring to look down and bring attention to... “Get some rest, bridgeboy.” Adolin squeezed his shoulder, releasing him and letting his gaze drop with his hand. Adolin’s eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on Kaladin’s crotch and Kaladin’s heart jumped into his throat. Had Adolin noticed? If he had, he turned as if he had not, retreating down the corridor with a measured stride, leaving Kaladin to exhale, sagging against the wall for a moment before departing himself.

***

Once safely back in his rooms, Kaladin fell backward onto his bed. Frustratingly, he had been unable to will the erection away on the walk back and now he was throbbing and fully hard in his trousers. Why was this happening? He wanted to explain it away but usually this did not happen to him so soon after…he distractedly squeezed his cock through his clothing, groaning at the relief it provided. Storms, this was not going to go away and he was going to need to take care of it. Thankfully, Syl was still away since he had only recently told her he had needed to speak with Adolin and Shallan privately so he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers and reached inside his small clothes, grasping himself. Best to get this over with quickly before Syl returned and he had to explain masturbation to her. Kaladin groaned again. He had hoped that thinking about Syl interrogating him on the topic would subdue the need straining against his small clothes, but it did not, so he got on with it.

He deliberately thought of Shallan. How she had looked with her lips parted and head tipped back as he had entered her. He started to stroke himself slowly, pausing to moisten his palm as he recalled how wet she had been. Then, unbidden, an imaginary Adolin was there, behind him, gripping his shoulder, his head dipping down to kiss along Kaladin’s neck and jaw, as his other arm pulled Kaladin’s back firmly against his chest. In his mind’s eye, Kaladin reached back, tentatively running his fingers through the fanciful Adolin’s immaculately chaotic two-toned hair. Kaladin moaned under the imagined feel of the other man’s touch. What possessed him to think about his friend like this? He abruptly let go of himself, feeling guilty for having pictured Adolin in such a way. But was it really so wrong? If what Shallan said was to be believed, and, storm it, Kaladin decided he wanted to believe her, Adolin wanted Kaladin like this. They both did and the thought was overwhelming.

Kaladin took himself in hand again, picturing how Adolin would look at him: with a heated combination of candid affection and want. He would somehow both cradle and clutch Kaladin’s head, neck, and hair with his hands, as he kissed with a smoldering tenderness. A measured advance like a wrestling transition hold. Kaladin could easily imagine the weight and feel of the Highprince’s well-muscled body and hot, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his own. How his strong and deft touch would feel as it grasped, held, and explored. Kaladin’s hand sped up as he pictured the Highprince’s own need pressing into him and how he would respond to Kaladin...the flush of pleasure on the other man’s face, the way his body would tense with anticipation as Kaladin moved on him, and the strained and primal sounds Adolin would make. It was all so clear and easy to imagine from sparring with the man. The pants, the groans of pleasure, the expression of concentrated rapture as Adolin’s movements would turn frantic and wild, like riding an unbroken stallion. Kaladin’s hand became a blur and his face beaded with sweat as he envisioned how the Highprince would grip Kaladin as the final throe took him, their mouths meeting for one last raw, untame, shuddering kiss. The Highprince’s lips parting with a breathless supplication. Kaladin’s name. Kaladin gasped and his hips trembled as he caught his own release in his fist. He panted, slowing his hand, as the waves of pleasure abated, but he barely had a moment to feel ashamed or relieved as a ribbon of light streaked into his room from under the door. He haphazardly wiped the sticky mess on his small clothes and sheet and was buttoning his pants when Syl appeared.

“I’d ask what you were doing but I have a pretty good idea.” Syl commented, smirking superiorly then eyeing his pants significantly.

“Good.” Kaladin replied, still a little breathless and not quite meeting her eyes. “Because I don’t plan on giving you an explanation.”

“I think it’s good that you’ve discovered—"

“Syl…”

“Why do you feel so guilty?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me, Kaladin.”

“Fine. Maybe I’m just frustrated about the cause.”

“You mean talking to Adolin?”

“No.”

“Well, you only talked to Adolin. Shallan left right away so I don’t know what else it could be.”

“You were watching?”

“From a distance.”

“But I asked you to…Wait, were you watching me just now?”

“No, I was waiting outside the door. I knew what you needed and I knew you would want to be alone…well, maybe want isn’t the right word but I knew you’d be stubborn so you would do this alone like you usually do.”

Maybe Kaladin didn’t give Syl enough credit. She knew a lot more about humans in this regard than he had previously supposed but the thought was not comforting. If possible, her words made him feel more pathetic and miserable.

Plagued, in turn, by apathy, guilt, and dismay, Kaladin stared vacantly, ignoring all further attempts by Syl to make conversation, until he slipped into a fraught sleep.

Chapter Text

Kaladin didn’t leave his rooms for the rest of the day and the sun’s position told him he was a good portion of the way through a second day when a knock came at his door. He didn’t have duty so he knew he didn’t have to answer it. He was taking time off to decide what he would do next, as Dalinar had suggested. The knocking became more insistent.

“Bridgeboy?” Storms, it was Adolin. Of course. He would be expecting to spar. “I heard you haven’t left your rooms since yesterday. I brought you some food. Open the door.”

He brought food? Kaladin nearly groaned at the Highprince’s thoughtfulness but that sentiment was immediately replaced by panic. Adolin wanted to come inside his rooms? Kaladin had been lying on his bed, still in his uniform from two days ago. He wore it out of habit and denial. Kaladin had been passing the time fitfully sleeping and staring despondently at the ceiling for the past day or so. He was almost certainly a disgusting mess and was in no mood to see anyone, well, except for the exhaustionspren and agonyspren, both of which seemed very drawn to this mood in particular.

“No.” Kaladin called back petulantly.

“Kal, you must be hungry. The guys from Bridge Four said you haven’t taken food all day.”

“I’m not.” Kaladin lied, as his traitorous stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly.

“I know you’re hungry. I can hear your stomach growling through the door.”

“Fine. I am hungry but did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to see you? That maybe I don’t want to see anyone.”

“It did occur to me but Syl insisted and I think you’ve been alone long enough. Besides, you owe me a sparring session and it’s not like you have any furniture so we can do it here, if you want. Open the door.” Storms, he had been in such a stupor that he hadn’t realized that Syl had left. Why was she always meddling? Couldn’t she just let him rest? He was so tired.

“Kaladin, we both know you’re not sleeping well so don’t even try making that argument and I know you want to talk to Adolin about—"

Kaladin sprung to his feet and scrambled to open the door. Syl looked triumphant from her perch on Adolin’s shoulder and Adolin flashed him a winning smile as he strode into the room bearing a tray with two bowls of curry, two glasses, and a carafe of yellow wine.

“Storms, man, you have got to let me order you some furniture,” Adolin said, setting the tray on Kaladin’s rumpled bedding and looking around the otherwise empty room. “And maybe a few rugs and a tapestry or two to brighten up the place.”

Kaladin crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall by the door. “I don’t need more furniture or decorations, Adolin.” He had a dresser, bedside table, and bed, what more did he need?

“But I’m sure you’d be happier if you had them.” Adolin opened the door flagging down a serving woman, muttered a few words to her that Kaladin could not hear, then closed the door. “This place is downright depressing,” he continued, giving the empty walls an offended look.

“If you just came here to make fun of my rooms, you can leave, Adolin.”

“Kaladin, be nice.” Syl admonished, sounding uncomfortably similar to his mother. Great, his spren was taking the princeling’s side.

“Of course, I didn’t come here to just make fun of your rooms. I’m here to make fun of you too. Storms, bridgeboy, have you bathed today?” Adolin sniffed, eyeing Kaladin’s disheveled appearance for the first time, “Or yesterday?” He stepped out of the room again to speak quietly with another passing servant in the hall. He was gone for a while this time and Kaladin thought about closing and locking the door but, after a stern look from Syl, he resisted, and the Highprince reentered. “A bath is being prepared but let’s get you fed first.”

Kaladin wanted to protest but it was probably already too late for that. Adolin poured two glasses of wine and was placing a spoon in each bowl when a knock came at the door. Storms, that bath was ready quickly when a princeling sent for it. But, no, it was the first serving woman accompanied by a couple other servants bearing a table and two chairs. They entered, set down the furniture, and smiled brightly at Adolin as they bowed and departed. If they only knew how obnoxious the princeling was, they wouldn’t smile so vapidly at him, Kaladin thought sourly.

Apparently, there was no getting rid of the Highprince. Kaladin sighed resignedly, accepting the bowl and spoon from Adolin and dropping into the chair across from him. He had intended to make a show of reluctance while eating but the food was excellent and Kaladin was hungrier than he realized so he found himself enjoying the curry with gusto. They ate in silence and, for that, Kaladin was grateful. When the sounds of slurping and scraping spoons subsided, Adolin took Kaladin’s bowl, stacked it on top of his own, placed both bowls on the tray, and left them outside the door.

“So about that sparring match.”

“Do we have to?” Kaladin asked, trying and failing to keep a faintly whiny quality out of his voice.

“No, we don’t have to but I think moving your body will make you feel better so I think we should.”

Kaladin hated that the Highprince was right. Lying around hadn’t ever made him feel any better but a good spear kata or sparring session always left him in slightly better spirits. Or at least prevented him from thinking his darkest thoughts for a while.

“Fine.”

“Wrestling. No, Stormlight.”

Kaladin nodded in assent and Syl spoke from over his shoulder.

“Well, I have better things to do than watch two sweaty men roll around on the floor. Did you know there are axehound puppies down the hall?” With that, Syl departed as a ribbon of light, zipping out under the door.

Adolin moved the table and his chair against the wall and removed his coat, hanging it on his chair. Kaladin felt a slight spike of alarm as the Highprince undressed but this was normal. They often sparred shirtless. Kaladin watched as the Highprince stripped off his shirt next, facing away from Kaladin, which was fortunate because Kaladin was thoroughly ogling him as he fumbled with the buttons on his own coat. The princeling bent over, neatly folding his shirt on the chair and Kaladin was struck dumb observing the muscles of the princeling’s back and side as they flexed and relaxed with the movements. Kaladin shook himself, deliberately averting his eyes from the Highprice, to move his chair against the wall and remove his own coat, carelessly letting it fall to the ground beside the chair and quickly pulled off his shirt, letting it join the coat. He couldn’t just take meticulous care of his uniform and deprive Leyten the opportunity to give him grief.

Adolin started doing a warmup kata and Kaladin found himself watching Adolin again. Eyes following the muscles of his chest, along the ridges of his abdomen, and down the defined v that disappeared into his trousers. Kaladin licked his lips.

“Like what you see, bridgeboy?” Did he? Adolin had said things like this before but somehow it felt different today. Kaladin narrowed his eyes.

“No, just contemplating my first move to best you.”

Kaladin began his own kata.

“We’ll see who dominates whom soon enough.” Adolin’s tone carried the barest hint of suggestion and Kaladin’s pulse sped up uncomfortably. He needed to change the topic.

“I can’t believe you fold your clothes before a sparring match,” Kaladin mocked, scathingly. Was this really better? Why was he being so confrontational with the princeling?

“It’s a nice shirt.” Adolin replied simply.

“I’m sure it is princeling. Everything about you is nice.” What was he saying? Adolin seemed similarly taken aback because he froze for a second before resuming his kata.

“Shallan said you weren’t interested.” Adolin said, conversationally from his lunge. “Has that changed, bridgeboy?” He gave Kaladin a casual sidelong glance and a conspiratorial smirk, but there was something about his tone…Kaladin’s stomach clenched and he felt a little breathless as he spoke.

“I don’t know, have you stopped being an insufferably vain Highprince?”

Adolin grinned. Kaladin hadn’t meant it as friendly banter but he probably should be glad that Highprince took it as such.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to wear something other than a standard issue uniform once in a while.” Adolin said casually. Kaladin grimaced. He probably wouldn’t be wearing any uniform much longer. The thought wounded him like a visceral knife to the gut and, much like the body’s natural response to a mortal wound, he felt his body preparing to fight for his survival. “I could take you to my tailor, have her whip up a few nice—"

“I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Kaladin spat, more harshly than he had intended, pent up fervor mounting irrationally within him.

“I would,” Adolin replied, looking a little hurt. He wasn’t joking. He really wanted to take Kaladin to his tailor and pick out clothes for him. It was sweet in a way. And insulting.

“I’ll let you pick out my bedding, Kholin, but leave my clothes alone.” Storms, he hadn’t thought about how that would sound, even if it was true. Adolin raised a bemused eyebrow.

“So you do like the bedding, then?” Adolin asked with the hint of a satisfied smile.

Kaladin didn’t return the smile, he was still thinking about what clothes he might don when his uniform had been hung up for good. What would he do? Who was he without Bridge Four? Without the Windrunners? He felt a stab of anguish but he didn’t want to succumb to the grief so he channeled the pain into a seething hatred, unfairly directed at Adolin. Breathing deeply, he tensed like a coiled spring.

“Are you alright, Kal?” Adolin asked, eyeing him critically.

“I’m fine. Let’s spar.” Kaladin bit out.

