Work Text:
"What in the names of all the Twelve is in there?"
B’alith warily eyed the basket sitting atop a blanket spread out on the grass, overlooking a breathtaking view of the Central Shroud's largest and most impressive waterfall. When he had agreed to the suggestion of a leisurely hike to the falls for some sightseeing and a late afternoon picnic, he had not put much thought toward what the latter would entail—and, more to the point, he had been explicitly instructed not to worry about bringing anything other than an appetite and an open mind.
He did not like surprises. He especially did not like surprises that involved someone he loved. The man he was to meet, however, had proven himself more than worthy of B'alith's trust many times over, and so he had done his best to simply dress for the weather and make sure he got himself to the appointed meeting spot on time.
What he had not expected was the veritable feast of prepared dishes threatening to spill forth from their wicker confines—nor had he been prepared for the choice of clothes his lover had picked out for the occasion.
In all the times they had previously crossed paths, Zhai'a had always been garbed in the heavy silk robes that befitted a Hearer of Stillglade Fane. The long, draping sleeves and fur-trimmed collar fit him like armor, imbuing him with a sense of lethal grace that B'alith had watched him grow into with an adoration he had never intended to voice aloud. Gone was the passionate but short-sighted young man desperately trying to prove himself worthy of the authority he had been granted; the mage who now stood in his place was implacable as the deep forest he was sworn to serve, and just as relentless when it came to claiming what was his.
Today, however, he was dressed down to an almost startling degree: formal robes of office had been exchanged for cropped trousers and a lightweight v-neck sweater that was a little too big for him, worn with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It was the sort of comfortable, broken-in garments he clearly favored on days when his time was his own, but the contrast between his current outfit and the one B'alith was used to seeing him in made it feel as if the man in front of him was practically naked—a comparison that was clearly not lost on Zhai'a either, from the nervous set of his ears and the way he fidgeted with the bottom hem of his sweater.
"How in the world did you get all of this up here by yourself?" B'alith asked, trying to wrench his focus away from the long column of Zhai'a's exposed throat and back towards the picnic basket instead. "When you said you were bringing a picnic lunch for us, I was not expecting you to bring the entire market with you!"
Zhai’a flushed, his ears dropping further as he glanced away from B'alith's curious gaze. “We’ve not had the chance to share many meals together—and no, Old Sharlayan’s ideas about what constitutes an appropriate diet for an invalid doesn’t count. I don’t know what you like, so it seemed prudent to simply curate a selection of the best the Twelveswood has to offer." His tail curled around his leg, a display of uncertainty that B’alith had rarely seen from him, as he added, "…The basket has wind crystals sewn into the lining that makes it easier to carry."
B’alith swallowed the impulse to make a comment about how well Zhai’a knew his tastes when it came to other appetites—he was clearly trying to make an effort to be sincere, and it seemed only fair to try and meet him halfway. Spending time with each other like this, outside of vaguely combative, tension-laced trysts in inn rooms, was still so new and unfamiliar; gods knew he’d worked himself into a knot of anxiety about it on his walk to their agreed-upon rendezvous point from the aetheryte in Bentbranch Meadows. It had been a long time since he’d tried to be a partner to someone, not merely a convenient source of sexual gratification for a few bells, but the way his heart had leapt upon spotting Zhai’a waiting for him gave him hope that he’d eventually remember how.
“Well, you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity, as well as my appetite.” B'alith reached for Zhai’a’s hands and gently drew them both down to settle across from each other on the blanket. “Will you tell me what everything is while you help me unpack it?”
Some of the nervous tension in Zhai’a’s posture finally ebbed in response to having been given a task, or perhaps it was simply due to the lack of rebuke or mockery he seemed to have been expecting in response to his attempt at a conventionally romantic gesture. The hamper was swiftly unpacked to reveal the promised variety, each dish accompanied by a brief explanation of its name, which region of the Shroud it was local to, and what was in it. The number of options Zhai’a had managed to procure in such short order was staggering: wild mushrooms cooked in butter, skewers of grilled carp, two of the Carline Canopy’s infamous eel pies, and a bottle of honey wine, along with several other dishes whose names seemed to slip from memory as soon as they'd been spoken. Zhai'a's connections to the communities he served had clearly earned himself a place in more than one home cook's good graces—an endorsement of his character which spoke far louder than any official title would have, as far as B'alith was concerned.
“…and an apple tart, if we still have any room left,” Zhai’a finished as he set out the last dish. He looked to B’alith, an edge of nervous tension creeping into the severe lines of his face again. “What might you like to try first?”
B’alith stared at the bounty laid out in front of them, and found himself both utterly overwhelmed and ravenously hungry. “I confess I can’t decide!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “All of it looks wonderful, though I confess I have never really acquired much of a taste for fish, and I seldom partake of anything stronger than tea. Which one is your favorite?”
“Truth be told, I have a bit of a weakness for sweets.” Zhai'a pointed to a box of small hexagonal pastries decorated to resemble a honeycomb. “I am especially fond of the honey cakes they sell at Fullflower Comb, the apiary near Sweetbloom Pier—which is also where the mead came from, by the by. You likely passed it on your way here, if you took the ferry from the Lavender Beds.”
B’alith flashed him a conspiratorial grin, and silently filed away the newfound knowledge for future pantry-stocking occasions. “Well, then let’s spoil our dinners a bit and start with those.”
