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Rumbles of thunder and wind shake House Fortemps' windowpanes, and Koray cups the join of his horns and skull with his hands, hoping that some of the warmth will sink in and ease the ache set in by the cold. Koray had pushed to arrive here through the whipping, whining start of the storm. While it's certainly worth it, to be here, to be safe and warm, to have been met with the surprise of Haurchefant, away from Dragonhead and at his family's home, the cold had sunk into his bones.
Nothing, Koray thinks, that a warm bath and now the warmth of Haurchefant's bed couldn't fix.
“I think we need a tale of a warmer place than this,” Haurchefant says wryly as he surveys the howling storm battering the windows of his family’s manse. The storm casts an eerie light on him that Koray, buried to his nose in Haurchefant’s blankets, ill likes. His steps mincing as he skirts the cold floor, Haurchefant closes the curtains, allowing the faint, red glow from the banked fireplace to win out. “Your homeland cannot be near so frozen as this, can it?”
“The wind cutting across the Azim Steppe is often bitter, and before the lambing season, this kind of cold is familiar to me.” Koray shifts. If he opens his arms, the chill air will get in, but he's willing to risk that on the off-chance that Haurchefant will also get in. Ah, the things he does to entice his fellow knight. Coyly, he says, “I'm well-versed in staying warm at night. You, by contrast, have only a few short years."
"In ever-frozen Coerthas?" Haurchefant asks wryly. His eyes track down Koray’s jaw, to the shadow of his chest, now exposed by Koray’s very elegant silent offer of Haurchefant’s own bed. "My, I must bow to the famed Warrior of Light's expertise."
Koray wrinkles his nose, the title still sitting oddly even with Haurchefant's clearly teasing tone. "Don't you pick that up now. I'm just Koray. To you, I’ll always be just Koray."
Haurchefant looks at him fondly, the smile on his lips making Koray's heart beat faster as it ever has, and says nothing to this. Pointedly, Koray shakes his extended arm, the cold air prickling against his exposed skin. With a chuckle, Haurchefant takes his invitation, sliding into the still-warm crevice made with Koray's own body and Haurchefant's blankets. His skin is cold at first, and Koray jolts at the glancing touches, but he settles his arm around Haurchefant’s middle, unwilling to give him any cause to move away.
"I'm glad you're here," says Koray. "I wasn't expecting you to be."
"Was I to miss you? Nay, I will use any excuse I have to visit you when I am able, times being as they are.” Haurchefant’s cold feet steal against Koray’s warm calves, and Koray’s tail lashes fruitlessly before he laughs and traps Haurchefant by the ankles. Haurchefant seems delighted by this, and they tussle for a few minutes before settling, Haurchefant on his soft down pillows, and Koray on his worn, wooden one.
Voice hushed, the low light from the coals nearly gone as the storm outside increases in ferocity, Haurchefant murmurs, “Your trial by combat went quite well. Am I wrong in assuming that you appear to be quite versed in such things?”
“Well, not exactly. I was a gladiator for a time, earning my way through Ul’dah before I gained any traction with the adventurer’s guild. Even before that though, that trial was nothing compared to the Naadam.”
Haurchefant blinks, a movement Koray hears more than sees. “What is the Naadam?”
How to explain it? Much like other things from the Steppe, Koray has gotten past the initial shock of all cultures not having his childhood touch-stones, but the Naadam remains difficult to share. “Think of it like a battle royale. But one where every qualifying tribe fights to rule the rest of the tribes until the next Naadam. I competed in my first one before I left.”
“I am sure you have made an impressive showing of yourself, my friend!” Haurchefant pats at Koray’s wrist with his fingers, clearly uncoordinated in the dark. Once he’s found his target, though, the touch lingers. Haurchefant’s palm is calloused and rough, and Koray swears he can feel every ilm of it against his soft scales.
And then Haurchefant has the audacity to smoothly, tenderly swipe his thumb across Koray’s hand. Gentle and repetitive. Each touch sends shivers down Koray’s skin. It’s possible they could be mistaken for the chill but Koray doesn’t expect Haurchefant to be so fooled.
Still.