“Kal…”

“I said. I’m fine.” And with that, he charged Adolin. Storms, he needed to have an open conversation with Adolin and already he was acting guarded and aggressive with the princeling. Because the Highprince was surprised by the attack, Kaladin was able to tackle him to the ground, easily rolling the princeling underneath him and holding him strongly across the chest so that Adolin’s arms struggled futilely, his hips bucking against Kaladin’s trying to throw him off. Kaladin rode out the thrashes, then worked his legs around the Highprince’s so that Adolin’s lower body was also bound.

“You gonna yield, princeling?” Kaladin snarled.

“Not yet,” Adolin growled through labored breaths, as he struggled against Kaladin. “This isn’t so bad, I’d argue I’m actually winning.” Adolin was not winning unless he meant… Kaladin moved with him continuing to restrain the princeling, contemplating the Highprince’s meaning. A rush of blood flooded his groin. No, no, no. Not now.  Kaladin’s grip faltered and Adolin broke free and was on Kaladin in a flash. Within seconds, Adolin’s arms looped underneath Kaladin’s arms and tightly bound him around his back with a lethal dexterity and practiced ease that rendered Kaladin’s arms ineffectual for much except for weak glancing blows to Adolin’s back and torso, as one of the princeling’s hands gripped the hair at the base of Kaladin’s neck to prevent Kaladin from headbutting him. Adolin’s face was next to Kaladin’s and he could feel the man’s warm breath coming in bursts against his neck and ear. Between that, the tight embrace, and tugging of his hair, if Kaladin closed his eyes, he could imagine the scene very differently. And he did. Adolin’s legs were straddling Kaladin’s but blessedly the man had left a gap between them so he couldn’t feel how turned-on Kaladin was.

“Yield.” Kaladin said with an edge of panic to his voice.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Will you get off me, please.”

“I thought you had me there. What made you lose your grip?”

Adolin’s hips dropped, as his arms relaxed. Kaladin gasped at the contact and he heard Adolin’s breath catch. Storms, the Highprince was partially hard too. It felt like an eternity that he lay there waiting for the fallout, growing harder even as he willed it away. Adolin dropped his head to Kaladin’s neck. The Highprince’s lips grazed the sensitive area and the skin practically seared with anticipation as Adolin’s mop of hair brushed Kaladin’s face. Adolin’s grip had loosened and Kaladin could throw the other man off but he didn’t. He desperately wanted to reach up and grab a handful of the carelessly perfect mess of black and gold that was tickling his face and pull Adolin’s face to his, but he resisted, lying their frozen, listening to his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Finally, Adolin’s voice broke the tense silence, sounding both strained and breathless.

“Kal, do you—?”

A knock came at the door.

Kaladin bolted upright, twisting and vaulting from underneath Adolin to open the door.

Two servants carried a tub and several more carried buckets of steaming water. The bath. Right.

What was that? One servant was carrying a small table with several fancy-looking glass bottles and another bore a tray with meats, cheeses, nuts, and more yellow wine. Was this a bath or a storming Herdazian bacchanalian?

“Where would you like the bath, Brightlord?”

Kaladin gestured mutely to an open space about 15 feet from the door and the servants set to work placing then filling the tub.

Adolin shook his head as though mastering himself before he spoke. “Fill it halfway then leave the rest of the buckets.” Kaladin stood by the door and avoided looking at Adolin. Once the tub was filled halfway, a servant placed a couple towels on the table next to the bottles and bowed, exiting.

“Well, I guess I have to take a bath now. Thanks for the food and sparring match.”

“Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, bridgeboy.” Adolin laughed. “You wouldn’t know what to do with half of the things I requested. Have you ever taken a proper bubble bath before?”

“A what?”

“That’s what I thought. Get undressed and I’ll finish getting the bath ready.”

Adolin took two of the bottles and poured their contents into the bath, circulating the water with his hand then grabbed a third bottle and a bucket. He emptied the contents of the third bottle into the tub and poured the water from higher than was strictly necessary. Bubbles and foam started forming under the stream of water but, unexpectedly, they lingered. Kaladin stared transfixed, not only was he uncomfortable with Adolin’s instructions but he was also curious. Soon the tub was filled with a thick layer of bubbles lying atop the water and Adolin dropped a small glowing metal device in the water with a soft splash and turned to him. “The bath is ready, do you intend to bathe fully clothed? Those clothes look filthy and would probably defeat the purpose.”

“Aren’t you going to leave?” Kaladin asked, trying and failing to keep the desperation from his voice.

“I can leave while you undress but, once you’re in the tub, I’ll be returning to make sure you bathe properly.” Adolin assured him. “I can tell something is bothering you. A relaxing bath will help, trust me.”

Kaladin grunted, not trusting him at all.

“You expect me to get in there after you added Almighty knows what to the water? What in damnation was in those bottles and what was that fabrial?”

“Reshi Isle sea salt, Shinovarian lavender oil, and a quite pleasant liquid soap from my favorite soap maker in Kholinar, which, unlike you, when agitated by a flowing stream of water, creates pleasant-smelling bubbles for a bubble bath,” Adolin replied ticking off three fingers as he spoke. “The fabrial is a Crem Catcher. This one is for bathing so it has a built-in warming fabrial but it gathers the filth from the water. I imagine there will be no shortage of that.” Adolin declared, eyeing Kaladin’s woebegone appearance. “Any more questions while we test how long the warming fabrial lasts?”

Kaladin glared at him but he was frankly intrigued by the fabrial. He could think of several uses for it, not least of which was for his parents. He knew of more than one occasion when they could have used it with little Oroden in the tub and the medical and therapeutic applications seemed endless…and lighteyes were using these for their baths. Kaladin suppressed a derisive snort.

“I’ll wait outside, while you get undressed but I’ll be back to help you wash and condition your hair, properly exfoliate and moisturize, and to apply my favorite Purelake mud mask to your face.” Adolin was going to…what now? Condition his hair? What on Roshar did that mean? Kaladin understood conditioning the body for fighting but how did one condition the hair? And a mud mask? Wasn’t he supposed to be getting clean? Wouldn’t smearing his face in mud defeat the purpose? There was that Crem Catcher though…

Kaladin suppressed a growl as Adolin, true to his word, grabbed his shirt and stepped outside the door so Kaladin could get undressed. Kaladin momentarily thought about bolting the door and lying defiantly on his bed but he knew Adolin wouldn’t give up so easily and Syl had fetched him so she was clearly on his side not Kaladin’s. Plus, the idea of summoning her back for what would probably be a horribly emasculating exercise in lighteyed idiocy didn’t seem particularly enticing either. Although Kaladin was loathe to admit it, Adolin was right. Kaladin did need a bath so he undressed and obediently slipped into the tub.

“You in the tub, bridgeboy?”

“Yes, Adolin.” Kaladin said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. The water was quite pleasant and, with the thick layer of bubbles, his lower body was well hidden. Kaladin sniffed the air, the bath water smelled…nice. Like Adolin. Kaladin’s insides squirmed at the revelation. This is probably how the storming Highprince always bathes, he thought, then scowled with disdain. Kaladin was determined to dislike every minute of this farce of a bath.

Adolin opened the door noting his stormy expression.

“You can’t tell me the bath isn’t nice.” Adolin said, grabbing the table with the bottles and towels. Was that a storming silk robe, too? Almighty above. Kaladin put his head in his hands.

“It’s unnecessary, Adolin.”

“Have you smelled yourself?” Adolin huffed. “It’s very necessary.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with so I can be rid of you.” Kaladin grumbled. Adolin’s smile looked slightly pained and Kaladin felt a stab of guilt at how gauche he was being with the Highprince and softened his tone accordingly. “What am I supposed to do with all of this stuff?” Kaladin asked, trying at contrition and gesturing to the array of bottles on the table.

“Well, first you need to get your hair wet.” Without warning, Adolin dumped a bucket of water over Kaladin’s head. Where had that even come from?

“What was that for?” Kaladin spluttered, coughing and blinking water out of his eyes. “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.”

“It is but you’re being insufferably rude. Something is bothering you and you’re taking it out on me.” Adolin said. That cut through Kaladin’s churlish petulance and telegraphed reticence with the ease of a Shardblade through rock. Even though Kaladin still had half a mind to lash a full bucket over Adolin’s head, for more reasons than just retaliation, he knew he deserved the dousing and probably much worse treatment for how he had been acting so he refrained, choosing to apologize instead.

“I’m sorry, Adolin.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want to enjoy this bath then?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

There was a pregnant pause where Adolin picked up another bucket of water and Kaladin tensed.

“You’re really not gonna press me on what’s bothering me?”

“No, if you wanted to tell me, you would. And you probably will eventually. Tip your head back.”

Kaladin glared at him.

“Or you can leave you head like that and I can dump this next bucket over your face too.”

Kaladin narrowed his eyes before leaning his head back. Adolin poured the water over his hair, working the steaming liquid throughout his scalp. It felt…pleasant. Kaladin closed his eyes relaxing somewhat under Adolin’s deft touch, listening to the water trickle into the bath. Then, there was another pause and Kaladin opened his eyes to see the Highprince, now seated in a chair behind him, opening one of the many glass bottles and pouring some liquid into his hand.

“What is that?”

“Shampoo. It’s specifically made for cleaning the hair.” Adolin answered, then, reaching for Kaladin’s hair, he asked, “May I?”

Kaladin nodded closing his eyes again. He didn’t really care what Adolin was putting in his hair at this point, as long as that masterful touch continued. Adolin’s fingers worked the liquid into his scalp and it felt so wonderful he had to bite back a moan. The princeling knew what he was doing. After several minutes, Kaladin’s head dropped back against the tub with a soft thunk as Adolin continued massaging his scalp with the sham poop or whatever it was that Adolin had called it. Kaladin didn’t want to think too hard, especially while Adolin’s skillful fingers were lulling him toward what could only be the Tranquiline Halls themselves.

Abruptly, Kaladin became aware of a pleased humming and his head snapped up. It was him. He had been humming. Storms.

Adolin read his response and reacted with an indulgent smile.

“It’s okay, Kal. I won’t tell anyone that you enjoy having your hair shampooed.”  

Kaladin wanted to glare at the Highprince but he was enjoying himself so he leaned his head back again, letting Adolin resume.

After the fake poop, or whatever that stupid hair soap was called, was rinsed, there was yet another pause and Kaladin felt something soft and fragrant against his lips. His eyes popped open, “Cheese?” Adolin asked, smirking. “This is one of my favorites.”

“Storms, man, I thought you were…” How was Kaladin going to finish that sentence? Really. He felt slightly breathless as he shut his mouth then opened it, accepting the cheese. “Sure, thanks.” It was excellent. Of course it was. Unless it pertained to his wardrobe, the Highprince had impeccable taste. Adolin continued feeding him several other meats, nuts, and cheeses and Kaladin tried to no avail to prevent himself from thinking about certain other colloquial meanings for “meats” and “nuts” as well trying to overlook how intimate it felt to have Adolin feeding him. Storming man.

Adolin produced a rockbud puff, a kind of fibrous palm-sized mass that was for debridement or exfoliation as the Highprince called it. He loaded it up with some other scented liquid and demonstrated to Kaladin how to buff his skin with it before politely turning away to allow Kaladin to scrub the parts of himself that were under the water. Kaladin barely resisted rolling his eyes, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just use a cloth for this but he dutifully scrubbed himself anyway.

Next, Adolin massaged a certain “smoothing scrub” into Kaladin’s arms, neck, shoulders, upper back, and chest. It was some kind of oily substance with dirt or crystals in it. It seemed redundant after the previous scrubbing but it felt remarkably good when Adolin sensually worked it into his skin so Kaladin didn’t complain. He even managed to keep his composure. Above the water, at least. Under the water was another story. Once again, proprietarily, Adolin turned away, allowing Kaladin to apply the scrub to his lower body. Using his own hands didn’t feel nearly as good as Adolin’s expert touch and Kaladin found himself wishing Adolin would touch and clean the rest of him. Unfortunately—princeling, I know I said I wasn’t interested in a sexual relationship with you but could you scrub my cock for a while and maybe use your mouth too—didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, unlike Kaladin’s current imagining, which involved much rolling and much tongue. Kaladin flushed at the intrusive thought, keeping silent.

Adolin applied the mud mask to Kaladin’s face and conditioned Kaladin’s hair. Conditioner turned out to be a more slippery liquid, even more slippery than the soap, and it didn’t lather but it left his hair feeling silky even before it dried. Adolin was prattling on about what potential Kaladin’s hair had for body or some such nonsense but Kaladin was comfortable letting the words wash over him like the occasional warm water as Adolin continued to work Kaladin’s tresses with nimble fingers. A pleasured moan escaped Kaladin’s lips. Kaladin immediately tensed, keeping his eyes shut but, blessedly, Adolin’s fingers only twitched slightly and he heard the man shift in his chair but otherwise he gave no remark or any other indication that he had heard. For that, Kaladin was immeasurably grateful. Kaladin felt himself starting to drift as the mask was sponged delicately from his face and the conditioner was rinsed judiciously from his hair. However, when Adolin gathered his hair, tugging pleasantly, as he wrung out the excess water, Kaladin choked off another satisfied moan and his head snapped up again, eyes popping open.

Adolin was eyeing him fondly, “Enjoying yourself, Kal?”

“Maybe a little too much.” He grumbled. The bath had been enjoyable but his erection had never fully gone away and that tugging on his hair certainly hadn’t helped. Not many bubbles remained and Kaladin was feeling very exposed and extremely self-conscious.

