Chapter Text
Lyonel Baratheon sat at the center of the table, presiding over the informal banquet taking place in his tent as the noble heir that he was, with one booted foot resting on the edge of the table while his other leg hung around the enormous figure of Saffron, who was tucked between his legs with her massive head resting on his thigh as Lyonel lazily scratched her, sinking his fingers into the thick, warm fur behind her ears where she most liked to be pampered.
Lyonel found amusement in the simplest things, but that did not mean he was an optimist. At thirty name-days old, he had seen too many things to be one, but even so he enjoyed the small pleasures and luxuries wherever his restless soul wished to go, and that was accompanied by the fact that Lyonel came from an important house, so there had always been people willing to be around him, fulfilling any of his whims.
And on top of that, many were curious about Saffron.
No one was certain how or why the gods had decided to bless them with soulmates. These came accompanied by marks in the form of corporeal animals that some maesters called “guardian animals”, as if a small part of the soul separated itself and took physical form to care for its other half. However, at least in Lyonel’s opinion, the gods enjoyed playing games, since otherwise there was no other explanation for why—after waiting years for his twelfth name-day—nothing had happened and he had to wait another five years; this was because the marks only appeared when both members of the pair reached the minimum age, revealing themselves when the younger of them turned twelve.
So yes, Lyonel was always grateful for Saffron’s presence because that not only meant he had a soulmate, someone who had been born to love him no matter how disastrous Lyonel was, and the fact that Saffron was an imposing jaguar, even larger than she should have been for a female, made everything even better because she not only forced everyone to keep a certain distance from Lyonel, but was utterly intimidating when she focused all her attention on a single person with her feline blue eyes shining like sapphires among her fur, but what Lyonel loved most about her was that her spots, instead of having a pattern befitting her species, clustered across her back in the same way that the white spots of a fawn did or like the freckles that adorned the shoulders of his soulmate.
And from the moment she appeared in his life, Saffron had been his shadow, accompanying him everywhere; from endless meetings with his father’s councilors when Lord Baratheon could not do so to the battlefield, being just as fierce and brutal as the person she represented. Even when she was completely relaxed, she took up so much space that she forced others to go around her, and Lyonel no longer remembered what it was like to move through a room without feeling her presence nearby.
So yes, although Lyonel loved fun and found simple pleasure in organizing feasts or banquets when they went to some tournament, sometimes he took advantage of Saffron’s presence when he had to deal with the nobles and fools who sought his favor at every opportunity that presented itself, and being at a tournament was the perfect opportunity for all of them.
Ashford was only another opportunity, but this time it felt even more unbearable, harder to ignore and more impossible to play the political game that Lyonel hated with all his being, for if there was anything that irritated him more than boredom it was lies and people with egos larger than they should have been for a single person with a pretty surname.
And normally Lyonel could at least pretend a little when he was not having fun until it was reasonable for him to withdraw, but it was proving difficult even when the atmosphere inside the tent they used for banquets was a deafening chaos of drunken laughter, smoke from roasted meat and clinking cups. To Lyonel everything seemed sunk in an unbearable lethargy, being relatively easy to endure because he had Saffron’s weight against his body, because the beast was just as possessive as her soulmate and with the rest of the kingdoms only knowing that the heir Lyonel Baratheon had married their soulmate, but not who they were, where they came from or what house they belonged to, neither Lyonel nor anyone else in his company had been surprised that she was even more attached to him than she normally was, especially because his soulmate had been away for months.
And after three months of icy sheets, of missing a laugh that felt as warm as the summer sun upon his skin and of walking through the fortress, which felt even larger, quieter and colder than it normally was—a quarter of a year of waking instinctively searching for a body that was not there, of finding only the empty side of the bed and the cold trapped between the blankets—, Lyonel needed whatever calm Saffran could give him.
They had traveled to Ashford expecting, foolishly, to find distraction in the wine and the tournament, participating in jousts but also seeing the friendships he had cultivated outside the Stormlands such as Hardyng and Beesbury, with whom he had spent most of the previous day and this one talking, but his mind remained stuck in the Marches, where his soulmate was.