Koray clears his throat, dragging his thoughts away from the circle of Haurchefant’s hand around his wrist. “I wish that had been the case. The Oronir – the current ruling tribe – won handily.”
A mild way of putting it, he thinks with a twist to his mouth. Shame heats up his skin, lingers around the back of his neck. He can still recall with perfect clarity the smell of the hewn grass and the heat of the sun and the bright, victorious gleam of Magnai’s eyes. The weight of his body against Koray’s, grinding him into the wet earth beneath. The way Koray had struggled and fought and – the way he had lost.
Haurchefant seems to sense that there’s more than what Koray is saying directly. He brings Koray’s captive hand up to his mouth and kisses his fingers. “You can be magnificent in defeat as well as in victory.”
His throat tightens. Coughing, Koray forces out, his voice strained, “You say that to all the boys.”
A smile, this one Koray can feel against his knuckles, the smoothness of his nails, warmth and pressure. “Just one in specific, actually,” Haurchefant murmurs. Laughter colors his voice. It shivers through Koray, from the buzzing of words and air against his skin all the way to the core of him, curving towards Haurchefant helplessly. “Now let us rest, Koray, so you can be at your best for tomorrow.”
Koray mumbles an agreement. It takes several beats for Haurchefant to relinquish his hand. Bit by bit, he loosens his grip and settles Koray’s arm between them. Sometimes, an errant motion while shifting brings a cold wash of air beneath the quilts, prickling along Koray’s warm scales as they tighten and raise to insulate, a welcome cool-down. The silence that comes is a comfortable one, laden with soft breaths and the shifting of bodies. Haurchefant settles on his back with a sigh. Koray rests his head against his wooden pillow and sighs, trying to relax.
Haurchefant is so near. Near enough that his body heat sinks into the bedding. Near enough that should Koray shift, their arms would press together, and then, soon, the rest of them.
He wants to bridge that gap.
It’s frightening, he realizes. Wanting this closeness. Wanting, yearning, for an unknown tomorrow, wanting to count on the surety of Haurchefant’s rock-steady presence in his life. Not knowing how to cleave them apart when Koray has been drifting alone for so long, untied to anything. It isn’t even that Haurchefant has taken up space within him or anything like that. It isn’t that Haurchefant has snuck in and stolen his way into Koray’s affections. It is that Haurchefant has cleared the way for him. Has invited him in, made the room for him to be here. And Koray has gone, willingly. Wants him fervently.
Wants him in a dizzying, future kind of way where Koray doesn’t know what his future looks like without Haurchefant being there, by his side.
“Next year,” Koray says, the words erupting from him in an unbidden burst. They cease just as abruptly as they arrive. His ankles stir, circling against the soft sheets in a whisper of motion, a dissipation of his nervousness.
The moonlight plays over Haurchefant’s hair, the low green glow from Koray’s limbal rings doing the rest of the work to light his face as Haurchefant rolls onto his side to face Koray. His expression is half-hidden in the pillowcase, but Koray can make out his smile. Already there. Always there, tucked into the corners of his lovely mouth.
Koray’s mouth is, by contrast, very dry all of the sudden.
“Next year?” Haurchefant prompts, his voice smooth and low with the haze of near-sleep. His lashes brush his cheeks, pale. Koray wants to see him like this forever. Intimate and close. His heart thrums in his chest, an unruly and riotous beat, fit to crawl up Koray’s throat until it makes its way to its true home, nestled between Haurchefant’s ribs.
The Xaela are said to be descendents of the Dusk Mother, and here Koray is, in love with a man who reminds him both of moon in coloring and sun in affect.
“Next year, you should come to celebrate. Clans are allowed champions, so long as the requirements are met, and I-.” Swallowing, Koray tries to find the words. “The Dalamiq would be proud to call you one of theirs. During the Naadam.”
Haurchefant claims Koray’s hand again, bridges that distance to make himself home hewn close to Koray’s side. “I would be proud to champion for you, alongside you. Next year, maybe I can be a guest of your home as you have been a guest of mine.”
This time, it’s Koray who lifts their joined hands to his mouth. Koray who kisses Haurchefant’s calloused fingers and hands. Koray who pulls Haurchefant close to kiss him tenderly, too full of words to know any to say aloud, hopeful for what may yet come.