“Nonsense. Making you feel good and cared for was the whole point of my visit.”

Adolin saying that wasn’t helping either.

“Princeling, could you please turn around so I can get out of the tub?”

Surprisingly, Adolin didn’t protest with some other Riran armpit lotion or Bavlandian anal sand scrub that still needed applying but handed him a towel, dutifully turning away from Kaladin. Irrationally, Kaladin was annoyed that the Highprince did look away as he had requested. Kaladin stepped out of the tub, wrapping the towel around his waist, and used the second towel to dry his hair.

As he removed the towel from his head, he noticed movement and rolled his eyes. Adolin, still facing away from him, was waving the silk robe. “You’ve got to be kidding, princeling.”

“Will you at least try it?” Adolin implored. “If you don’t like it, you have my permission to… throw it on the floor.” Kaladin thought he could hear the wince in the princeling’s voice as he stated the last part and Kaladin suppressed a chuckle. It would be worth putting on the robe just to see the princeling’s expression when he tossed it to the floor.

Kaladin begrudgingly took the garment and shrugged into it. It was nice. Storm it. And the way it glided against his skin…Kaladin ran a finger underneath the sleeve and along his arm, the skin was smooth. He ran his fingers over his neck and chest, Kaladin hadn’t realized his skin could feel this soft.

“Are you wearing it?”

“Yes, princeling.”

Adolin turned, “And?” he asked expectantly.

“It’s very nice. Thank you.” Kaladin huffed.

“See, nice clothes fix everything. You really should let me take you to my tailor and…” Adolin’s face fell. “What’s wrong, Kal?”

Kaladin fingered the cuff of the robe, thinking again about the uniform he would no longer be wearing. Then he swallowed, making up his mind.

“Your father removed me from active duty two days ago.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, he thinks I’m unfit to see battle.”

“That storming man…”

“He’s right, Adolin. Remember how you had to pull me out of the palace last year? And your brother had to rescue me a couple days ago. I didn’t want to accept it at first but I’m a surgeon and I know he’s right.”

“My father can be wrong.”

Of course. Dalinar had murdered Adolin’s mother. That had been a mistake and certainly not one that was easy to forgive. “He can be but he’s not wrong about this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s just it. I have no idea. I don’t know who I am without Bridge Four and the Windrunners.”

“Kal…”

“I’m sorry, Adolin. I shouldn’t have put this on you.” Kaladin grimaced then pasted on a smile. “Thank you for everything.”

Adolin looked like he was trying to decide something difficult, then shrugged, clasping Kaladin’s shoulder.

“I wish I knew another way to help.” Adolin paused. He was helping by being here, should Kaladin say that? “For what it’s worth. I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore either. I used to be important and knew my place but, now, with all you Radiants all over the place,” he shrugged, smiling sadly yet somehow also apologetically at Kaladin, “a duelist and Shardbearer is nothing special.” Kaladin felt the urge to embrace Adolin but resisted. He thought Adolin was special but the words wouldn’t come. His throat felt dry and swollen, like there was a hard painful lump, making it impossible to swallow or choke out any sound at all.

Adolin released his shoulder and turned to leave but Kaladin didn’t want him to leave yet. Before Kaladin’s brain could temper his actions with logic, Kaladin instinctively caught Adolin’s wrist in a grappling hold. Adolin stopped, his gaze moving from where Kaladin had hold of his wrist up to Kaladin’s face. Kaladin didn’t know what he was doing. He stared at the wrist he held, chest heaving and heart thumping painfully in his chest. He should release Adolin’s wrist and let the man leave but Kaladin wanted something more from Adolin, as if the man had not given him more than enough already…

“Kal? Did you want to spar some more?” Adolin asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly and eyeing Kaladin’s hand on his wrist. Kaladin willed Adolin to just know what he wanted. What he wanted was like sparring, in a way…He met Adolin’s eyes breathing shallowly.

“Adolin…stay,” he whispered, feeling slightly insane, as he pulled lightly on Adolin’s wrist.

“Do I have a choice?” Adolin asked smiling at him incredulously. Storms, Kaladin had inadvertently lashed Adolin’s feet to the floor.

“Sorry.” Kaladin mumbled, removing the lashing but not his hand. Adolin turned to face him.

“No need to apologize. Clearly, I like it.”

“What?”

“Being jailed alongside you. Grappling and being dominated by you.” He wiggled his bound wrist. “Being held captive by you.” Despite Kaladin’s muddled haze, that ignited an unexpected thrill in him for reasons he didn’t quite comprehend.

The Highprince’s voice deepened with meaning. “Being with you.”

An aching expansiveness and affection blossomed in Kaladin’s chest and his face heated. Kaladin looked away from the earnest expression on Adolin’s face.

“You…dominated me today.” Kaladin said stupidly.

“Not exactly. You let me win.” Something flared behind the Highprince’s eyes. “I wondered why, but now…”

Slowly Adolin reached his unbound hand forward, studying Kaladin’s face until, finally, he gently cupped Kaladin’s cheek. Kaladin closed his eyes into Adolin’s touch, extending his neck and willing the Highprince closer. He heard the scuffing of feet on the stone floor and felt Adolin’s presence only inches from him. Adolin’s thumb brushed Kaladin’s cheek and Kaladin opened his eyes meeting the Highprince’s gaze. Adolin’s face was only about six inches from Kaladin’s own and, in that small yet expansive space, there was a palpable electric heat sizzling in the air and an inevitable pull like proximate lodestones. The Highprince’s eyes looked hopeful but uncharacteristically unsure as he bit his lip and let his hand caress down Kaladin’s face and neck, coming to rest again on his shoulder. But the grip on his shoulder was not as friendly as before, there was a tension to it, as if the other man were both bracing against Kaladin and holding himself back.

Adolin leaned in and Kaladin closed his eyes, inhaling and steeling himself. Kaladin parted his lips in anticipation.

Instead of a kiss, words echoed in the quiet room, “What do you want, Kal?” It was said right next to his ear, the breath warm and teasing, and so close that he could feel Adolin’s lips moving against the sensitive skin of his neck. Kaladin reached into the Highprince’s perfect black and blonde mop of hair, hearing Adolin’s sharp intake of breath as he grasped and twisted the strands between his fingers, it was softer and more perfect than he could have ever imagined. With fingers woven between that silky hair, he pressed Adolin’s face against his neck, tipping his own head back to better expose his throat to the other man.

“Kal?” Kaladin could feel the vibration of his name, the sultry rush air, and the movement of Adolin’s lips. He sighed at the sensation, but Adolin still withheld, breathing against his neck, waiting for Kaladin’s answer. The answer was simple, but Kaladin choked on it anyway.

“You.”

Adolin fell against him twisting out of the grappling hold to seize Kaladin about the waist, then, the other hand grasped the back of Kaladin’s neck but instead of pulling Kaladin in he pushed back looking slightly pained as he studied Kaladin’s face. Kaladin could see the want there but, the Highprince still held back. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you owe me because—”

“I’m sure, princeling,” Kaladin said, grasping the other man’s hips and pressing into Adolin, letting him feel just how sure he was. The contact elicited a stilted gasp from Adolin and Kaladin bit back a groan as he felt the other man’s very prominent need pushing back against his thigh. After hours of neglect, just the pressure felt amazing but, knowing how turned-on Adolin was and knowing that Adolin had been holding back until Kaladin was ready…Kaladin’s ardor surged wildly.

This close Kaladin could feel that the Highprince’s frantic heartrate matched his own and Kaladin was aware of the insistent throbbing in his loins, the searing heat of Adolin’s hand as it moved sensually up his back, and the maelstrom of urgency and tension, but time seemed to slow in a sobering way, overpowering the onslaught of sensations, as Adolin tilted his face up. Their small difference in height, usually so nominal, was starkly apparent, as the Highprince’s hand swept purposefully up the nape of Kaladin’s neck to tighten in his damp hair, drawing Kaladin down. Kaladin closed his eyes and steeled himself for the second time.

This time there were no words.

Chapter Text

The kiss wasn’t as lusty or as uninhibited as Kaladin thought it would be after so much waiting but it was good. The princeling was, admittedly, as talented with his mouth as he was with his hands, but there was a metered tension at first, as if the princeling half-expected Kaladin to shove him away, like Kaladin probably had done so many times before without realizing what the moment had meant to Adolin. Kaladin felt a stab of guilt at the thought, but pushing the princeling away was the last thing on Kaladin’s mind. If anything, he wanted to be impossibly closer to the princeling as he opened his mouth to Adolin in an increasingly sloppy and needy kiss, gripping Adolin’s hips and thrusting against him through several layers of fabric. All these storming clothes were in the way.

“You’re overdressed, princeling.” Kaladin remarked as he started unbuttoning Adolin’s shirt.

“Normally,” Adolin said between steamy kisses that descended from Kaladin’s neck to his collarbone, “I’d say it’s better than being underdressed but I’d very much like to see you underdressed.”

“All that talk of taking me to your tailor and you’d rather see me in nothing at all?”

“Yes, but I would like to see you in…other things too. That’s not to say that Kholin blue isn’t becoming on you. I think I’d be coming no matter what you wore or didn’t wear but maybe something forest green would look nice with your tan skin and dark—”

“You talk too much, princeling, and now I know there are better things you could be doing with your mouth.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

Kaladin finished unbuttoning the princeling’s shirt, roughly pulled the shirt out of Adolin’s trousers, pushed Adolin back toward the bed, and lashed the offensive garment to the floor, where it belonged. No, it belonged in the refuse bin.

Adolin looked at Kaladin with a mixture of shock and awe as Kaladin took in the Highprince’s body in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to do before, regarding the other man intently, appreciating each nuance of functional strength the Highprince possessed and each ridge and furrow of muscle as it tensed and relaxed with the princeling’s breaths, before letting his gaze linger where the Highprince was tenting in his trousers.

“Storms, Kal, you really…”

Adolin stepped forward and reached to undo the tie of Kaladin’s robe with an earnest kind of reverence that made Kaladin feel as if the robe had already been stripped along with several layers of despondent self-loathing. The way he was looking at Kaladin, not even Shallan had looked at him that way. Adolin gently pushed the garment off Kaladin’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor with an uncharacteristic disregard for the finery.

“You’re beautiful.”

Kaladin felt his face heat at the sincere praise and found it hard to meet the princeling’s eyes so he didn’t. Adolin’s fingers and gaze skimmed over Kaladin’s face then swept back into his hair, tucking a few loose strands behind Kaladin’s ears, as he went, and lingering on his jaw for a moment before gliding back into his hair.

“Mmm, so silky,” Adolin hummed, toying with the hair at the base of Kaladin’s neck. Kaladin ran a nervous hand through his hair and found that it was nearly as sleek and soft as the princeling’s, albeit more tangled. Adolin meticulously moved on to admiring Kaladin’s chest and abdomen. As Kaladin’s eyes followed the princeling’s fingers down, they fell on the silk at their feet. Kaladin snorted shattering the moment as he thought about how Adolin had winced when mentioning throwing the robe on the floor.

“What?” Adolin asked, pausing his appreciation of Kaladin’s chest.

“I’m just surprised you didn’t stop and insist on folding the storming thing.” Kaladin teased, gesturing at the fine pool of silk on the floor. Adolin winced slightly.

“I was busy…” Adolin said eyeing Kaladin sheepishly, then he bent down, reaching for the robe. “Maybe I should—”

With a sudden burst of feral inspiration, Kaladin seized Adolin’s head, weaving his fingers through that perfect flecked hair, as the Highprince bent down, “While you’re down there, princeling…”

Adolin abandoned the silk and allowed himself to be pushed to his knees by Kaladin. Adolin ran his hands up Kaladin’s thighs until he gripped Kaladin’s hips and buttocks then looked up at Kaladin with the barest hint of a smile and a challenge in his eyes. “Yeah, bridgeboy?”

There was something about seeing Adolin on his knees in front of him. It did something to Kaladin. Adolin was a storming Highprince and Kaladin was just…Kaladin.

And Adolin’s alternating kneading grip and light teasing touch on his backside…well, he didn’t mind that either.

“Was there something you wanted?” Adolin leaned forward, still looking up at Kaladin, “while I’m down here…” he exhaled hot air over Kaladin’s towel-clad cock, then nuzzled and mouthed through the fabric right where Kaladin needed him. Kaladin imagined how Adolin’s mouth would feel once the towel was gone and groaned bucking forward. Adolin pulled back, grinnning, clearly pleased to have gotten such a reaction from Kaladin. Maddeningly, the princeling got to his feet and reached for Kaladin but Kaladin was having none of it. He lashed the man’s boots to the floor while he lashed the princeling in a gentle arc onto his bed, then, covering the distance in two purposeful strides, he loomed over the Highprince.

“I seem to recall you saying you liked being dominated by me, princeling.”

Adolin’s eyes widened and Kaladin lashed himself on top of the other man. Adolin reached for Kaladin and, this time, Kaladin let him pull him down for a filthy kiss. The princeling moaned into Kaladin’s mouth and thrust his hips up into Kaladin. Storms, seeing Adolin wanting like that, feeling him thrust and moan with such reckless abandon, like he really needed Kaladin…Kaladin groaned wantonly as he caged in the other man with his body, holding him close, occasionally releasing the other man’s mouth to breathe and pepper his jaw and neck with hasty kisses and bites, as he rolled his hips into Adolin with mounting fervor.

