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The night was silent. The only sounds coming from rain padding against glass, the wind knocking the tree branches against the windows and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The fire was low, big enough to warm the occupants in front of it but small enough not to warrant panic. Eris always kept it low in the presence of the other.
They never talked about it; they never talked about a lot of things but they knew. They knew in the way the others shoulders were hanging, the way their feet dragged along the carpeted floor and in the way their eyes were duller, lacking the light that usually resided there. The shadows coming from the other are more prominent as well, as if they could hide their master from everything wrong in the world. They hung around him too, trying to ease his worries not in words like they did with their owner, but in small, fleeting touches. It was comforting.
They often found themselves like this, here, when things just seemed to get out of control or too much. When the weight of the world was just too heavy to bear. But here, in the quiet of night in front of the humming fire, the world didn’t exist, the weight on their shoulders were left outside along with the past. Here, they weren’t enemies, not allies, not anything; they simply just were.
Someone who understood without needing to ask, without prodding or worried glances. If they broke, the other was a steady shoulder to lean on and a strong hand to hold, saying ’I got you’. They were gentle kisses on the forehead, saying ’I’m here’. But most importantly, it was the presence of the other saying ’I’m not leaving you’. They didn’t need words, never had for they were males of few of them and rather spoke with soft touches and not-there kisses.
Here, in the dead of night, when everything was asleep apart from the wind and rain knocking against the windows and the moon shining down on everything below, they let themselves be what they couldn’t. For outside, in the world of fae and magic and death, they weren’t friends; they didn’t know each other, not like they wanted to. At least here, they could let all that fall away.
Here they could be mates, bonded by the fates but chosen by each other. Two fae with all the time in the world, with nothing looking over their shoulders and no expectations to uphold. Two fae who weren’t a newly High Lord and a Spymaster from different courts. They simply were two fae, two mates, who loved each other in ways no one could know. It was their secret. Their little thing to keep, to guard, hold close on nights like these.
Some nights, everything was just more. Touches more steady, more insistent. The air around them more tense, laden with emotions brimming over the edge. When things seem to be crashing down, the weight more heavier than usual; when they just need the other more in ways other than comforting.
Instead of quiet - small breaths broke the silence. Little gasps of more and moans of ’I need you’. Their hands would be rougher — still gentle, always gentle with them— but rough enough to hold, to ground; as if scared they’ll disappear.
On the other nights, the quieter ones, the touches are still grounding, still holding but the need to make sure the other is still there is not as intense. They know they’re there, know they won’t go but on nights like these it’s easy to forget. Easy to think you’ll lose the other in the next breath, to think this might be the last time you see them. It’s slow; they don’t need fast, don’t want to rush. Taking the time to map every inch of each other’s skin as if it’s the first time. Kissing every inch as if it is the first time seeing it. It’s slow, to drag out the sounds, to make it last, to stay together as long as possible. Their souls lay bared.
And afterwards, when they mapped and kissed and caressed every part of the other’s body, when they’re content the other wouldn’t just vanish, they lay together. Holding, cradling the other in their arms. Hearts beating in tandem where it sits behind their ribs. Limbs tangled so they don’t know where the one starts and the other ends. Tangled like the very essence of their souls and the reason for their being. Like the bond in their chest, connecting the one to the other for without one, there would be no other.
Eventually, when the wind quiets and the fire has dimmed to nothing more but a smoulder, they will get up to clean. This too, they do slowly. Taking turns to wash the other, keeping their scent on for as long as possible. If they take more care to wash every crease and crevice than necessary, then they are simply stealing more time, more time with the other on their skin. More time in the other’s presence, more time to deny the inevitable. When that too, is completed, the only evidence that this night was real and not just simply a dream gone, they take care in dressing the other. Delicately pushing an arm into a shirt sleeve and a leg into a pant leg. Socks are also put on with the utmost attention, next the shoes and the laces; each loop done with precision.
When there’s nothing more to do, no more time to steal, they just look. No holding, no touching - it will make their time cleaning each other pointless. So they look, memorising the small details of their face — a freckle, a mole — anything to remember the other by. They’ll memorise the way their eyes are soft in times like these; not hard, not calculating or scheming; just soft, only for the other to see. Their secret.
They’ll kiss, soft and barely there, a small promise, a ’I’ll miss you’ and ’I’ll see you again’ before the other leaves. The bond safely tucked away along with their heart behind a cage of bones and centuries of lies. Protected by snide remarks and comments and threats and fists. The weight they left behind now on their shoulders once again. The one leaving, Shadowsinger of Prythian, will return to his rightful place, but not his home. His home is being left behind in a court he cannot - may not - love. And the one left behind, a Lord of fire, will watch as the one holding his heart leaves once again, holding on to the promise of ’soon’. The moon being their only witness in the quiet hours of the night.