His disjointed thoughts were interrupted by Saffron, who moved her tail until it curled around Lyonel’s arm, purring so loudly that the tables around them fell silent, for it was audible even over the music and the noise that had filled the tent after dinner was served.
The deep vibration ran through his thigh and side, tickling him where Saffron’s body rested against him and causing a small, foolish laugh to form in his throat, but suddenly the jaguar raised her ears, making Lyonel give her his full attention. His head felt heavy from the horned crown he insisted on wearing at events like this, but also from all the wine he had drunk trying to make time pass faster, with the metal pressing against his forehead and the heat of the tent making the collar of his doublet cling uncomfortably to his skin, although any small irritation was overshadowed by the way his guardian moved.
—What is it, pretty girl? —he murmured with concern, rubbing his thumb over one of Saffron’s ears.
But the only response he received was the jaguar’s large body moving until she stood still between Lyonel’s legs, and something inside him tensed when Saffron rubbed her nose against his neck, leaving a burning trail from the rough brush of her whiskers against his skin before moving away with silent elegance, avoiding the boots of the knights and ladies who turned as they danced, as well as any other animal that was wandering around the tent, not too far from their respective owners.
Lyonel instantly emerged from his lethargy and his gaze followed Saffron through the tent as he rose to his feet, his heavy golden cloak billowing around him and brushing against his boots, while his two younger cousins, who were his squires, tensed and became alert as well, noticing that something was happening, but it was then that Lyonel felt a current of cool air against his back, followed by a barely audible clatter if not for the fact that Lyonel was accustomed to hearing it and distinguishing it among thousands of other sounds.
From one moment to the next, the empty space at his side, where the chair and place for his soulmate would normally have been, was now occupied by a great black stag, its satiny coat shining with golden glints in the candlelight, as did its greenish-honey eyes, which were a replica of Lyonel’s eyes.
His heart quickened as he felt Onyx carefully knock their antlers together before beginning to trot awkwardly between the benches, pushing his snout between wine jugs and plates of food, searching for desserts, before his attention was drawn toward Saffron, who had returned from outside and soon began to leap around her, behaving more like a newborn fawn than a fully grown stag.
And if it were not because Onyx was Lyonel’s reflection, he would mock the way his long legs collided with the benches and tables with an almost ridiculous clumsiness for an animal that was supposed to be elegant and regal, but he did not blame the stag either; clearly, his soulmate’s clumsiness had rubbed off on him, for even his enormous, heavy antlers passed far too close to cups and plates every time he circled around Saffron.
Lyonel’s stomach gave a violent turn, both because of what he had eaten and drunk and because of what it meant to have Onyx standing before him… His soulmate was nearby, because otherwise the stag would never have left their side, not when Onyx was as possessive and overprotective as Saffron was with him.
So the next hour passed more slowly than the three months before it, with the seconds seeming to stretch out agonizingly as he forced himself to remain seated in his place, watching almost obsessively every entrance, while forcing himself to eat to erase any trace of alcohol from his body, because the Seven damn him if he missed a single moment of fun with his soulmate for being too drunk for it.
But he barely tasted the food; he chewed without paying attention to the flavor, with his chest too tight for him to have any real hunger, nauseous from the anxiety climbing up his throat and the dull ache of longing that had begun to grow between his ribs ever since he had been forced to stand watching the figure of his soulmate disappear down the road, reaching its peak. Every time someone entered, his body tensed before he could stop it, and when it was not Duncan he felt the disappointment fall heavy in his stomach while Onyx and Saffron circled around him as if they were caught in some strange dance that Lyonel could not mock because he knew that was how he looked when he danced with his soulmate.
He hated and loved it when Duncan sent Onyx ahead in that way, because it was his way of letting Lyonel know that he was close and on his way, but at the same time of controlling any possible situation Lyonel might get himself into because of his impatience, as if Lyonel did not have another decade of combat experience. But Lyonel allowed it because ever since he had known Duncan, he knew that his soulmate could be strange, always knowing or anticipating things they should not know or understand considering their origins, but that had somehow always helped Lyonel or his father.