“Storms, bridgeboy. If you keep that up, you’re gonna make me ruin my pants.”

“What a tragedy.” Kaladin grunted, finding he very much wanted to make Adolin ruin those stupid pants even if the rough slide of the towel was becoming grating and unpleasant. Adolin gripped Kaladin’s hips stilling him.

“It really would be. They are very nice pants and having to explain—"

“Didn’t I tell you there are better things you could be doing with your mouth than talking, princeling?” Kaladin was annoyed that the princeling had stopped him when he was so close to making him ruin those damnation pants, storm the man. Kaladin seized Adolin’s wrists pressing them into the bed over his head and sucked in stormlight.

“Would you like that, Kal?”

Kaladin froze suppressing a shiver as he stared at the bed above Adolin’s wrists. Both the sheets and the question had caught him off-guard. Was the princeling really asking Kaladin if he wanted him to pleasure Kaladin with his mouth? The storming Kholin Highprince essentially kneeling for a darkeyes? Kaladin didn’t feel prepared to address the latter question so he addressed the former.

“Did you have my storming sheets changed?” Kaladin growled, distractedly letting go of the princeling’s wrists. Adolin’s face fell.

“Yes, I couldn’t have you lying down in dirty sheets after such a nice bath...” Adolin replied, not quite meeting Kaladin’s eyes.

“How did you know I’d even take the storming bath?”

“I can be very persuasive.” Adolin grinned, moving his hand to palm Kaladin through the towel.

“Princeling…” Unlike his cock, Kaladin’s tone softened and he groaned as Adolin’s hand continued to move on him.

“Bridgeboy.” Adolin crooned, bringing one hand to Kaladin’s cheek affectionately.

“You really thought of everything.”

“Yes, well, someone needed to take care of you.”

Kaladin moved in to kiss him but Adolin only responded with a chaste kiss before pulling back and stopping his second advance with a hand on his chest.

“You never answered my question, Kal.” What question?

Adolin deftly rolled Kaladin onto his back with a grappling move, keeping a firm hand on Kaladin’s chest as he undid the towel, started pumping Kaladin sensually with a spit-slicked hand, and was kissing his way down Kaladin’s abdomen before Kaladin even had a chance to process what had happened or do more than open his mouth soundlessly a few times.

Oh.

That question.

Kaladin stopped fighting the hand on his chest. Perhaps he could let the princeling have the high ground…for now. He could always overthrow the Kholin Highprince later, after all. Metaphorically, of course. He still did serve the princeling. Perhaps not in a literal sense at present, although he was standing at attention, in a way...

“Mmm, your skin is so smooth, that scrub really worked wonders,” Adolin murmured, nuzzling into the skin just above Kaladin’s navel, “and you smell so good, bridgeboy.” Kaladin rolled his eyes trying not to enjoy the self-aggrandizing compliment from the princeling but he couldn’t help that his heart was thumping wildly in his chest as the princeling approached…Adolin licked then nibbled a stripe along Kaladin’s inner thigh towards his hip then feasted upon his other side before taking Kaladin’s spheres into his mouth. Kaladin panted, clenching the sheets.

“Storms, Adolin…” Kaladin breathed through sharp gasps.

“Yes, Kal?” Adolin paused his ministrations, studying Kaladin. “Would you like me to stop?” There was a whisper of a knowing smile on the princeling’s lips and a gleam in his eyes that told Kaladin he knew as well as Kaladin did what his response would be.

“No.”

Adolin took him in his mouth and Kaladin surrendered himself entirely to sensation within this fantastical reality, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back to the bed. Adolin definitely knew his way around a sword. How many men had he pleasured before Kaladin? Did it matter? The heat was building steadily as Adolin took him deeper and deeper. His rhythm was slow and sensual, and Kaladin’s toes curled as his body burned for release. All too soon Kaladin’s hips started to stutter erratically.

“Princeling.” Kaladin gasped urgently, pulling lightly on Adolin’s hair but the Highprince only sped up, and then it was too late. Kaladin’s back arched and his head dropped back, as his body seized in pleasure and a protracted groan escaped his lips. Storms, he hadn’t intended to…

“S-sorry, Adolin.” Kaladin lifted his head and opened his eyes horrified. The aftershocks of his orgasm still pulsed through him and he expected to find Adolin annoyed or disgusted but the Highprince was moaning around him and lathing his shaft like he was genuinely relishing the experience. Storms, Adolin Kholin was enjoying…the man was a selfless, wonderful—

“I, for one, am glad you had such a thorough bath.”

Self-aggrandizing, insufferable Highprince.

“I don’t think that experience would have been nearly as good for me if you had been filthy.” Adolin’s eyes were twinkling. “I enjoyed myself, bridgeboy, did you?”

Kaladin hadn’t caught his breath yet but praising the princeling irked him for reasons he didn’t fully understand, and words didn’t really seem sufficient anyway. Kaladin pulled Adolin up to him, tightening his fingers in Adolin’s perfectly soft hair, and kissed him long and slow. He could taste himself there and feel Adolin’s lips curling into a smile. He was unable to resist, the corners of his own mouth also tugged upward.

Adolin gasped pulling away and Kaladin immediately panicked. He sucked in stormlight, rolled on top of Adolin, shielded him from the impending danger with his own body, and was about to summon Syl when he realized there was no danger.

“Is Kaladin Stormface smiling?”

Kaladin collapsed exhaling and groaning. Storms, but he was tired.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Kaladin growled, burying his face in Adolin’s delightful-smelling hair to hide his chagrined smile.

“You love it.” Adolin japed.

“You’re not an ‘it,’ princeling.” Kaladin corrected him and blushed at what he had thoughtlessly implied, even if it was true. Embarrassed, he moved to kiss Adolin and distract the other man from the slipup, but Adolin stopped him with a hand on his chest and met Kaladin’s eyes, holding them. 

“I love you, too, Kal.”

Storms, he hadn’t even told Tarah he loved her or Shallan. He hadn’t even thought he was interested in men a couple days ago, but he had just told Adolin he loved him. And that expression on the princeling’s face…Adolin drew him down into a passionate kiss and Kaladin became aware of the princeling’s need, hard against his hip, so he shifted his hand down to rub the other man through his trousers. Adolin moaned into his mouth and Kaladin grinned, finding that some of his energy was returning.

“Can I return the favor?” Kaladin asked, playfully licking into the princeling’s mouth.

“You don’t owe me, bridgeboy.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“If you want to, I’m certainly not going to try to stop you…unless you’re really bad at it.”

Kaladin was not going to leave Adolin wanting but he had no idea what he was doing. He sincerely hoped he was not really bad at this.

Chapter Text

Kaladin was armed with his thorough, but strictly clinical, understanding of male anatomy, his desire to please Adolin, and two relevant ideas on how to proceed: Adolin seemed to like to take his time, like a typical lighteyes, and he had told Kaladin he liked to be dominated. It wasn’t much to go on but it was something. Kaladin felt about as heartened and prepared by the knowledge as he had when confronted by that new Fused and five Parshendi soldiers in the burning cellar with his powers suppressed. But he had survived, even if it hadn’t been his most elegant triumph.

But then Moash had...Kaladin’s breath caught. He had forced himself not to think about the man after their confrontation and now definitely wasn’t the right time but he couldn’t push the thoughts aside like he had before…how could he? No, how dare he suggest that Kaladin…and after all they had confided in one another, their fears, their hopes, their dreams…that betrayal and it was Kaladin’s fault. He hadn’t been enough to save Moash and then he hadn’t been enough to save anyone from Moash. Could the man still be saved? It had to be possible because, if he couldn’t be…Kaladin’s eyes burned and he couldn’t breathe.

Moash represented the part of himself that was failing. The wretch constantly clawed at his insides with the indomitable ferocity of a cornered whitespine and Kaladin knew he had it within himself to be consumed by it. To give up the fight. It wasn’t question of if he would succumb but a question of when it would happen again. Moash embodied what Kaladin could become without purpose and people like Adolin. The prospect terrified him. Kaladin knew he didn’t deserve Adolin. He didn’t deserve anything that brought happiness to his life but Adolin loved and fostered the good in Kaladin. Like Shallan, Adolin pushed back the darkness and Kaladin needed that. Kaladin had to try to be better. For them.

He would not, he could not think about Moash, not while Adolin was here. Adolin had been a better friend than Moash ever had. Adolin loved Kaladin, even if he did not share the same scars that Kaladin shared with Moash. It was a much healthier love because Adolin did not share the same defects. The way Moash had treated him, that was not love. But, then, why did Kaladin still think of him? After all Moash had done, why did Kaladin still care? He wished he could forget. Adolin was whole and beautiful and uplifting. Things Moash was not and could never be. Things Kaladin was not and could never be either, but he needed them and he wanted to be worthy so badly.

Kaladin exhaled a shuddering breath.

“Kal, is everything al—"

Kaladin cut him off, kissing the Highprince with more emotion than before, pulling him close as he stroked him through his trousers, enjoying the quiet pants and hitched moans he drew from the other man. Kaladin smiled into their kiss and he didn’t try to contain it like before. He was losing himself in Adolin and, this time, Adolin’s gasps were not a dramatic display, they were real and genuine sounds of pleasure. For him. Because of him. It was wonderful. He wanted to draw this out, to drown in it, to show Adolin, to make him feel—

“Kaladin, what are you doing?”

Kaladin’s heart stuttered and his insides clenched with a visceral panic as he slammed his hand to the bed, breaking the kiss and lashing the sheet over himself and Adolin. Adolin looked at him with an abject mixture of shock and bafflement.

“Syl! What in damnation are you doing here?” Kaladin demanded.

“Is that any greeting for your spren? A little piece of divinity? We have a bond, Kaladin, so I basically live here with your mopey butt in the physical realm now.” She answered with hands on hips.

“Yes, I know that but what are you doing here now? I thought you were playing with axehound puppies or something.”

“I was but I was getting bored then I felt a rush of…I don’t know something good from you and then it felt like you were trying to summon me so I thought I’d better come check on you.” Kaladin was vaguely aware of a snort coming from underneath him.

Kaladin looked at Adolin to explain that Syl was here but Adolin’s eyes were fixed on her as he nodded deferentially, “Mistress Sylphrena, always an honor to be in the presence of one so divine.” Suck up. Now he was probably going to get an earful now about how he didn’t worship her enough or some such nonsense.

“Thank you, Highprince Adolin.” She replied with an approving nod, then dropping her stately air, she continued, rounding on Kaladin. “See! He knows how to treat me. With dignity and respect, Kaladin. You really don’t admire or revere me enough.” And there it was. Syl hovered closer to Kaladin, studying his face with an uncharacteristic shrewdness. “You’re not wearing clothes. What was that rush of…pleasure I felt through the bond and why did you start to summon me then stop?”

Kaladin had no desire to answer that. Any of it. It was none of Syl’s business.

“Ah, I can answer that.” Adolin volunteered, “You see the bridgeboy had just had an orgasm—”

“Princeling!”

“What? It’s true. Do you want me to lie to an honorspren? Your honorspren?”

“Thank you, Adolin. You were saying...”

Kaladin didn’t necessarily want a say but he was annoyed that they were talking as if he weren’t even there.

“…the bridgeboy had just had an orgasm—”

“Did you have to say that again?” Kaladin groused.

“As I was saying,” he gave Kaladin a pointed look. “The bridgeboy had just had an orgasm.” Adolin smirked at Kaladin confidently, then added. “The best one of his life.” Kaladin rolled off Adolin, put his head in his hands, and ruefully shook his head. “Then, we were kissing and I smiled and he smiled back—”

“Kaladin smiled? Do you know how rare that is?”

Kaladin dropped his hands from his face to scowl at Syl.

“I do know. It completely took me by surprise, in fact. I gasped and he clearly thought we were in danger because he jumped on top of me like some sort of heroic studly glowing bridgeboy shield. That’s probably around the time he started summoning you so I regret to admit that your untimely summoning may have, indirectly, been my fault.” Indirectly? Kaladin’s scowl deepened.

Adolin’s hand brushed Kaladin’s under the sheet and he squeezed it in a comforting way, interlacing his fingers with Kaladin’s but Kaladin was beyond comfort at this point.

“I see.” Syl paused. “So what were you doing when I came in?”

With the way the princeling grinned at him, Kaladin was given the distinct impression he would not enjoy what Adolin had to say next. And he was right.

“Kaladin was kissing me and caressing my—"

“Princeling, do you have to tell her everything?” Kaladin interrupted.

“She asked.” Adolin replied simply.

“I did.” Syl agreed.

“Fine. Can you two talk about this when I’m not here? I’d love to pretend that this never happened.”

“Bridgeboy, you wound me!” Adolin said, twisting an imaginary knife in his chest with mock affront. “You haven’t enjoyed your time with me?”

“Kaladin, be nice to Prince Adolin and apologize. You wounded him.”

“The only thing I might have wounded is his ego and that could use a bit of temperance anyway.” Syl looked at him sternly, once again, very reminiscent of his mother, and Adolin chuckled then looked at him with feigned indignance. “Storms, you two are…bah!”