The cakes, he soon discovered, had not earned their namesake merely because of their appearance—they were practically swollen with honey, and unexpectedly heavy for their size. Sticky-sweet syrup leaked from the confection when he freed one from the box and bit into it, though he could do nothing to prevent it from dripping down his fingers while he was preoccupied with chewing. It was as tooth-achingly sweet as he had expected it to be, but the spices folded into the layers of flaky pastry were not terribly dissimilar to the ones he might have expected from a similar dish enjoyed in his homeland of Southern Thanalan: warming cinnamon and ginger, fragrant cardamom, the barest hint of black pepper. He could not deny that it was exquisitely made, even if it would not have been his first choice had he been left to his own devices.
As he finished the treat and turned his attention to licking the honey from between his fingers, he became aware of the fact that he was being watched. He glanced up from his task to find Zhai'a staring at him intently, ears pricked forward and eyes gone very wide, an expression on his face that B'alith could not entirely decipher.
B'alith arched an eyebrow at the speechless Hearer. "What, are you worried I'm going to eat all of these by myself and not leave you any? Unless you are one of my little sisters, in which case all bets are off, I can assure you I am usually much better at sharing than that."
"No, I—" Zhai'a swallowed hard, the tip of his tongue darting out to whet his lips. "When I thought to offer you a taste of the Twelveswood's bounty, I had not considered the possibility that watching you eat would be quite so… distracting."
To his surprise, B'alith felt a sudden flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach. The pair of them had done a great many salacious things to and with each other since that first night when Zhai'a had turned up unexpectedly at the door of B'alith's room at the Quicksand, and he had never been especially shy when it came to the topic of sex—that he should suddenly find himself feeling like an inexperienced young man again was utterly ridiculous. For once, his intentions had truly not been to tease or antagonize or otherwise get under Zhai'a's skin in the ways that provoked the most enjoyable reactions, but that had always been the language they had shared the most easily. It could hardly be considered a shock that his thoughts had turned in that direction, too.
“I think these are a little sweeter than I prefer,” B'alith said, “but I suppose that just means there are more of your favorites for you." He glanced down at the box, then back to Zhai'a, head cocked in feigned consideration. "Would you perhaps allow me to feed one to you?”
The way Zhai’a’s cheeks went pink, and the subtle hitch of his breathing that followed, was more delicious than any of the provisions laid out before them would have been. B'alith allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction at having regained the upper hand while he waited for an answer.
"…I suppose that would only be fair," Zhai'a finally said. "I have already fed you a number of times, after all."
"And how many of them were while I was barely conscious at best? I don't think those should be allowed to count."
Zhai'a's face did something B'alith could not entirely interpret again, and it occurred to him that perhaps they were straying into territory neither of them were quite ready to speak about in such a lighthearted way just yet. Blurry memories of his convalescence in Old Sharlayan swirled in the back of his mind, those brief moments of lucidity between feverish delirium or a haze of pain as he fought his way back from the edge of the aetherial sea; the now-familiar brush of Zhai'a's magic against his own, and the expression of profound relief that had broken across the Hearer's face when they had both finally given voice to the feelings it had taken them years to admit they shared.
"Your point is well taken, though," B'alith said, trying to steer the conversation back toward less treacherous waters. His ears dropped nervously as he added, more quietly, "…We have rather a lot of lost time to make up for, don't we."
The smile that tugged at the corners of Zhai'a's lips was a deeply familiar mixture of elation and chagrin. "We do. But for today, at least, we have all the time in the world."
"And thank the Twelve for that. It's going to take us a bit to eat all of this!" B'alith laughed, feeling a touch giddy at the thought—it still did not feel entirely real to him that they had been given this second chance at happiness, and he was determined to make the most of it. "Now, about the matter of these cakes…"
He reached into the box to retrieve another piece. He took his time selecting one that seemed especially saturated, lingering just a moment longer than was necessary to let more of the honey drip onto his fingers, before finally bringing it to Zhai’a’s mouth.
He bowed his head to accept it like the offering it was, holding B'alith's gaze long enough to ensure his focus was entirely on what was about to happen. Devastatingly long eyelashes fluttered closed over deep blue-violet eyes, lips parting against B’alith’s fingers to take them into his mouth along with the cake with a soft purr of delight. B’alith bit his lip against a noise of his own at the feeling of Zhai’a’s fangs scraping lightly against his skin, followed by the rasp of his tongue—his hands were not as exquisitely sensitive as other parts of him were, but the intended comparison was abundantly clear.
Zhai’a let B’alith’s fingers linger in his mouth for a moment longer before slowly pulling back. He took his time chewing and swallowing, clearly savoring the sweet confection just as much as he was his lover’s reactions to watching him enjoy it.
“I think,” Zhai'a finally said, “that I would not mind at all if I got to eat the rest of the box all by myself.”
B’alith got his legs under him again so he could move to sit beside the other Miqo'te. He leaned in close and brought a hand up to Zhai’a’s mouth to brush away a shard of pastry with his thumb, feeling the shiver that ran through him and the way his tail flicked against their legs as the flush staining pale cheeks worked it way down to his neck. How much further down could he get that blush to go, B'alith wondered, before the threads of his lover's composure finally snapped.
“I’ve changed my mind”, he murmured as he lowered his head, letting his mouth brush against Zhai'a's as he spoke. “I think I understand exactly why you like these so much, after all.”
Filling his stomach with something more substantial could wait. The honey's sticky floral sweetness was far more to his tastes, B’alith found, when it was licked from someone else’s skin, blended with the salt of their sweat and chased with soft, breathless gasps.