Besides, every time Onyx appeared that way, Lyonel’s heart stopped wondering whether Duncan was still well, even if only for the moments it took to see them for himself.
And there was also the fact that Lyonel had always been an impatient and irritable man, according to the opinion of many, but Lyonel had never really cared what anyone might think of him, not when for years a warm and sweet mouth had warmed his skin while whispering about how handsome and brave he was, about how Lyonel was so intelligent and loved by all the Stormlands, so he should be proud to be their heir because they were proud to know that someone like Lyonel was going to protect and care for them, but now… now he was beginning to believe there was some truth in the rumors that said Lyonel was mad because he felt like a madman while the feast inside the tent reached its peak amid increasingly scandalous chants and random toasts that at another time would have left Lyonel’s stomach aching from laughing so much.
At some point, while eating and alternating between anxiously moving his legs beneath the table and rubbing his fingers through Saffron’s fur, he had ended up sitting down again, but when the energy reached its peak he sprang to his feet, gesturing for two maids to approach while adjusting his golden cloak, ignoring the looks that focused on him almost at the same time as Saffron leaped onto the table as if she were a kitten and not a beast with teeth so large they could be mistaken for knives, or the way the wood protested beneath her weight and a couple of cups wobbled near her paws.
—I give up, I cannot wait any longer, have someone prepare my horse and…
He stopped when he felt Saffron’s rough tongue lick his neck and make him stumble as she pushed her great head against his chest, rubbing against his ribs and leaving him not only with a slight trace of fur on his clothes but also smelling of elm and summer, exactly like Duncan.
—Easy, you fool, I do not have your strength —he laughed, tilting his head after removing his crown and rubbing his curls against her in the same way Saffron did with him before looking at the maids again.—Prepare my tent, I want water for a bath, supplies from the old witch, check my clothes and take out whatever belongs to my soulmate so that it is at hand and find someone to make more garments for them, I also want food and a tray with fruit.
—My lord?
Cecil’s tone was laden with curiosity and confusion, but that was put aside when Onyx entered again, probably after going out and traversing the small space they had claimed as their own while they were in Ashford because he had no doubt that his overprotective soulmate had sent him for that purpose, narrowly avoiding a candelabrum of candles with his antlers and forcing a couple of musicians to move aside when he passed between them.
He completely forgot his next orders when he saw from the corner of his eye that the canvas flaps opened a little wider to the cool night air, while his maids hurried away—knowing their duties so well that no further words were needed—and there they appeared… His soulmate, his safe harbor in the stormy sea of his heart: his precious and perfect Doe.
Duncan entered with their calm and strangely feline gait for someone who could sometimes be extremely clumsy, making Lyonel’s heart race with pure happiness and desire, although a knot of concern grew in his chest as he scanned Duncan from head to toe in search of any sign that something bad had happened, despite the fact that if it had, it would have been reflected in Saffron.
His soulmate was dressed in a heavy forest-green heraldic leather war doublet, making Duncan’s already broad shoulders look even larger, as well as his chest, and beneath the light of the torches and braziers in the tent the cured leather gleamed with the depth of ancient forests, while the blued steel plates fastened to his shoulders, edged with intricate gold filigree, shone like the sun reflecting off water at dawn, immediately marking him as Captain of the Baratheon Guard, and the collar of the garment was barely open, where the heavy silver star-shaped clasp held his cloak in place, revealing the fair skin of his throat as well as his necklace.
Gods, he looked exactly as if he had been plucked from Lyonel’s dirtiest dreams.
The heavy cloak hanging from his shoulders, in Baratheon colors so that no one could doubt to whom he was bound by oath and the gods, opened enough to reveal the blue silk lining with silver stars that Lyonel had had made specifically so that he would always have a little piece of his beloved starry sky wherever he went.
And Lyonel felt that he could only stand there, like the stag he was, caught by everything his soulmate was as Duncan slowly advanced through the crowd so as not to strike anyone with the battle-axes that he had probably untied from his mount since he trusted no one else to touch them, while his sword hung from his double-buckled belt.