Adolin let go of Kaladin’s hand and patted Kaladin on the head in what he probably thought was a comforting way but it felt overdone and condescending to Kaladin, like something you might do to comfort an axehound pup during a Highstorm. “Kaladin has been a good sport but I’m becoming concerned about the deep shade of red he’s becoming. Would you mind giving us the rest of the evening alone, Wise and Magnificent Ancient One?"

“Hmm…”

“I might add that I would especially appreciate it because Kaladin was about to—"

“Princeling! Could. You. Not.”

“What was he about to do?”

“None of your business, Syl. Now please leave like the princeling asked.”

Kaladin glowered and forced resolute dismissal through the bond.

“Fine. You’re no fun, Kaladin Stormface.”

Kaladin scowled again.

“Why are you guys always calling me that?”

Syl and Adolin exchanged a look but Adolin spoke first.

“Do you want to tell him or should I?”

Kaladin barely resisted hitting Adolin.

“I already have.” Syl replied primly. “Many times. Unfortunately, it hasn’t gotten him to look any less like a human thundercloud, constantly looming over happiness and banning things like toes.”

“Syl, we’ve been over this. I never banned toes.”

Besides a small chuckle from Adolin, they both ignored him, but Adolin eyed him fondly as he spoke. “Ah, but we love him anyway, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do. Toe banning and all.” Syl agreed, winking at Kaladin. Kaladin sighed.

“And sometimes,” Adolin continued, “My Lovely and Benevolent Goddess, we do things we don’t want to do for the people we love. Do you think you could give Kaladin and me some privacy for the evening?”

Syl considered for a moment.

“Anything for you, Highprince Adolin.” Syl beamed sweetly, then bowed. Kaladin gaped at the exchange. She storming bowed to the princeling. 

“Did you hear that? She used my title and she bowed? When was the last time you did that?” Now, the princeling was starting with this crem, too?

“A couple days ago and you called me out on it.” Kaladin replied, crossing his arms.  

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? Huh.”

“Are you two done?” Kaladin asked, glaring at both of them in turn.

“Are we, Oh Beautiful Divine One?”

“I guess so. Try to make him smile again, will you? He really needs it.”

Kaladin only glared harder.

“I’ll do my best.” Adolin said grinning at Kaladin with that storming genuine uplifting smile of his.

“Oh, and, Prince Adolin, promise me you’ll fill me in on the details later.”

“Deal.”

“What? No!” But Syl was already gone. Kaladin turned to Adolin. “Are you seriously going to—"

Adolin cut him off. “We’re alone now. Are you seriously going to keep using your mouth to talk or…” Adolin’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his eyes flicked downward then back up, and he grinned at Kaladin.

Storms, that smile...Kaladin decided he’d kiss it off the princeling’s face.

Kaladin shifted on top of Adolin, capturing his mouth in an adoring kiss, then moved to kiss along the princeling’s jaw and down his neck as he slid his hand into that wonderfully perfect dappled hair and tugged, eliciting a small moan from the other man. He allowed his other hand to wander down the princeling’s body, relishing the smooth skin, firm muscle, and radiant heat, before stopping to tease at the waistband of his trousers. Kaladin undid the buttons and pushed his hand inside Adolin’s small clothes. Adolin hissed softly and Kaladin moistened his palm as Adolin eased the trousers and small clothes off his hips to allow Kaladin better access. Kaladin pumped Adolin slowly, like the Highprince had done to him. Then, he claimed the princeling’s mouth one last time before kissing his way down Adolin’s chest and abdomen. Kaladin would draw this out for the princeling. He released Adolin’s shaft so he could use his hands to tease along Adolin’s sides and hips as he licked and kissed below Adolin’s navel. Soon the other man was panting and trying to thrust against Kaladin. Good, now he knows how I felt in the bath. Instead of providing relief yet, however, Kaladin moved back up to the princeling’s hipbones.

“Storms, bridgeboy, what are you waiting for?” Adolin panted, with a particularly desperate thrust.

“Patience, princeling.” Kaladin said smirking and pushed the princeling’s hips down.

“Easy for you to say, you already—” Kaladin lashed the princeling’s buttocks to the bed and Adolin groaned loudly as Kaladin took his time tasting the man’s defined v down to…

“Highprince Adolin? Shallan asked me to relay a message.”

For the second time in not nearly enough time, Kaladin lashed the sheet over himself and Adolin and immediately stopped what he had been doing. Should he stay hidden under the sheet? He was uncertain what to do but he was certain that he had had enough storming spren for one evening.

“Wait. Am I interrupting something?” Pattern buzzed excitedly.

Adolin sighed resignedly. “Not anymore. What’s the message, Pattern?”

“This is the first part: are you and Kaladin Stormface uphill gardening?” It was completely bizarre. It sounded like Shallan was standing in the room speaking but Kaladin knew it was Pattern. He had witnessed this little trick before and it was no less disconcerting than the first time.

And again with the Stormface name. He did not look stormy or loom like a storm cloud. Or ban toes.

“What?” Adolin asked, lifting the sheet to look questioningly at Kaladin, but Kaladin was just as confused as he was and shrugged.

“If you didn’t know that particular euphemism, she asked that I relay this message: Is my Royal Shartbearer playing in the mud?”

There was silence for a moment then Adolin barked a laugh. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure…yet.” He smiled and winked at Kaladin. Kaladin was still confused and rattled. She had called Adolin a Royal Shartbearer. Kaladin snorted. He knew what that was about. His guards had reported that Adolin had purposefully soiled his Shardplate on three occasions. Clever moniker, Shallan, he thought suppressing a chuckle. But what did Shallan think was happening between him and Adolin? Kaladin frowned. Playing in the mud…?

Oh. That mud. Right. Kaladin flushed. No, they hadn’t yet. And that wink. A scorching pervasive something spread from low in Kaladin’s belly.

Adolin, probably sensing that Kaladin might be uncomfortable, drew Kaladin up to lie on his chest and began tracing light soothing circles on Kaladin’s shoulder while affectionately carding his hair and humming softly.

“Shallan also wanted to know if she should expect you to return this evening.” Pattern buzzed. “She had a meeting today and there was a matter of some import that she wished to discuss…”

Kaladin, now comfortable on the princeling’s chest, was vaguely aware of Adolin’s response that he would be staying with Kaladin before, smiling faintly, Kaladin allowed his hand to lightly meander over the Highprince’s chest, abdomen, and side. Occasionally he would caress lower, enjoying how Adolin’s muscles tensed, his heart sped up, or his breath hitched slightly, but mostly, he listened to the Highprince’s steady heartbeat. He closed his eyes and marveled at its perfect bipartite synergy, first the atrioventricular valve closures then the semilunar valve closures, the perfect louder aortic sound and the barely softer pulmonic sound. The healthy low-pitched vesicular whoosh of his breaths, each rise of the Highprince’s chest long and each fall comparatively short. Kaladin basked in the other man’s steadfast warmth, letting the Highprince’s rumbling baritone wash over him, the gentle auscultation of his friend lulling him to peace, only vaguely aware of an affectionate squeeze and kiss to the top of his head as he drifted…

Chapter Text

Kaladin was back in the hall of the Kholinar palace. The confused melee raged all around him, and Kaladin watched—helpless—as his friends slaughtered one another. Again. Kaladin shouted desperately for everyone to stop killing one another but the fighting continued, heedless of his cries. Beard fell to Sah’s spear as Jali was impaled by Noro’s sword. Sah was run through by Noro’s blade and Noro’s head was riven by Khen’s axe. He collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face, throat raw and painful from yelling but still no one listened. No one heard.

He probably could have saved them all but he had done nothing. He hadn’t protected anyone. Everyone he loved was dying and it was his fault.

Elhokar, Dalinar’s Tien, held his son close as one of the Queen’s Guard pierced his arm with a halberd. The king fell to his knees, bleeding profusely from his injury, and began to speak, his small son still in one hand, the good hand, while the first ideal trembled in bloodstained fingers, in the other. The king was one word away from becoming Radiant…

Moash, that once friendly face, now cold and emotionless ruthlessly rammed his spear through the king’s chest as Kaladin looked on in horror and screamed. Elhokar fell and, even as his life’s blood flooded across his chest, Moash drove the spear into him a second time, holding the spear through the king’s eye socket until the soft glow of stormlight around Elhokar flickered and died.

Moash turned to Kaladin and his image seemed to warp and fuzz as though Kaladin were viewing it through a heat haze and his, once friend’s, voice was distorted, a harsh dissonant sound, alternating between loud and soft, his mouth movements not quite matching the words. “They’re all going to die, Kal. Everyone you love. Everyone you try to protect. You know that, don’t you? That’s why you didn’t even try to save them, isn’t it? You know there is only one way out. One way to stop the suffering. You know what you have to do.” Moash reached out, clasping Kaladin on the shoulder. “You’re my dearest friend,” Kaladin’s heart clenched painfully in his chest and hot tears stung his eyes, “let me help you end the pain.”

Kaladin wanted to scream no! to tell Moash he was wrong but the words wouldn’t come.

Moash’s voice was only a whisper now. “I love you, Kal.”

Bile rose in Kaladin’s throat but was almost immediately replaced by a pervasive numbness. A disconnect. He was so tired. Of everything. Kaladin stared blankly, his tear-blurred eyes clearing enough to see Moash’s Bridge Four salute but he was too insensate to register the vileness of the action. Then, Moash was gone. 

He hated that Moash was right. Time and time again, the gruesome carnage had unfolded and Kaladin had done absolutely nothing. Kaladin had watched them all die: Tien, Cenn, Dallet, Coreb, Nalma, Jaks…

More chaos. Blood, screams, death. Unnecessary corpses. Everywhere.

More inaction.

He couldn’t be sure how long he knelt there, staring sightlessly, despair consuming his thoughts amidst the senseless violence, before warm arms pulled him backward out of the nightmare. “Time to go, bridgeboy.”

Adolin.

***

Kaladin awoke in a cold sweat, heart pounding, and eyes damp with tears, but unlike when he usually woke from his nightmares, the transition from sleep to wakefulness had been more gradual. He hadn’t startled awake vaulting from the bed ready to fight the cold empty blackness of his room. In fact, his room was none of those things: cold, empty, or black and, truthfully, he found he had no desire to move at all. The faint glow of spherelight illuminated the chamber and revealed that Kaladin probably couldn’t have leapt from the bed, even if he had wanted to battle the air in his room for permission to enter his lungs, because he was being held by the same sturdy arms that had towed him from the palace in Kholinar. Adolin Kholin snored softly, hugging Kaladin from behind. It almost didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream, if only because of its stark contrast to his most recent nightmare. Instead of frozen on the battlefield surrounded by unfeeling death and chaos, Kaladin was warm, safe, and enfolded in a peaceful and loving embrace. Tears welled in Kaladin’s eyes but they were the good kind this time.

Kaladin gave himself a moment to savor the private rush of emotion. The princeling was a comforting presence even without making a conscious effort. His even breaths, his steady pulse, and the firm heat of his chest, were all a continuous comfort at Kaladin’s back. It should be easy to find sleep again. Kaladin relaxed taking a deep contented breath in and smelled that familiar spicey woodsy scent of the princeling’s cologne tinged with the crisp herbal fragrance of his hair soap, the faintest hint of that dusty grainy leather smell of the stables that suggested he had paid a recent visit to that absolutely terrifying beast of a horse, and, underlying all of it, and perhaps most prominent, was the smell of his musk from their earlier…pursuits. Adolin’s warm breath fluttered across Kaladin’s neck and Kaladin’s pulse quickened.

Kaladin was feeling incrementally less relaxed by the minute as his body started to respond to the smell, the heat, the surety of Adolin’s embrace, and that inciting caress of breath...it was becoming too much. Kaladin’s body thrummed where Adolin’s body touched his and he couldn’t smother that familiar heat as it ignited, spreading into an all-consuming conflagration. Again.

Kaladin didn’t know how long he lay there, breathing shallowly with his blood rushing, trying to will his erection away, the throbbing heat begging for touch, before he made up his mind. He would not wake Adolin but he needed to move, to extricate himself from that sweltering embrace. To find relief. Would Adolin notice if Kaladin lashed him upward slightly? Best not to risk it. Kaladin exhaled slowly, then ever so gently, he started to roll away from his bed partner. His painfully hard cock finally started to press into the mattress and Kaladin let out a small whimper. Adolin grunted, shifting his arm down slightly to bring Kaladin back against his chest, kissing his shoulder and sighing softly in his ear. Kaladin groaned, a sound of quiet desperation.

Adolin lifted his head. “You alright, bridgeboy?”

“Yes, princeling.”

“Are you sure? You feel tense.”

“I had a nightmare.” Well, that sounded lame and stupid out loud but it wasn’t technically a lie and there was no taking it back now. Besides, what else was he supposed to say? No, princeling, I’m desperately hard because you breathed on me and I know you got me off right before I fell asleep and I never returned the favor but would you mind staying awake to get me off again so I can probably fall asleep on you again. Maybe you could fuck me in the ass while you’re at it? Storms. No, he was absolutely not saying that. “Sorry, I woke you.” Kaladin mumbled. “Go back to sleep, princeling.”

Adolin squeezed Kaladin against his chest and pressed a kiss to Kaladin’s cheek before tucking his chin into Kaladin’s shoulder. “It’s alright Kal. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“I know.” Kaladin awkwardly tapped Adolin’s arm. “Thank you, princeling.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay. Sweet dreams, Kal.”

