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Runaan entered his home as silently as moonlight through a window, armor glinting, hands steady as he shut the door behind him. From across the house, his sharpened senses captured the sounds of steady breathing as his husband and daughter slept. They would not be expecting him for several more days.
As Runaan crossed the room, he felt a deep ache in his arms, his legs. His vision remained clear, and yet he could feel the low fog of exhaustion beginning to rise from the back of his skull. He wanted nothing more than to drop his bow to the floor, cross the room, and slip into bed beside his husband, curling his body against Ethari’s warmth and falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Flecks of dried blood itched against Runaan’s skin, staining and stiffening his clothes. A few stray strands of hair clung to his forehead. He imagined waking in the morning to discover that he had stained the bedsheets a dark crimson.
Before they can rest, an assassin must wash away the stains of their trade.
Weapons came first. Runaan had already wiped most of the blood from the dual blades of his bow; now he rummaged through a cabinet to find a soft cloth and a small bottle of oil. With well-practiced movements, Runaan anointed the cloth and carefully polished the bow Ethari had made for him, gleaming in the moonlight with secret symbols and designs, their meanings only known to their maker. Three lives by arrows, two by the blade. The noble’s home had been well-defended. Runaan did not linger on those deaths.
When at last the bow shone brightly enough that Runaan could see his reflection, he stood and carefully balanced it on its stand, elevated so Rayla could not reach it or knock it over by accident. As he did so, a shiver ran through his legs and Runaan faltered, propping himself against the table as the world momentarily swayed. He was not injured, but… perhaps he was more exhausted than he had previously thought. His home was warm and peaceful, and though his mind may resist, his body begged for rest.
Again, Runaan longed to turn around, walk into the room where Ethari slept, and lay down next to his husband. He imagined the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, the sound of his voice…
“You’re home.” As an assassin, Runaan should have been shocked and ashamed that anyone had managed to sneak up behind him. But in this moment, his heart sped as he spun around and he felt nothing but sweet relief upon meeting Ethari’s gaze once more.
Ethari stood in the threshold to their bedroom, hair tangled around his horns, mouth curved in a gentle smile as he stepped forward and quietly slid the door shut. Within moments Ethari had crossed the room and placed his hand on the back of Runaan’s neck, leaning forward to kiss him. He smelled of smoke and rainwater, and Runaan sagged against him, taking hold of his hands and closing his eyes as he returned that long, sweet kiss.
Outside, leaves rustled and small creatures moved stealthily through the undergrowth, stalking their prey. Wisps of clouds passed over the moon and still Ethari and Runaan embraced. They finally pulled away for breath.
“I’m so glad you’re home. We weren’t expecting you for another three days.”
“There was a change in plans. We were able to finish the job earlier than expected.” Runaan placed his hand against his husband’s cheek, gently tracing the markings beneath his eyes. Ethari leaned into his touch. “Once we crossed the borders back into Xadia, I decided to push on ahead. The others will be arriving sometime tomorrow.”
“It went smoothly then?” Ethari pulled back to scan Runaan for any injuries he might have missed, gaze lingering on the blood stains covering his clothes. Those stains had left dusty streaks on Ethari’s robe, and Runaan winced.
“It did. There were no injuries.” Runaan took Ethari’s hands and waited until Ethari looked back up, making eye contact. “I’m alright.”
Ethari looked at him for a long moment, as if the very act of looking could cast some form of protection, allow him to hold onto Runaan for just a little while longer. Then he leaned his forehead against Runaan’s and whispered “thank you.”
Runaan did not know if Ethari was thanking him, or the world itself, so he stayed silent before raising Ethari’s hand to his lips and gently kissing it. He never wanted to pull away, and yet he did, stifling a yawn. Ethari chuckled.
“Would you like any help washing up?”
Any respectable assassin would say no. At home, Runaan was more than an assassin. “Yes, please.”
Ethari led Runaan to the bathroom. There had been nights in the past when the two of them would behold each other in the brilliant glow of the moonlight, and a heat would build that transformed the simple task of washing into something far more physical. But tonight, as Runaan struggled to keep his eyes open, he took a blissful and quiet comfort in the feel of Ethari’s hands pulling Runaan’s stiff and filthy shirt away from his skin. While Runaan undid his braids, Ethari soaked a washcloth in cool water and rubbed it, gently, across his shoulder blades, each pass of the cloth removing another layer of sweat and grime and dried blood. Runaan closed his eyes and shivered, and when he opened them again he found Ethari staring at him once more, eyes drinking him in, something like loss building in that dark gaze.
“What are you thinking about?” Runaan took the washcloth from Ethari’s hands, plunging it back in the water and scrubbing at a few of the more stubborn flecks of blood on his collarbone. His husband opened his mouth, then sighed, closing it again with a wistful smile. He walked around to stand behind Runaan, running his fingers through his hair, then crouching to embrace him, leaning his head against his shoulder.
“My heart has just returned to me. Would you begrudge me for wanting to look at you?” Ethari didn’t follow the sentiment to its natural conclusion. He didn’t mention the possibility that one day, his heart might not return. Runaan chose not to mention that possibility either.
“I will always return to you, Ethari. Always.” The two stilled for a moment, Ethari wrapping his arms around Runaan, Runaan holding onto Ethari’s wrists and leaning his head against Ethari’s. Water dripped steadily onto the bathroom floor. Finally, Ethari pulled away, and Runaan finished scrubbing the last bits of dirt and blood from his skin.
“Lean back for me.” Runaan closed his eyes and let himself sag backwards over the small wooden tub, Ethari’s hand cupping the back of his neck as his husband slowly poured cool water over his scalp. The temperature of the water was bracing, but as it flowed over Runaan’s head he could feel it loosening the snarls and clumps of mud that had dried into his hair. Runaan opened his eyes and met Ethari’s gaze, and did not look away until the water ran clear and Ethari pulled him forward into another kiss, fingers warm against the base of his skull. Runaan wrung as much water from his hair as he could, while Ethari gathered the discarded clothes into a small basket. After a moment’s hesitation, he added his own robe to the basket. They could wash it later.
Runaan retrieved two robes from the bathroom cabinet, wrapping one around himself and turning to offer the second one to Ethari. When he turned, he stopped for a moment, watching as Ethari stood over the wash basin, carefully rinsing traces of blood from his hands. Ethari looked up and smiled, and his smile was like the moonlight, and Runaan stepped forward and helped to drape the robe around his husband’s shoulders. They exited the bathroom.
Runaan made one stop before collapsing into his bed. He stopped outside Rayla’s bedroom door, and looked inside to see his daughter, fast asleep and safe. He knew better than to cross over to her – stealthy as he was, her senses were still too sharp for him, and she’d be awake by the time he had sat down beside her bed. Still, he watched her breathing, and he smiled.
Ethari was waiting for him in bed, sheets pulled back, arms open. Runaan crawled into bed beside him, spine against Ethari’s stomach, wet hair splayed out on the pillow. Ethari wrapped an arm around Runaan’s chest, and Runaan held onto his hand and shivered for a moment in his embrace.
Within moments, the two of them were asleep, and they would not wake until morning when their daughter jumped onto their bed, overjoyed that her father was home.