Lyonel’s mouth dried like earth scorched by the hottest sun of summer when Duncan began removing his riding gloves, reinforced with fine metal scales, to rub his fingers over Saffron when she leaped to his side, and Lyonel could only watch his reddish-blond hair disheveled by the journey yet still gathered into a bun atop his head, with some loose strands stuck to his temple from the sweat and dust of the road, leaving his precious face unobstructed, which was marked by more freckles than he had when he left Storm’s End, and his beard was a little longer than Lyonel knew Duncan preferred, but, gods, if it did not make him look even more devastatingly handsome.
Lyonel’s pulse slowed a little when he saw no dark stains of blood on anything Duncan wore, only dried mud on his riding boots and some dust on his leggings, so Lyonel could focus on his face, only to see his blue eyes, which seemed even brighter because of his reddish beard and the slight irritation around them betraying his lack of sleep, sweeping across the tent, catching every detail until they found Lyonel’s figure.
And Lyonel saw the precise instant when his posture relaxed, setting aside the frown that made him look calm but severe at the same time, to make way for a smile as warm as fire, as bright as the sun and so full of relief that it was only comparable to the one Lyonel felt and that made his knees tremble, at the same time as he felt the air return to his lungs all at once, as if he had been breathing halfway or beneath the water for the entire time Duncan had been away.
His soulmate advanced once more, with Saffron’s head firmly tucked beneath his broad hand while Onyx amused himself by pushing his nose between the folds of Lyonel’s cloak and his pockets, searching for any treat or sweet he could get despite not needing to eat, so Lyonel distractedly and carefully moved him aside, pushing his head away by the antlers before leaping onto the table to stand before Duncan when he finished approaching.
And only when his soulmate gave a slight mocking bow did Lyonel realize that the rest of his company had entered the tent as well and were already being attended to by squires and servants who helped them remove their armor and prepared plates of food, while the noise level in the tent rose again because everyone was far more interested in the wine and delicacies being freely distributed, as well as welcoming the newcomers, than in whatever the Baratheon heir might be doing.
—My lord.
Duncan’s voice was hoarse, almost like a purr, and Lyonel had to contain a grimace, for although that tone would normally make his skin prickle, this time he knew it was due as much to not getting enough sleep as to spending weeks shouting orders for hours and not to desire or the beautiful sounds they gifted Lyonel when they were in bed.
Still smiling, he offered one of his hands to Duncan, who took it and pressed a kiss to his knuckles before resting Lyonel’s palm against his cheek. The beard rasped against his skin in the sweetest way, warm from the journey and barely rough against the center of his palm, and he truly could not wait to feel it moving across his body.
Lyonel could not help but smile broadly and foolishly, feeling a wave of possessiveness and desire burn his throat, making his teeth ache with the growing need to bite them, kiss them and suck at every inch of their pale skin. He wanted to drag them out of the tent that very instant, strip them of every piece of leather, silk and linen and remind them, inch by inch, who they belonged to, who the other half of their soul was.
—You are late —Lyonel answered them, his voice thick with contained desire and the absolute adoration felt for their soulmate.
—My apologies, my lord husband.
Duncan laughed and kissed the palm of his hand, lingering another moment against his skin, but before he could say anything else, Lyonel’s patience broke and he pulled him by the grip toward the nearest exit, suppressing a smile when he felt Duncan not only follow him, but also lift Lyonel’s heavy cloak with one hand so that the embroidered edge would not get caught beneath anyone’s feet, even though it was not necessary with Saffron leading the way, growling threateningly at anyone who took too long to move out of her path while Onyx followed them closely, watching Duncan’s back.
—Are you kidnapping me, my lord, or are we coming back?
—We can come back if that is what you want, Doe.
Lyonel stopped to give Duncan time, making a sympathetic grimace at the way he rubbed his eyes with obvious exhaustion, but instead of answering him he turned to face the feast and let out a loud whistle, making most of the sound and movement cease abruptly as his men rose to their feet, fully alert.
—Drink, eat and have fun without getting into trouble because emerging victorious is no justification for anything, understood?