Kaladin covered Adolin’s arm with his own, hugging it to his chest, before interlacing his fingers with Adolin’s, pressing the palm of the princeling’s hand to his lips for a moment, then letting it go. “Goodnight, Adolin.”

Adolin brushed his hand up the nape of Kaladin’s neck, inhaling deeply and sighing into Kaladin as he ran his fingers through Kaladin’s hair, gently tugging as he worked out the knots. Kaladin moaned. This was not helping.

“There you go. Relax, Kal.” Adolin’s lips moved against Kaladin’s ear and Kaladin was anything but relaxed. Adolin moved on from his hair to trace light circles over Kaladin’s shoulder then his gentle caress wandered in light sweeping motions down Kaladin’s back, then side, and finally his hip. So storming close. Kaladin thought about seizing Adolin’s hand and ushering it a few inches lower to where he needed it, but resisted. Kaladin could feel his heart pounding in his throat and realized he wasn’t breathing. He released a tremulous breath right as Adolin slid his hand up Kaladin’s side to skim across his chest, grazing Kaladin’s nipple in the process. It felt like lighting rocketing along his length and Kaladin gasped, shifting uncomfortably.

“Is something wrong, bridgeboy?”

“No. Not exactly.” Storms, his voice sounded unconvincingly strained and halting.

“What is it?”

Kaladin didn’t know what to say. I’m hard enough to break Shardplate even though you’re only touching me in a comforting, non-sexual way sounded pathetic and I need you again sounded a touch desperate, even if both were true. Instead, he took Adolin’s hand and guided it down, down to where he needed it so badly. When Adolin grasped him, Kaladin moaned in relief. Adolin groaned as he kissed Kaladin’s neck and pressed his lower half into Kaladin, revealing that he was equally hard and wanting. Then, Adolin’s lips were moving on Kaladin’s ear again and his voice was deep and husky.

“Bridgeboy, how long have you been holding out on me?”

“I could ask you the same thing, princeling.” Kaladin said pushing his backside more strongly into the princeling’s erection and rocking gently. Adolin gripped him tighter.

“Storms, bridgeboy.” Adolin growled. “The things I want to do with you…” Adolin’s teeth grazed his ear and Kaladin shivered. He felt like he could hear the terrible restraint in Adolin’s voice as he groaned, rolling his hips into Kaladin.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Kaladin asked, suddenly feeling a touch playful as he wiggled his backside against Adolin. The other man hissed biting his shoulder as he gripped Kaladin’s hips possessively and thrust his erection against Kaladin’s backside. Hard. He held there for a moment and Kaladin bit back a whimper. Storms, were they doing this?

Adolin exhaled in a rush releasing Kaladin so he could steer Kaladin’s face towards his. Their mouths met hungrily over Kaladin’s shoulder, each trying to devour the other as they maintained a gentle undulating rhythm with their hips, Kaladin rocking back and down against Adolin as Adolin rocked up and into Kaladin, all the while Adolin moved his hand on Kaladin. The quiet room resounded with wet mouth sounds, quiet moans, and panting breaths as the movements of their hips and Adolin’s hand became more urgent. 

Adolin broke the kiss, nipping Kaladin’s ear, his voice rumbling between wrought breaths. “Bridgeboy, do you have oil?”

“Yeah.” Kaladin was privately grateful that the princeling did not remark further on the topic. Perhaps, he, like Kaladin, found its presence and purpose in his quarters to be self-evident.

Kaladin breathed in stormlight, extended his hand forward using a lashing to attract the bottle to his hand, then distributed the oil where it was needed with another lashing.

“Handy, that.” Adolin grunted approvingly, thrusting against Kaladin and pumping him with renewed vigor. Storms, it felt good. Between hearing Adolin’s sounds of pleasure, feeling his need thrusting in the cleft of his ass, the fiery nips and bites he was leaving along Kaladin’s neck, the easy glide of the oil, Adolin’s steady firm grip on him as the strokes grew faster…Kaladin knew he probably wouldn’t last much longer. But he was curious…playing in the mud. He had never done it but he wanted to try it with Adolin. He trusted the princeling and he wanted to feel that connection with him…among other things. Kaladin stilled.

“Princeling?”

“Mmhmm?” Adolin hummed, pausing the steamy open-mouthed kisses he had been sucking into the back of Kaladin’s neck. Kaladin was at a loss for words again. “Yes, Kal?”

“Would you like to…” Kaladin reached back, grasping Adolin and giving the other man a few sensual strokes, before guiding him to his entrance and lightly pressing him against it.

“Storms, Kal.” The princeling sounded breathless. Kaladin smiled at that. “You want me…inside?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Something in the princeling’s voice gave Kaladin pause.

“Do you not want to?”

“Storms, man, I want it more than that silk suit I saw in last month’s folio.”

“Okay…so is that a yes?”

“Definitely. I really want that suit but I want this with you a lot more.”

“So…” Kaladin pressed him against his entrance again.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never actually done this before.” That surprised Kaladin. “Shallan and I have talked about it but we just haven’t gotten—”

“You haven’t—done it before?”

“No, I’ve never been with a man and women have this other wonderful opening. You might have heard—”

“Yes, princeling, I know. I’ve been in the same one you have.” Adolin hadn’t been with a man before? Later.

“Right. Maybe sometime we could—"

“Could we focus on this for now?” Kaladin pressed into him.

“Sorry, I’m nervous. I guess I ramble when I’m nervous.”

“Adolin Kholin, nervous?” Kaladin smiled broadly raising his eyebrows. “Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t want to hurt you for one and…this—you mean a lot to me, Kal.” Kaladin’s heart swelled. “And…” Adolin trailed off.

“Yes, princeling?”  Kaladin prompted. More silence. The other man hardly shut up normally, what could it possibly be? “What is it?”

“Well, I guess I thought…things might be the other way around the first time so if something went wrong then you wouldn’t be the one getting hurt…” Adolin wanted Kaladin to, to…storms. Kaladin wanted that, but this way made much more sense at present. One of them had to keep his head, after all, since apparently neither of them really knew what he was doing.

“If anything goes wrong, stormlight will heal me right up. You don’t have that luxury. Unless you want to explain to Renarin—”

“Fair point.”

“So are we doing this or are you gonna waste that skillful mouth on talking some more?”

“Skillful, huh?” Kaladin felt no need to elaborate and he was rewarded for his silence. Adolin seized him in passionate, albeit sloppy kiss, before pulling back and affectionately looking over Kaladin’s face with a decidedly dopey grin. “Better?”

“Better.” Kaladin agreed, grinning at him.

“I love seeing you sm—” Kaladin cut him off, claiming his mouth again, and pressing Adolin into him but Adolin resisted.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Kaladin took a deep calming breath. He was ready—ish.

“Go ahead, princeling.”

Adolin still made no move to press into him.

“Kal?”

“Storms, princeling!” Kaladin exclaimed, growing impatient and barely keeping his nerves in check. “What?”

“I love you, Kal.”

“Oh. Um, I love you too, prin—Adolin.”

Adolin guided Kaladin’s face back into a tender kiss, interlaced his fingers with Kaladin’s, then holding him tight across the chest, shifted his hips forward.

Storms, it burned. Adolin was almost as big as he was and the surgeon in him knew it was important to stretch out muscles like this but Kaladin’s impatience and curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Adolin groaned and started thrusting into Kaladin’s searing hole. “You—feel—so—good…”

Kaladin cried out. “Wait! Storms, princeling! I’m not some damnation horse that you can immediately take at a gallop.”

“Sorry! Do you want to stop?”

“No. I just need a minute to…adjust and fix the damage you just caused.”

“I’m sorry, Kal. Tell me when you’re ready.” Adolin kissed his cheek affectionately and, besides tenderly caressing Kaladin’s side and chest, stilled completely.

Kaladin drew in stormlight to heal himself then experimentally clenched around the Highprince for perhaps longer than he strictly needed but he was enjoying the little hisses and gasps it drew from Adolin. However, eventually, he suspected Adolin was onto him, when that hand that had been lovingly skimming over his chest found its way between Kaladin’s legs. Then, Kaladin was having trouble keeping quiet. Or still.

“Okay, you can move now.”

Still not moving to thrust, he started pumping Kaladin sensually until, naturally, they fell into a rhythm. It wasn’t as frenzied as before, but the languid pace was nice…in a way. Loving.

But, if Kaladin was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why so many men in the army seemed to rave about this. Maybe lack of options? Kaladin wasn’t entirely disappointed by the sensation, it was nice to be physically joined. Maybe that was why—

Oh.

Adolin shifted, pushing more deeply into Kaladin and that particular motion certainly bore repeating. Kaladin thrust back against Adolin, encouraging the movement but Adolin’s hips stuttered to a halt. Why was he stopping again?     

“Storms, man. What are you waiting for? All the Heralds to return? You know one of them is dead, right?”

“I thought you said something about not galloping…”

“Well, if I knew you were going to be like Spray in bed I never—"

Adolin thrust into him more forcefully than before and Kaladin’s breath was driven out of him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before and he wanted more. This time Adolin obliged, clearly the insult about Kaladin’s first, extremely placid mount, that stood around licking rocks and eating grass, had spurred Adolin to action. Good to know. Adolin was now treating Kaladin to a more Dreamstorm-like experience. Adolin’s hand moved faster and faster on Kaladin and Adolin’s thrusts sped up to match it. Kaladin squirmed and moaned pressing back against Adolin, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed as he involuntarily clenched around the other man harder and harder.

“Kal, when you—ah—like that. It feels…so—” Adolin hummed high in his throat.

Kaladin was vaguely aware that the other man’s sounds were increasing in both volume and pitch as he continued to drive up into Kaladin and, somewhere at the edge of Kaladin’s consciousness, he made the connection between his involuntary clenching and the noises Adolin was making. Good noises so Kaladin made a point to do it with more intention and frequency, even as he felt his release rapidly approaching. Adolin’s noises continued to grow higher and louder until his hips and hand faltered for a moment, then his hand sped up to a blur along Kaladin’s length. Kaladin stilled his hand not wanting to finish before Adolin but continued slamming his hips back and clenching hard around the man.

“Storms, Kal. I’m—ah—close and—"

Oh, he was, was he? Good. Arousal surged in Kaladin as he held back his own orgasm against Adolin’s next vocalization.

“If you keep that up you’re going to make me—"

Did he want it to end? Kaladin halted his movements, lashing Adolin to the bed so the other man was unable to move his hips. “Make you what?”

Adolin growled in frustration and reached…

“Patience, princeling, did I say you could—"

Kaladin caught his hand intending to lash it to the bed and further immobilize the Highprince but Kaladin’s hips had lurched with the movement and he clenched involuntarily. As he did so, everything seemed to happen at once. Adolin twisted out of Kaladin’s grip, grabbed Kaladin’s hips officiously, pulling Kaladin onto him hard and deep, and Kaladin’s orgasm ripped through him sweeping and strong as a stormwall. Kaladin was only vaguely aware of Adolin’s primal growls into his shoulder or the other man’s shuddering hips as the rocking and deep pulsing warmth of Adolin’s release massaged that place inside him, in just the right way. Waves of pleasure rippled out across his entire body for an untold length of time until eventually he became aware of strong arms hugging him close. Adolin’s chin tucked into his shoulder again and the embrace felt wonderfully intimate this time, joined as they were in a post-orgasmic haze. Kaladin tucked his head forward in affectionate acknowledgement, enjoying the moment. Adolin used his top hand to turn Kaladin’s head to him and kissed him deeply. When Adolin released Kaladin’s lips, he sighed contentedly, settling back into their embrace and grinning against Kaladin’s shoulder.

“How was that for you?” Adolin murmured. When Kaladin didn’t respond immediately, Adolin nipped him on the shoulder. “It wasn’t too bad was it?”

If Adolin only knew…

“No, it wasn’t bad, princeling.”

Kaladin turned slightly to look at Adolin, affectionately nuzzling then kissing the other man before settling back again so the princeling couldn’t see his face when his smile broadened. “I might even let you do it again sometime.”

It was then that Kaladin marveled at what had just happened. The sweet closeness of the afterglow was nice but that orgasm had been something else entirely. He had felt it everywhere and, more amazingly, nothing had even been touching his cock at the time. And, like Kaladin’s cock in the aforementioned orgasm, the Highprince’s ego needed no stroking, so Kaladin had no intention of confessing his true thoughts to Adolin. But, as he nestled against the princeling, he could admit it, if only to himself, that had been—by far—the best orgasm of his life.

Chapter Text

“What do you say we get cleaned up, bridgeboy?”

Kaladin grunted. Adolin’s embrace was warm, the bed was comfortable, he could just…wait, was that sunlight? What time was it?

“Can I watch?”

Nope, that light must be the eternal flames of damnation. He was on Braize. That was the only rational explanation for why his storming spren was watching him in bed with Adolin again. Kaladin bolted upright, pulling protectively on the sheet.

“Storm it, Syl! I thought you were going to give us privacy!”

“I did. For the night. Like Highprince Adolin asked,” she beamed at Adolin, “but now it’s late morning. Adolin has been awake for ages and Shallan will be by with breakfast soon.”

