Work Text:
Dry earth cannot help but soak up water.
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PROLOGUE
A conversation in the bar, surprisingly intimate. Faceted tension between them, an impulsive invitation to spend the night. Make of it what you will.
They stumble up together, howling with laughter as Khadgar trips over his own feet – twice. A nearly broken ankle is so much funnier when you’ve been drinking, the infinitely small, sober piece of his mind thinks wryly.
Inside Khadgar’s room, he lights the candles while Lothar washes his face and unceremoniously piles clothing on a chair. Comfortable falls as they move, preparing for sleep in the way that companions do.
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Khadgar lay stiffly on his back in the near darkness, teetering so far on edge of the bed that he might fall off at any moment. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but he didn’t want it to end. Next to him, hogging more than his fair share of the space, sprawled Lothar. He thought he might breathe wrongly, or move wrongly, and end the spell that had brought the older man into bed with him. Stop it, stupid, he thought, nothing is going to happen.
Lothar rolled over and faced the young man in the dim candlelight. A hand reached out, gently cupping his face where downy facial hair grew along soft cheekbones. Khadgar froze, his heart seeming to stop in his chest. Fingers traced over his brow, temple, jawline, as he forced his lungs to move in. And out. And in. And out.
“You know, I have a son older than you.” Lothar’s voice was quiet, betraying no hint of his emotions. Khadgar nodded, not sure what to say. The hand moved through his hair, down his neck and shoulder, rubbing his bare chest in smooth, slow strokes. Breathe, idiot. Khadgar reminded himself. He couldn’t move. He longed to lean in and feel the other man in return, to trace the scars on his face and explore his mouth. But he’d never shared a bed, or touched another man, or shared a kiss. Lothar’s drunk, he reminded himself, and lonely, and thinking of his son. He doesn’t want you that way. Something held him in an iron grip, so he lay silent.
Without speaking, Lothar continued to caress his body. Minutes passed. The hand explored up and down his torso, lingering over the jut of his hipbones, not venturing lower. Touching his lips, cheeks, ribs, neck. Fingers calloused and strong were light and gentle as they moved. He trembled under the touch. He wanted this so much, he couldn’t even look at the commander sometimes. Khadgar was horrified to find his chest tightening, his eyes beginning to burn. Nobody had touched him this way. Ever. Nobody had touched him at all, since he’d been given to the Kirin Tor so many years ago. This moment that he had longed for should have had him burning with desire. Instead, a small sniff escaped him, then another.
Lothar propped himself up on one elbow and looked searchingly at the boy. Huge brown eyes stared back at him, then flickered away with little bird wings, scrunching behind long, dark lashes. He could feel the younger man’s heart beating rapidly, see his chest rising and falling with little shudders. He seemed to read in Khadgar’s face what could not be said. Moving with the stillness with which one approaches a wary animal, he gently pulled the mage close to him. “Shh now, little one,” he soothed. “It’s OK. You’re alright. Let it out.” The younger man resisted for another moment, then crumbled into his embrace, burying his face in Lothar’s shoulder and clinging to the man’s neck. And let it out he did, the first trickle of tears becoming huge, wracking sobs. Part of Khadgar was distantly appalled, but he couldn’t stem the torrent of emotions that engulfed him.
Lothar offered a well of comfort and Khadgar was happily drowning. Gentle touching and inaudible affirmations whispered at the edge of his consciousness filled him up in the way that dry land absorbs water. Unmet needs rose more strongly than he could have fathomed. The need for affection, for comfort, for attention. The need to be wanted and affirmed. To be admired. Khadgar realized that he was lonely, desperately so. He clung to Lothar like a man being rescued, and in a way, he was.
The tears eventually ran their course, and Lothar held him until his breathing came evenly, moving gently to wipe away the wetness remaining on his face. Feeling like he was rising up from the bottom of a deep lake, Khadgar pushed himself into a sitting position. He realized with a pang of regret that the sensual undercurrent in the room had long since dissipated – if it had ever truly existed. He rubbed at his hair, suddenly embarrassed. The hour was late – or early – and the candles were nearly guttered. With a whisper and a precise movement, the mage summed a circle of pulsating arcane light to hover over the bed.
“Pretty.” Lothar’s tone was carefully neutral as he looked at the bluish light. He was nearly sober now and was beginning to question himself. Why are you in bed with this pup, Lothar? He needs a father, not a lover. He stretched curious hand to the light, asking, “What is this?”
Khadgar yelped, “Don’t touch it!” His tone was commanding, warranting a pause in Lothar’s reach. Suddenly giddy and exhausted, the mage attempted to explain around nervous giggles. “It’s not supposed to, it’s a spell to, um, a portal –”
“A portal?” Lothar looked confused. “Are we going somewhere?”
The mage gathered himself with effort, lying back down on the bed, and soberly replied, “It’s very dangerous, so don’t touch it. It’s a portal linked to itself. You’re liable to lose a limb if you touch it, or worse. I’m not actually sure what would happen. You might collapse into yourself, or rend an entry into the elemental plane.” He shrugged. “It casts the most beautiful patterns, though, so I use it for light sometimes…” realizing that he was beginning to babble, Khadgar’s voice trailed off, suddenly growing small. He gestured at the bed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Lothar, I-”
“Don’t.” Lothar continued to watch the swirling blue light. “Everyone needs that from time to time. Even mages.” His smile was crooked but his eyes were kind. “Especially fugitive mages.” Khadgar felt a familiar tug at his chest as the commander teased, “Did the Kirin Tor know you tried to tear a hole in the elemental plane because you wanted a pretty nightlight?”
“No. This one’s not really taught.” Khadgar smiled absently. “There’s a lot the Kirin Tor didn’t know. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye on things. A lot of things. That’s why I left.” He yawned deeply, suddenly exhausted from the emotional release. “I’ll tell you some day.” Tentatively, he faced Lothar, eyes probing the other man’s face. His murmured thanks were barely audible. Lothar responded by affectionately cuffing at his dark head, and moving -- finally -- a reasonable distance towards his side of the bed. “Let’s sleep, lad. Are you going to put that light out before one of us falls into another dimension?”
Unweaving the spell with a gesture, the mage allowed the arcane glow to fade. He curled on his side under the blanket, back towards Lothar, drifting towards rest. He would unravel this in the morning, or try to forget it had ever happened. Emboldened by the darkness, perhaps, he asked on sudden impulse, “Lothar?”
“Hm.”
“Why are you always teasing me?”
A pause. He thought he could hear the commander’s smile in his response.
“Because I like you, spell-chucker. Now go to sleep.”
And so he did.
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EPILOGUE
Words of my heart: “Yes, my soul was starved for affection. Yes, I craved physical love. It was beyond my control, how his love poured into me. I couldn’t prevent it, and I couldn’t hold myself back any more than dry earth can help but soak up water. But I understood the difference between physical affection and love, and found both in him.”