Lyonel had to shift his weight from one foot to the other when heat ran through his body, making his leggings feel incredibly tight while Duncan’s company accepted the order disguised as a suggestion, everyone raising their voices to give their agreement and giving him a slight bow.
Duncan seemed satisfied with the response, so he nodded and rested a hand on Lyonel’s lower back, firm and warm even through the clothing, making him walk again at the same time as he signaled for a couple of servants to follow them, although he waited until they were outside to speak so he would not have to raise his voice unnecessarily.
The cool night air struck Lyonel’s face as soon as they crossed the canvas flaps, taking away some of the stifling heat of the tent and leaving the noise of the feast muffled behind them, so he took a step backward, curling slightly against Duncan’s large figure, who without thinking tightened his arm around his waist.
—I know it is late and that the last thing you want to do is more work but—
Duncan stopped because of a yawn, rubbing his fingers through his beard, but when Lyonel was about to continue with the orders so that his husband would not have to keep forcing himself to fight against the exhaustion that was clearly beginning to weigh on him, one of the servants spoke.
—My lord, we are already taking care of your horses and there are a couple of guards preparing an area for you to sleep tonight, although I am sorry, my lord, we do not have an extra tent prepared.
—No, you do not have to apologize for that, we were the ones who showed up without any kind of warning.
—Then rest, my lord, we will take care of it, it is no more work nor a bother, I promise you.
Lyonel felt Duncan shift from one foot to the other with discomfort when the servants bowed to them before walking away at a hurried pace, and he noticed the slight gesture with which his husband seemed to want to stop them to tell them it was not necessary.
A part of Lyonel was certain that his soulmate would never adapt to those displays of respect they received not only for being the other half of Lyonel’s soul and his husband in the eyes of the gods of the storm, but because they had earned it with every small display of respect they gave to everyone, treating them as what they were: the people who kept their lives and the fortress they called home running.
Smiling, both amused and enchanted by the noble soul Duncan was, he resumed the path toward his personal tent while Saffron patiently allowed herself to be harassed by Onyx again, who continued pushing his snout against her side, knocking his antlers against her shoulder and nudging her while trotting about in foolish little jumps and prancing around her.
—How did you know I was here, my love?
—It was a guess, actually.
—Yes?
—Yes, we heard about the tournament when we stopped to rest and get some supplies. I was going to let Tadeo lead the rest back home and risk coming all the way here alone just to check, but they would not let me.
Lyonel hummed, encouraging Duncan to keep talking while he removed his muddy boots upon reaching his tent, the leather still damp from the mud of the road yielding beneath his hands and the earthy smell of the moisture rising from the boots before he moved aside to let him enter.
The tent was warm and softly lit, with the brazier filling the air with a dry heat that contrasted with the coolness of the night they had left behind; the flames crackled softly and cast orange shadows across the fabrics of the walls, and he hurried to remove his own boots before entering, for although Duncan told him he was a spoiled little thing, Lyonel liked being barefoot, so wherever he went he carried enough furs to make any floor comfortable and at home his chambers had enough carpets to forget that beneath them there was solid stone.
Following his soulmate with his teeth pressed firmly against his lower lip in an attempt to contain his smile, which did not even falter when Saffron gave him a strong headbutt to the hip upon entering, while Onyx soon curled up in front of the brazier, stretching his legs toward the heat.
He hurried to remove his cloak and rings before beginning to undress Duncan when he noticed that his fingers were clumsy with exhaustion, supporting part of his weight when his partner stumbled slightly while unfastening the heavy doublet and leather belts, which creaked softly as they yielded beneath his fingers. He made sure to encourage him to keep talking and remain focused on him with soft kisses on every new portion of skin he uncovered, feeling the heat accumulated beneath the clothing and the cold of some areas still damp from the journey, although something painful twisted in his stomach at the sight of some new scars on Duncan’s freckled skin and bruises in different stages of healing, with yellowish and purplish edges that the warm candlelight made look worse than they probably were, for Duncan was too pale and always bruised too easily and too quickly.