“What? Shallan is—” Kaladin was partway through throwing off the bed covers and launching himself from the bed before he remembered they were both naked and Syl was watching with keen interest, so he grudgingly settled back, raising his eyebrows at Adolin.

“Yeah, we made plans to have breakfast last night when I spoke to Pattern but I guess you were already asleep. Originally, I was going to meet her in our chambers, but then you were sleeping so peacefully…” Adolin eyed Kaladin with fond adoration, “so we pushed back the time and decided we’d take breakfast here. With you. I hope that’s alright.” Adolin finished, sounding apologetic, but Kaladin felt a fluttering warmth settle in his chest. The princeling’s hair was mussed with a careless elegance that could have been intentional, but Kaladin knew the real reason. It was maddeningly handsome and the way he was looking at Kaladin…if Syl weren’t here, he’d have probably kissed the man back against the pillows.

“We might need another chair…” Kaladin mumbled, once again cursing his lack of proper furnishings. Maybe he would concede to the princeling’s offer to furnish the place. No garish tapestries though. If the princeling’s sense of fashion was any indication of the types of tapestries he would choose for Kaladin’s quarters…absolutely not.

“Shallan is having servants bring everything we’ll need. So what do you say we get cleaned up? Things did get a little sweaty.”

“And not just from sparring, am I right?” Syl asked mischievously.

Kaladin turned to Adolin narrowing his eyes.

“Did you tell her,” he lowered his voice, “about last night?”

Adolin raised his hands innocently.

“If you recall, she already knew you had an orgasm, Kal.” Storms, not this again.

“Yes, and I believe you had another one in the middle of the night. Would you like to—"

“We are not talking about this.”

“That’s funny because it seems like that is exactly what we are doing, Kaladin.”

“Absolutely not. Syl, out.”

“But—"

“This is not a discussion, Sylphrena. Shallan will be here soon. Adolin and I need to bathe before she arrives, and I do not want you watching. I’ll summon you when we’re done, but right now, I need you out.”

Before departing, Syl gave Kaladin a disgusted look that told him he was going to hear about this later but right now he had to bathe and…and…

Adolin had scooted behind Kaladin, wrapping his arms around him, skimming over his chest and teasing at his nipples. Steamy kisses and teeth descended from behind Kaladin’s ear making him shiver as Adolin’s deep voice rumbled, “Mmm, I love that tone. Hearing you take command. I hated it the first time you stood up to me at the Tower, but now…” Speaking between kisses and bites, Adolin’s hands wandered lower…

“I love…” One of Adolin’s hands teased at Kaladin over the sheet while the other moved sensuously under the sheet along his inner thigh. Kaladin groaned. “…hearing you…” Adolin wrapped the hand that was under the sheet around Kaladin, pumping him slowly, and Kaladin’s body responded with alacrity. “…stand up…” Kaladin bit his lip, letting his head drop back to Adolin’s shoulder. Adolin punctuated his next words with sensual tugs and fiery nips to Kaladin’s neck. “…for what—you—believe in.”

“Adolin, we need to get cleaned—” Kaladin protested but then Adolin’s hand twisted on him in the most exquisite way and his protest turned into a quiet moan instead.

“Are you sure it has to be now?” Adolin pressed his lower half into Kaladin. The man was fully hard.

“Storms, Adolin.” Kaladin groaned.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“No.” He growled, drawing in stormlight and flipping the princeling under him with one fluid movement. Shallan would understand. Who knew, maybe she’d even join in. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought unsettled him. Best to make this quick then.

***

A little while later, Kaladin and Adolin were kissing like giddy teenagers and sinking into a pleasant bath. The Crem Catcher had worked remarkably well, the water remained quite warm and clean, despite its repeated and extended use. Storming lighteyes and their fabrials. Kaladin could tell the bath wasn’t as leisurely as Adolin was accustomed to and Kaladin laughingly admired the man’s restraint in not insisting that they use every bottle of the Almighty only knew what. However, Adolin did insist on scrubbing Kaladin’s back. That had somehow turned into a sensual massage and so it was that Kaladin was seated in front of Adolin in the warm bath, head drooping against one of his arms, starting to doze, when he heard the knock at his door. “Storms, we need to get dressed.” Kaladin lurched to his feet, grabbing two towels. He passed one towel to Adolin, as he unceremoniously rubbed the water from his skin and hair with the other towel, and stepped out of the tub, padding across the room with wet footsteps to his dresser. He opened the top drawer finding two sets of small clothes and tossed one set to Adolin. Adolin wrinkled his nose. “I know they’re not silk princeling but—”

“Shallan’s bringing me a change of clothes. I’ll wait.” Kaladin rolled his eyes, catching the returned clothing, and dressed as Adolin answered his door in a storming towel. What would the servants think?

“Brightlord Kholin.” Shallan greeted Adolin with an approving look and an exaggeratedly formal curtsy.

“Brightness Kholin.” Adolin received her with an equally overstated bow, then with one fluid movement, he swept her into the room and closed the door. She squealed as he dipped her into a kiss. Kaladin averted his eyes, feeling uncomfortable. Storms, they were married. What was he even doing here? Oh, right. He storming lived here.

Adolin righted Shallan and they both looked at Kaladin who was finishing the buttons on his shirt. “What?”

“No enthusiastic greeting for me, Kaladin Gloombringer?” Shallan said, eyeing him appraisingly.

“What do you want from me?” Kaladin scowled.

She gestured at Adolin.

“We can’t all be Adolin, Shallan.” Kaladin remarked sardonically. “Some of us have to retain some measure of dignity.”

“Hey—"

“Leave Adolin out of your own shortcomings.” Shallan countered, narrowing her eyes at Kaladin, then softening her tone playfully, she turned to Adolin. “Were there short comings, my love? Is that why he’s grumpy today?”

“None from me and there’s nothing short about Kal.” Adolin smiled. “Except perhaps his patience.”

“Which you both are trying right now.”

“You could just greet her nicely, Kal. You can do that, can’t you?”

Kaladin thought about arguing further but maybe he was being a touch rude not greeting Shallan. He had never been in a situation remotely like this before and they were both looking at him expectantly. Not that it was an excuse to be ill-mannered, but he felt…was there a word for ‘inanely awkward’? Like a chull picking out curtains or delicate glassware, none of it made sense to him and it was unsettling to watch. He formally stepped up to Shallan, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. He met her eyes. “Better?”

“Better than what? Adolin, who swept me off my feet and dipped me into a kiss? Better than that? No.” Shallan scoffed, nonplussed.

Storms, why was she being so difficult? She wanted to be swept off her feet and kissed? Fine. He could manage that easily. He breathed in stormlight, lashed them both to the ceiling, and swept her into a dip like Adolin had done and kissed her. Then he righted them both in the air so they were both weightless a few inches from the ceiling and spun her. Shallan collapsed into him laughing delightedly.

“You two are adorable.” Adolin called from below them.

“Better?” Kaladin asked, suppressing a smile and holding her at arm’s length so he could see her face. He loved the way her face lit up when he lashed her in the air.

“Much.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want to offend the Horneater prin—"

He had started to lift his foot to indicate his boot, not yet laced, but Shallan seized him, crushing his mouth to hers. He let his loosely-booted foot drop as she melted against him. No lashing the boot to the floor and making a wisecrack about forcing Adolin to wait for the other shoe to drop, then. Oh well…

Storms, it felt good to hold her again. She licked into his mouth and he parted his lips for her, enjoying the feel of her body pressed against him in all the right places as he encouraged their kiss to turn messy. Why was he feeling uncomfortable before?

“Now you’re just showing off. And you’re making me jealous.”

“Sorry.” Kaladin regretfully pulled out of the kiss and eyed Adolin apologetically as he set them back down on the floor.

“Jealous of whom?” Shallan asked.

“Both of you.”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed flying.” Kaladin said, lashing himself over to Adolin with his stormlight-infused hand extended, intending to mockingly give him the same airborne spin and dip treatment as Shallan. “I’d be more than happy to—” But Adolin stepped back away from him towards the door.

“Nope. No, thank you, bridgeboy. I’d prefer to keep my feet on the ground and my last meal in my stomach.” Some of Kaladin’s disappointment must have shown on his face. “Unless you’re throwing me.” Adolin winked and Kaladin tracked his gaze as it swept in an arc to Kaladin’s bed.

“That could be arranged…” Kaladin continued his advance on Adolin but a knock sounded at the door. Adolin was closest to the door and answered it. Again. Still wearing only a towel. For propriety’s sake, the man needed to get dressed. Servants did talk.

Several servants entered setting up a breakfast table. Kaladin didn’t eat poorly these days, by any means, but he certainly didn’t dine this extravagantly for breakfast. Ever. Storming lighteyes. The trays were littered with several different kinds of meats, fruits, gravy-based dishes, and grain-based sorts of pastries. There were juices, wines, and teas. And damn him for one of the ten fools if one of the servants wasn’t changing his sheets. Again. Kaladin looked at the servant changing the sheets then eyed Adolin meaningfully. Adolin smiled, winking.

Eventually the table and the feast were all laid out and the servants filed out, bowing as they departed. Finally, Adolin stripped off the towel and started dressing in the clothes Shallan had brought. Kaladin tried to avert his eyes, but Shallan stared brazenly and openly, licking her lips. He was her husband and she had said that they…he didn’t need to think things like that right now.

“Let’s eat.” Kaladin said.

“Who?” Asked Shallan.

Kaladin rolled his eyes, taking the end seat closest to him. Oddly, all three seats were on the same side of the table.

“Oh no, you don’t. You’re sitting between us.” Shallan informed him.

“What? Why?”

“Because we refuse to have you feeling like an awkward third wheel. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the furtive looks you’ve already been giving us.” Shallan intoned.

“But I’m already sitting here.” Kaladin complained.

“Don’t make me force you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Kaladin smirked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Adolin?” Shallan probed her husband.

“No, I kinda want to see this too, love.” Adolin responded, eyes sparkling. “Two Radiants going at it, sounds delightful.” Shallan gave him a long-suffering look then rolled her eyes.

“Fine.”

Shallan gripped Kaladin under the arms and attempted to lift him, and she must have been using stormlight because his backside started to leave the chair easily. Too easily. That wouldn’t do. He stubbornly lashed himself to the chair and lashed the chair to the ground, then he nonchalantly poured himself a glass of water and reached for one of the gravy dishes, resisting the urge to whistle as he did so, as Shallan struggled futilely against his lashings. Kaladin met Adolin’s eyes and the Highprince chuckled taking the other far seat.

“You’re cheating! No using stormlight!” Shallan griped, swatting him on the shoulder.

“And you’re not?” Kaladin cocked his head at her.

“Not really. Not like you are. Otherwise, I’d distract you with a Lightweaving or Soulcast you into a boot or something.”

Kaladin snorted.

“How do you think you could distract me with a Lightweaving?” He needed not ask how his becoming a boot would allow her to best him.

“I seem to recall you having some interest in me wearing bridgeman attire. I’d probably start there.” Storms, that would be distracting.

“Fine, no stormlight.” He conceded and removed his lashings, casually sipping his water as he did so. She moved to his side and started pushing against him, it was a slow and arduous process, but he was  sliding to the next chair, bit by painstaking bit. She heaved against him in a final push and, unfortunately for her, that jostled his drinking arm, which sloshed a fair amount of water down her front. She yelped, jumping back. The water was cold. As she caught her breath, she frowned at him.

“You were being deliberately unhelpful and you dumped your water on me.” Shallan accused. “You’re the worst, Kaladin Stormface.”

Kaladin chuckled. He knew he had been intentionally difficult, like she had said, and he had felt a little bit bad for spilling some of his drink on her but it was only water. Kaladin slid to the middle seat, robbing her of the satisfaction of moving him there herself. He couldn’t help that he loved infuriating her and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual so, if she were in his position, she would also be forming an obnoxious follow up quip. “In my defense, you never said I needed to help and the spill wasn’t intentional,” Kaladin put in, then eyeing her crotch casually, “besides, that looks pretty standard to me. I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for making you wet.” He smirked at her.

“Don’t you start.” Shallan grumbled.

“What are you two talking about?” Adolin asked, looking up from spooning himself one of the gravy dishes.

“I’m not shore, why don’t you ask Shallan?” Kaladin teased. Shallan glared at him and he couldn’t help smiling.

“Sometimes I wish I could strangle you.” She growled.

“You wish? You already have.”

“What? No, I have not.”

“Yes, you have.”

“When?” Shallan asked, putting her hands on her hips. She seemed genuinely confused and Kaladin was glad she was.

Adolin had looked up from his plate of food and was watching the exchange with interest. Kaladin smiled slyly for the princeling’s benefit, as he responded.

“A couple nights ago, with your thighs around my head.”

“Storms.” Adolin muttered, knife slipping, then he hissed pulling his hand back. Kaladin, noticing the blood on Adolin’s palm, seized a napkin from the table and jumped to kneel beside Adolin, pressing the fabric to his palm.

