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The Hearthguard Residence had finally gone quiet. Not Heaven-quiet, where silence felt deliberate and polished and vaguely judgmental. Home quiet.
The kitchen stopped producing the occasional clatter of Abel cleaning up after dinner. The courtyard fountain murmured beyond the windows. Somewhere farther down the hall, a door clicked shut, followed by the boy's muffled voice wishing both of them goodnight.
Adam answered with something unintelligible, while Lute replied properly.
Then, finally, there were no reports. No training schedules, Michael appearing with another revised operational standard, or soldiers requiring correction. Not even a certain junior seraph materializing in their common room because she decided ten at night was the ideal time for a “friendship emergency.”
Nothing.
Lute stood in the doorway of her partner's room and watched him struggle with one boot.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, armor already discarded across a chair with considerably less organizational care than she would have preferred. His wings drooped behind him, feathers nearly brushing the floor.
Adam tugged at the shoe. It didn’t move. He frowned and pulled again. “Piece of shit.”
Lute folded her arms. “You’re attempting to remove the wrong fastening.”
A long silence. He stared downward and eventually found the correct clasp. “...I knew that.”
“You’ve had those boots for centuries.”
“Yeah, well, today was long.”
That, at least, was true.
Training started early. Michael decided the Host needed another aerial coordination assessment. One somehow become four. Then came weapons inspection, formation review, two disciplinary hearings and a meeting with Seraphiel. Nearly three hours of paperwork the first man spent complaining about, while his lieutenant repeatedly pushed documents back toward him.
He also personally demonstrated a new evasive maneuver approximately fifteen times because three exorcists asked questions and Adam’s ego refused to permit a simple verbal explanation.
By evening, even Lute was feeling the accumulated fatigue. Adam looked half-dead. Which was precisely why she expected him to make some obnoxious remark the moment they were alone.
He hadn’t. That was unusual enough.
She crossed the room. Adam finally wrestled the boot loose and let it fall with a heavy thump. “Finally,” he muttered.
“You have another.”
“Don’t ruin this for me.”
Lute stopped directly in front of him, causing the other to look up. “Hey.” His voice softened automatically. Not flirtatious. Just tired.
The woman’s expression remained composed as she reached forward and placed one hand beneath his chin. That woke him up slightly. She tilted his face upward.
Adam’s eyebrows rose. Then the smallest spark of his usual personality returned. “Well, hello.”
Lute leaned down and kissed him, he immediately kissed her back. For approximately three seconds. Then she pulled away just enough to look at him. The first man looked genuinely surprised.
There it was. That expression one rarely got to see. Adam, rendered speechless.
Lute privately savored it. She kissed him once more, slower this time, one hand moving from his chin to the back of his neck as he made a pleased little sound.
His hands settled automatically around her waist, shifting the lieutenant closer. There was no hesitation in her movements tonight. No waiting for him to initiate, or pretending she merely wandered into his room to discuss tomorrow’s schedule.
Adam noticed. Of course he did. His smile appeared against her mouth. “Oh?”
She stopped. “Do not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was gonna say I’m extremely supportive of whatever’s happening right now.”
He kissed her again before she could reprimand him. For a moment, the woman thought this was a successful redirection. Then his forehead dropped against her shoulder. Lute waited. He remained there.
“…Sir?”
“Mhm.”
“Why’d you stop?” Another hum. Lute’s brow furrowed as she felt his arms tighten around her waist. Then nothing. No teasing or wandering hands. No smug little comment about finally convincing her to make the first move. He just held her.
Lute looked down. “Adam.”
“Hm?”
“Are you falling asleep?”
“No.” His eyes were closed.
“You are.”
“I’m resting.”
“You were awake thirty seconds ago.”
“Still awake.”
She stared at him as he nuzzled more comfortably against her. The realization came slowly. He was actually tired. Not attempting some bizarre strategy. Adam, who usually treated even the smallest hint of intimacy from her as if Heaven personally declared a festival in his honor, was presently leaning against her like an exhausted cat.
Lute pulled back enough to see his eyes reluctantly open. She studied him. “You do understand what I was suggesting?”