When Duncan was completely naked, he pushed him toward the steaming bath at the back of his tent and held his hands as he entered the water with a loud groan of relief that made Lyonel’s skin burn with desire, but also with more concern, watching as the heat slowly loosened the stiffness in his shoulders and neck at the same time as the water returned some color to his face with that pretty flush that always made Lyonel’s heart race and his tongue feel too large for his mouth.
He undressed with a little more care than he normally would solely to please the attentive gaze of his soulmate and ignored their irritated noise when he stopped, remaining in his leggings to be comfortable as well as because he did not want to get wet, and carefully undid Duncan’s bun, releasing his hair, which fell in a small red cascade past his shoulders, tangled from the dirt of the journey and rough between his fingers from weeks of quick and clumsy washes, with some strands still clumped together from dust and sweat.
It did not matter, Lyonel would make sure it regained that soft shine that always reminded him of the sun at dawn reflecting off the cliffs of Storm’s End.
—Well, my Doe… Not only has your beard grown a great deal —he smiled, moving his fingers through Duncan’s beard and neck, feeling beneath his fingertips the roughness of the new hairs against the warm skin.
Duncan laughed, letting his head fall to one side to look at him with his beautiful and perfect eyes half-closed while one of his long fingers slid through Lyonel's own beard, which had been allowed to grow beyond what Duncan had ever seen on him, pulling it softly and playfully, with that tired smile that made Lyonel want to bite him and kiss him until there was not an inch of Duncan unmarked.
—Before even coming near my thighs with that beard, I hope you procure some ointment of honey and oils, my lord husband.
Lyonel laughed loud and high at Duncan’s warning look, for he had justified reasons to be irritated with him for that, especially after spending so much time apart. Still laughing, he wet and lathered a small cloth, feeling how the hot water soaked his fingers before beginning to slowly wash Duncan’s body, letting the foam slide over his skin and leaving soft bites on his shoulders and biceps that left reddish marks upon the warm skin at the slightest opportunity.
—Did everything go well, Doe? —he murmured, rubbing his lips against his shoulder while sliding the cloth down the legs of his soulmate, only for Duncan to roll his eyes with an amused smile when he brought his legs together, tightening his thighs around Lyonel's wrist and limiting his movements in silent warning.
Lyonel raised his free hand in a gesture of false innocence and resumed his movements when Duncan loosened his thighs again, feeling how the muscles of his legs trembled slightly under the cloth, probably from entire days of riding and little sleep, with the tension still trapped in his calves and his thighs, hard beneath the skin despite the heat that was beginning to loosen them.
When he passed the lathered cloth over Duncan’s chest he could not help but smile at the sight of his pretty neck decorated with the first courtship gift that Lyonel had given him, though at that time it had been more of a promise, for Duncan had been young, too young for anything more.
The collar had been a design that Lyonel had made conscientiously thinking of the future that Duncan saw and wanted for himself, so he had caused a rigid and flat torc to be forged in storm iron, a darkened steel of a bluish tone tempered in salt water that fit at the base of Duncan's neck and was designed so that he could continue wearing it beneath the gorget of his armor without getting in the way if he so wished.
The ends of the circular band remained open in the front and ended in two small stag hooves coated with a matte gold plating, while in the center of the torc, right over the throat, it bore embedded flush with the surface a flat flake of sapphire that Lyonel had caused to be brought from Tarth just for it and in the shape of a lightning bolt point.
And like everything related to his soulmate, his beautiful and perfect Doe, Lyonel had made sure to care for every detail; for that reason the entire inner face of the metal was polished so as to not hurt the delicate skin of his love and bore hand-engraved the motto of the Baratheons. Even now, with the steam of the water enveloping Duncan's neck, the sapphire caught the candlelight and shone with a deep blue every time Duncan slightly moved his head, causing Lyonel's throat to tighten with tenderness.
—Mmhm… There were no casualties among our people, only minor injuries, but we lost a couple of horses, so many of our coins went into replacing them, but I am sure Lord Symeon has already received a raven on behalf of Lord Yronwood.