“I’m fine, bridgeboy. It’s just a small cut.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He released the pressure on the wound to inspect it. Pressure effective and hemostasis nearly complete. Cleanse and apply Lister’s oil once wound has clotted. Visible onset of second stage: mild localized inflammation present. If inflammation causes the patient discomfort, apply cold to reduce. Slightly jagged wound edges. Not quite incisional; laceration then. Partial thickness. Laceration does not cross skin’s tension lines: no sutures required. Change dressing daily and monitor for rotspren. The princeling was correct, it was a relatively minor injury. “Storms, bridgeboy, if I knew all I had to do to get you on your knees was suffer a small slice on the palm, I’d have cut myself in your presence long ago.”

Kaladin smiled wryly and Shallan snorted as she took Kaladin’s original seat on the end.

“Let’s get it cleaned, apply some Lister’s oil, and bandage it. You will not need sutures. Keep pressure on it while I gather what I need.” Kaladin retrieved the water pitcher, Lister’s oil, and a bandage.

Kaladin set to work, flushing the wound with water from the pitcher on the table, then applying Lister’s oil, and he was bandaging the wound when Adolin spoke, sounding uncertain.

“You used to be a surgeon, right?”

“Yeah...in another life.”

“Well,” he cast a furtive look at Shallan before speaking, “have you thought about maybe taking that up as a profession again?” His voice firming as he spoke. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be great at it, if how you’ve taken care of me today is any indication.”

Kaladin didn’t miss the implied innuendo regarding their morning tryst, and neither did Shallan by the way her mouth quirked up at one side, but aside from a small knowing smile, Kaladin focused on the Highprince’s other words. The partially-formed thought had intermittently crossed his mind, during that day and half he had spent disassociating in his room, but the princeling thought it was a viable option, too?

Maybe he was right. Maybe Kaladin should take up the medical profession again. If nothing else, it might make his father proud of him and he wouldn’t have to worry about endangering others by freezing up. Nothing in the clinic should set him off. Perhaps it would be good for him. He’d still be helping people even if it felt much less heroic than what he had been doing.

But it wasn’t just about being a hero or protecting people. It would feel like the Nahel bond was wasted on him if he were just a surgeon. How many Knights Radiant of old stayed behind at Urithiru to check people for colds and bandage minor scrapes?  It felt like he was sacrificing the gift by not using it to its full potential. The fight hadn’t gone out of Kaladin. Not yet. Not completely. His very soul railed at the idea but maybe Syl could find someone better? Bond someone stronger. Someone who could cope with battle and death properly and still protect all his men. No, selfishly, he knew he could never give up Syl. There had to be a better solution that didn’t involve giving up his spren or wasting his bond as only a surgeon, Kaladin just hadn’t found it yet.

“Perhaps…” Kaladin said noncommittally. He was warm to the idea but definitely not decided. “It’s an idea. Thanks, Adolin.”

“Why would Kaladin want to take up being a surgeon again? He’s in charge of all the Windrunners. When would he even have time? He barely sleeps as it is.”

Ever since he had told Adolin of his removal from active duty yesterday and the reason behind it, it felt more soberingly real. As if saying it out loud had forced him to acknowledge reality in a way internalizing it had not. He had no future with the Windrunners and he needed mental help that probably didn’t exist. Somehow, though, it was easier to admit why he was considering a career change to Shallan today than it had been telling Adolin yesterday. Perhaps he was beginning to accept his fate. That was probably a good thing.

“I’ve been removed from duty, Shallan, so I won’t be in charge of the Windrunners anymore.” Shock was plain on her face as he spoke. “It seems my mental burdens have become too much. I’ve been freezing on the battlefield more frequently and I am a danger to those who serve with me.”

“What? Since when?”

“It’s hard to say. At least a couple years now but it’s been getting steadily worse.” Shallan dropped her fork then looked down for a moment. When she looked up, she rested her bare safehand on his back. He knew it was meant to be a familiar comforting gesture but he couldn’t help that the intimacy of the touch sent a small thrill through him.

“Storms, Kal. We didn’t realize that things had gotten so bad for you. Why didn’t you say something?” He could tell she was trying to meet his eyes but he continued looking forward.

“Why don’t you openly discuss your struggles with everyone, Shallan?” Kaladin asked trying to keep his tone as even and as unaccusatory as possible. Kaladin turned to her. “The things you told me about in the chasms? It’s not like this is something I’m proud of.” Damnation, why was his voice quavering? It had sounded so calm before. Shallan looked vaguely like she had been slapped but then she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his chest, hugging him. A gesture that seemed to say she understood. And she probably did. Better than Adolin. Bless the man, but his life hadn’t been filled with nearly as many horrors as his or Shallan’s lives had.

“I’m really glad you realized before you killed yourself out there.” The words were mumbled into his shoulder but they sent a shiver down Kaladin’s spine. She couldn’t know how close he had come to doing just that. He remembered closing his eyes with his foot extended over the chasm that day in the rain…Syl had called out to him, a fluttering blue light in his darkness, and she had saved him. With poison, no less. He smiled at that. Life had become immeasurably better than it had been on that fateful day but it didn’t matter that his mind knew it. If he didn’t feel it in his heart, then it wasn’t enough. A couple days ago, it had all become too much again and he had wanted it all to end. Perhaps with less dramatic flare than stepping into the void but the hollow anguished numbness had taken him and, unable to cry, he had wished for nonexistence all the same. He remembered feeling that no one would notice or care if he were gone, that nothing he did mattered, even as Veil knocked at his door.

He didn’t feel that way now though. He didn’t wish to simply disappear. Things had gotten better, they always had. His mind knew that and, right now, his heart knew it too. He felt…hopeful? Why? Sure, the sex had been good, great even, but he didn’t think that was it. What had changed? Maybe he had.

Adolin embraced Kaladin from the other side and lump rose in Kaladin’s throat. He found himself trying to blink away tears as his two friends held him. Adolin pressed a kiss to his cheek and nuzzled into him.

“We’re here for you, Kal. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask us. I don’t want to have to break in here again because Syl is practically having a nervous fit.” Adolin smiled halfheartedly then his voice broke somewhat. “We love you, Kal.” Adolin squeezed Kaladin close. “You’re our only bridgeboy and you’re not replaceable to us so take care of yourself, okay?” Storms, did Adolin know?

It didn’t matter. That was it, that did it. A solitary tear leaked down Kaladin’s face and he roughly brushed it away with his sleeve. Apparently, he could cry again. Storms, he couldn’t leave the two of them. He’d keep fighting the wretch. He’d run until he couldn’t anymore, like Fleet had. When vulnerability went to battle, it won intimacy as shards, and not ordinary Recreance shards. These were fourth ideal shards like the ones Jasnah wore. Something that couldn’t be taken or won from a person. They simply were and would always be his even if he stopped at the third ideal. He had to protect them. He could not accept anything less.

“Thank you, Adolin.” They stayed like that for a while, breathing in the sweetness and intimacy of the moment, huddled around Kaladin as if he were some storming campfire that people wanted to be around for warmth. Adolin ran his hand up the nape of Kaladin’s neck, soothingly combing his fingers through Kaladin’s hair. Kaladin let out a quiet tremulous sigh and closed his eyes, relaxing into the touch.

“Bridgeboy?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I brush your hair?”

“What?” Kaladin opened his eyes to look at the princeling.

“Your hair. Can I brush it? I’d love to see what it looks like brushed after it’s been properly washed and conditioned.”

Kaladin shrugged so Adolin gave Kaladin another squeeze and crossed the room to retrieve the brush. Shallan reached up to touch Kaladin’s face with her safehand. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know. I love you too, Shallan.” Storms, after saying it to Adolin, it felt easier to say now. But it didn’t hurt that she had said it first.

Adolin returned with the brush, smiling affectionately at them, then started gently working the brush through Kaladin’s hair, starting at the bottom.

“I can’t get over how soft your hair is, Kal. The conditioner really—"

“Kaladin Stormface let you condition his hair?” Shallan interjected, turning to Adolin. There was that storming name again.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I can be very persuasive.” Adolin said, winking at Kaladin. Kaladin grinned up at him, catching the Highprince’s reference from the previous evening. It seemed Shallan was thinking along similar lines.

“Oh, I see. It’s a tradeoff for sexual favors, is it?”

“No, actually.” Kaladin admitted. “He was very persistent and I just…let him. But now that I know how wasted that mouth of his is on all the talking he does, I feel as though perhaps I should have requested more for allowing it.” He was trying to be playful but Adolin’s response was unexpectedly serious.

“Kal, that’s not how sex works. It’s given willingly. It’s not a tradeoff. I pleasure you because we both want it. And I enjoy it because I love you.” Kaladin didn’t know what to say. The earnest sincerity of the simple statement had flayed him more effectively and more completely than the highstorm in Sadeas’ war camp had. His insides squirmed and flared, glowing with inexpressible warmth, such that a chastened ‘storms, Adolin,’ seemed a grossly insufficient response so he kept silent. Adolin lifted the hair at the base of Kaladin’s neck and winced. “Sorry.”

“What?” Kaladin asked.

“I may have left a few marks.” Curious, Kaladin crossed the room to his mirror and washbasin, Adolin trailing behind him with the brush.

A few was an understatement. As Kaladin looked at his neck in the mirror, it looked like someone had incessantly bludgeoned his neck with the butt of a spear for a good hour or so. He smiled. They didn’t hurt and, frankly, it was nice to have been marked by pleasure instead of pain or suffering for once. He was surprised that the stormlight that he had used, since healing his backside, hadn’t healed the marks, but perhaps it hadn’t been enough. Although no amount of stormlight ever seemed to heal his brands. Were these like the brands? If so, he might have to borrow a cravat from Adolin. The princeling would probably love that. He nearly groaned at the thought then drew in some stormlight with the intention of healing the bruises. They faded and Kaladin felt an odd sense of loss at their disappearance.

“No harm done, princeling. And no need to pay me for services rendered.”

“What?”

“Marks.” Kaladin said, gesturing at the bowl of spheres on the table.

“Storms, man. That is bad.”

“Good one, Kal!” Shallan called around a mouthful of fruit from the table.

Adolin rolled his eyes.

“The two of you are going to be insufferable with the wordplay, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps. Would it cause you too much suffering to know that, if you left me a few marks for last night, it would make me feel like a whore able person?” Shallan spit out her juice laughing and Kaladin grinned at her.

“Storms, Shallan, what have you done to the bridgeboy? You’ve corrupted him.”

“Me? I did nothing. He’s naturally this clever.” She said eyeing Kaladin fondly, as she fished around the bowl of spheres and grabbed a diamond chip. She walked over to them and Kaladin immediately knew where this was going. She placed the money on Adolin’s shoulder.

“You’ve got a real chip on your shoulder about all this, Adolin Kholin.” Shallan said collapsing into a fit of giggles and Kaladin chuckled more at her joy and Adolin’s expression than the pun itself.

Adolin growled. Rolling his eyes. “You. Two. Are. Insufferable.”

“Really? You look you could stand to suffer more…I thought that joke was a real gem.”

“Yes. Very lighthearted, I’d say.”

“Har har.”

“Okay, no more cheap jokes. We promise!” Shallan beamed. Adolin gave her a flat stare and Kaladin laughed.

“Shallan,” Kaladin said smiling and covering his mouth in a stage whisper, “I don’t think Adolin is having pun anymore.”

“I am not.”

“Halving pun? That’s the problem! He needs the whole pun.”

“Storms.” Adolin shook his head.

“Sorry, Adolin. We’ll stop.” Kaladin relented, then gestured at Adolin’s bandaged hand. “I’d hate to add insult to injury.”

“That was a low blow, Kal.” Shallan said grinning.

“I have something low you can blow.” Adolin ventured.  

“I think I’d rather beat around the bush…” Shallan reached for the waistband of her husband’s trousers, palming him through the fabric and giving him a quick kiss.

“You both talk too much.” Adolin said pulling Shallan into a more passionate embrace. Shallan melted into him. Frankly, Kaladin felt that they both talked too much but saying as much would risk of proving Adolin’s point at present. As the kiss continued though, Kaladin started to feel awkward again and backed away from them slowly.

“I’ll just…see myself out.” He mumbled, gesturing at the door with his thumb, but Adolin seized his wrist.

“Oh no you don’t.” Adolin pulled Kaladin in too, pressing his hips into Kaladin and holding him fast about the waist. “You like puns, bridgeboy? Well, I have a bone to pick with you.” Kaladin groaned.

“And I have something I need to get off my chest.” Shallan announced, gesturing to the buttons on her top. “A little help, bridgeboy?”

“Enough tongue in cheek and more tongue in my cheek.” Adolin admonished, pulling Shallan back in for another kiss as Kaladin dutifully started undoing Shallan’s buttons.

He smiled fondly at them, he hadn’t thought anyone or anything could help him a couple days ago but he had been wrong. They were helping by just being here. Not that he was complaining about what they were currently doing or, rather, undoing. Shallan had her hands on his belt and Adolin’s deft fingers were working their way down his shirt buttons. Perhaps his trepidation about being more than friends with both of them had been unfounded. Shallan moved to kiss up into him from the front and Adolin kissed down his neck, embracing him from behind, likely leaving new bruises in his wake, but Kaladin could handle a few more marks. The fight wasn’t out of him yet and, although he did feel pleasantly overwhelmed at present, he definitely was not frozen like before, as their heat surrounded him. Kaladin’s last coherent thought as they were disrobing him was to idly wonder if a person could be fucked to death because, in his estimation, if one could, there were much worse ways to go than in the arms of friends he loved and who loved him.