Lyonel hummed, understanding what his husband was asking of him with his response so vague; he did not want to continue speaking of it, not when it was still so fresh in his mind and when he would probably have to review it upon returning to Storm's End, so Lyonel nodded, rubbing his thumb over a long pink line on Duncan’s arm and ended up leaning down to leave a slow kiss upon that mark before raising his gaze toward Duncan once more.
—I love you, my Doe.
—I love you too, handsome.
Smiling, he moved a bit upon his knees to draw Duncan toward his mouth and kiss him. He tangled his fingers in the damp locks of his hair to hold him firmly while kissing him slowly and deeply, feeling the water slip down the nape of Duncan’s neck and wet his fingers, the heat of his mouth mixing with the thick steam of the bathtub until the air became too dense and his lungs began to burn.
He laughed breathlessly before groaning when he felt Duncan’s wet tongue lick his lower lip and initiate another kiss, just as slow and deep, but quickly taking control. A control that Lyonel allowed himself to be robbed of, groaning loudly against his eager mouth while Duncan’s rough fingers closed with strength upon his neck and drew him a bit closer to him, until the cold edge of the bathtub dug against Lyonel's bare chest; but even so he did not pull away, seeking more of that scorching contact.
He blinked slowly and heavily when Duncan ended the kiss with a sharp bite that left a trail of electric pain in Lyonel's mouth. He loved when Duncan kissed him in that manner, when he left him trembling, with his lips hot and swollen, his breathing disordered and his thoughts as sugary as honey, unable to remember what he was doing before Duncan touched him and only wishing for him to do it again.
After several more numbing kisses, Duncan allowed him to finish bathing him, so when he finished eliminating any trace of dirt from the road and from the long weeks of campaign from his body, he began to wash his hair with care that his fingers would not tangle nor pull it unnecessarily. He separated the locks with patience while the hot water washed away the dust accumulated between them and the scented foam slid slowly down his wide back, losing itself between the lines of his shoulders and the curve of his waist.
—Why did you come all the way here, my lord?
—Because I was going fucking mad at home, my parents forbade me from sailing and even my mother tried to teach me to embroider so that I would make a new banner for our chambers, but nothing worked.
Lyonel shrugged and squeezed Duncan’s cheeks when he noticed the sad pout on his reddish lips, swollen from the kisses, still glossy with saliva, and how Duncan did not stop looking at him, with that tired and soft expression that only appeared when they were completely alone.
—Stop pouting.
—I do not pout, my lord is the one who pouts… Is that not so, me lil’ storm-nymph?
Lyonel shuddered with a wave of heat rising through his chest to his cheeks at the same time that his thoughts, always as agitated as the sea, slowed down just as they always did whenever Duncan called him that and used that low, lazy voice, as deep as thunder when his drawn-out Flea Bottom accent came to the surface.
And besides the fact that the flush was probably noticeable on his face, Duncan knew him well enough to know what it did to him, and that became clear when his sleepy smile turned into a mixture of lazy sensuality and amusement while his head fell back against the edge of the bathtub and his tongue rubbed slowly against the tips of some fangs that always became more noticeable when he smiled in that manner.
—Ah! Did you bring more?
Duncan stretched out a hand, tapping Lyonel’s earring with the pad of a finger as he sat up a bit in the bathtub, causing the hot water to ripple and splash around his torso, much more awake than he had looked before, and Lyonel nodded with curiosity.
—I lost mine.
Lyonel rolled his eyes with exasperation, for it was not the first time it had happened and, knowing his husband, it would not be the last. Knowing that Duncan would prefer to put one on before getting out of the water, Lyonel stood up with a sound so theatrical that it made Duncan laugh again.
Listening to Duncan’s voice speak of how he had lost some of his things on the road, he rummaged through the small wooden box he used as a jewelry case until he found one of Duncan’s hoops. He took his fine shaving dagger along with the strong wine that the maester had left with his supplies and brought everything to Duncan.
Although he had seen Duncan go through it more times than he could count and was perfectly clear that it did not hurt him, even so he detested looking at any minimal thing that could cause pain to his soulmate, so he busied himself looking for clean and dry clothes for Duncan as well as a plush towel, and then he prepared a hearty plate of dinner, whose spiced aroma began to fill the space, so that his husband could eat as soon as he came out of the water.
He knew the process despite hating to see it, for Duncan and he had learned it in Essos when they did the piercing. He knew that his husband took some strands of horsehair from the tail of one of Lyonel’s horses and then disinfected them with the direct heat of the fire before passing them through the hole left by the piercing upon removing it, and made a tight blind knot so that it would not undo with sweat or the rough friction of his armor.
—Why do you have one of my hoops?
—Because what is yours and what is mine does not exist in our things, my love, unless it is clothes or armor, clearly.
Smiling, he turned to look at Duncan upon hearing his laughter and shuddered at the sight of his broad and pale chest, still damp, hot, and flushed from the bath, with the water sliding slowly down his sternum and losing itself between the lines of his abdomen; but it was difficult for him to pull his gaze away from Duncan’s left nipple, from which hung a hoop of beaten gold, thick and rustic. What caught the flickering gleam of the candles was the small trophy that hung from it: a pair of stag antlers, meticulously carved in white whale bone.
Although they were tiny, barely the size of a phalanx, they were so detailed that the intricate textures of the relief could be felt when passing the tongue, and that Lyonel knew from delicious experience of his own.
—Come on, get out before you get any more wrinkled, and you need to eat.
He took the razor and wine from the cold floor where Duncan had left them after using them, and watched his soulmate as Duncan lazily dried himself and dressed in a pair of fine black linen trousers, which clung slightly to the still-damp skin of his legs and hips, outlining his shape.
He forced himself to wait with some impatience for Duncan to sit down while he searched for a thick wool blanket to cover his shoulders and keep the cold creeping in from the night from settling into his body after the hot bath.
When his soulmate was settled and had the weight of the dinner plate in his hands, Lyonel hurried onto his lap with a broad smile, feeling the comforting warmth Duncan gave off. He settled sideways against his chest so he could hold Duncan’s plate on his own legs without wanting to interrupt his dinner, but already unable to spend another second away from his soulmate.
He smiled against the fabric of his husband’s shoulder when he heard Saffron’s heavy, soft steps moving through the tent until she settled beside Onyx before the crackling heat of the brazier, both of them relaxed and setting aside their usual state of alertness now that Lyonel and Duncan were together again. The jaguar let out a low purr that vibrated faintly through the floor of the tent, while the deer folded his legs to lie down beside her, and the constant crackling of the firewood filled the space with a deep tranquility that Lyonel had not felt in weeks.
—Bring me up to speed on Ashford, me lil’ storm-nymph.
—We arrived two days ago, perhaps, and I did little more than catch up with Bees and Hardyng.
Duncan hummed while Lyonel told him everything his friends had been informing him of, although he was certain that at some point he ended up half babbling, struggling to keep his thoughts in order; something Duncan’s wandering hand on his back and hip made very difficult, but even more so when it began moving up and down his thigh with a distracted slowness and a weight that seemed completely unconscious.
Duncan’s fingers moved over the fine linen of his breeches, and every caress left a lingering trail of warmth across his skin, making Lyonel lose the thread of his own sentences again and again, only for Duncan’s hand to find another way to distract him each time he tried to return to the conversation.
He obediently held out his hands to receive the small jam and honey tart, feeling the sticky sugar on his fingers, which Duncan had begun to eat before he became distracted with biting and kissing the sensitive skin of Lyonel’s neck. He was probably leaving as many dark marks as the ones he had left on his shoulders and biceps before, in addition to making Lyonel dissolve into soft, trembling sighs against his ear.
But he truly did not care. There were very few things that mattered to him in that moment, because, why would they? He had his soulmate back at his side, filling his senses after three long and unbearable months. He had the prospect of a few days of rest, with no worries beyond showing up on time for the jousts, falling asleep wrapped around Duncan’s heavy body and being awakened in the middle of the night or at dawn by his husband’s magical fingers until Lyonel forgot his own name between lazy moans.
Everything else, Ashford, the tournament, the nobles and the heavy obligations, could wait... Mm... yes, Lyonel had far more important and urgent matters to attend to.