Adam stared at her, then blinked. “Yeah.” Another blink and his expression grew apologetic. “Babe…” She immediately straightened. That tone was suspicious.
Rubbing one eye, he mumbled, “I kinda got a counteroffer.”
Her stare lingered. “A counteroffer.”
“Yeah.” Adam flopped backward onto the mattress. Lute watched him spread out across the bed. He lifted one arm toward her and gave his hand a lazy little wiggle. “C’mere.”
She could hardly believe this. Lute initiated intimate contact perhaps once for every fifty times Adam attempted it. She willingly entered his quarters, even kissed him first and made her intentions unmistakably clear. And the first man wanted to cuddle.
“You’re rejecting me?”
Adam’s eyes widened. “What? No!”
“You are.”
“Postponing.”
“You have spent years making inappropriate suggestions at wildly unsuitable times.”
“Yeah.” He sighed dreamily, as if those failed attempts at making a pass at her were fond memories.
“And the proposition during an armory inspection?”
He snapped and pointed, “that was romantic.”
“With twelve other soldiers present.”
“They knew what love looked like.”
Adam lifted his head slightly. “Look, normally? Fuck yeah. One hundred percent.” His head fell back onto the pillow. “But if you climb on me right now, I genuinely think I might die.”
“You’re already dead.”
“Then I’ll die harder.” Lute stared at him for several more seconds. He opened one eye. “…Cuddle?”
Her pride demanded she leave. Immediately and without comment. Perhaps make him wait several weeks before ever receiving such an opportunity again. Instead, against every rational instinct she possessed, Lute removed her boots.
Adam smiled. It was unbearably smug for someone who just turned down what he spent centuries requesting.
She climbed onto the bed and the man promptly rolled toward her. There was no gradual adjustment or tentative positioning. He simply attached himself. One arm wrapped around her waist. One leg hooked lazily over hers. His face buried against the space beneath her chin, and one wing stretched across both of them like a blanket.
Lute stiffened. “Adam.”
“Mmm…?”
“You’re crushing my wing.”
He shifted two inches. “Better?”
“No.”
Another shift. “...How about now?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“Awesome.”
Lute expected him to resume talking. Adam always talked. If there was silence, he filled it. Usually with something unnecessary. The woman waited for the inevitable comment about how she clearly wanted him, how she finally succumbed to his irresistible charm, or this officially proved she was obsessed with him.
Five seconds passed. Ten. Then twenty. Nothing.
Adam was asleep. Completely. His face had gone slack against her chest, breathing deep and even. Arm remained locked securely around her waist.
“Sir?” She nudged him. He made a quiet displeased noise and pulled her closer, mumbling something against her.
Lute stared toward the ceiling. Of course this was how the evening ended.
She finally initiated and actually attempted to take the lead. And her boyfriend countered her advances with cuddling before losing consciousness in under a minute. The humiliation was profound. Worse still, Lute wasn’t particularly unhappy.
Her hand hovered over his back. Then slowly settled between his wings. “You’re unbelievable," she whispered.
Adam, unconscious, gave no defense. She brushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face.
He did look exhausted. The entire day must've finally caught up to him. Perhaps this was what he actually needed. Not another activity, source of stimulation, or another thing he had to perform. Just somewhere warm enough to stop. Lute adjusted the blanket over them.
Adam’s arms tightened reflexively. A sleepy mumble.
She paused. “…What?”
His lips barely moved. “Love you.”
Then silence.
Her composure suffered catastrophic structural failure as heat crept across her face. She glanced toward the door as though somebody might somehow have witnessed it.
Nobody did. Good.
Lute settled back against the pillows. “…Love you too.”
And sometime during the night, Adam shifted until nearly his entire body was draped across her. She woke up once. Considered moving him. Then decided tomorrow’s disciplinary consequences could begin after breakfast.
Morning arrived quietly. Which, in the Hearthguard, was suspicious.
Usually there was movement long before the first man woke. Lute training in the courtyard, Abel moving around the kitchen, dishes clinking. The smell of bread drifting under the door. Someone eventually entering his room because he ignored every reasonable attempt to wake him.
This morning, none of that reached him. Adam stirred beneath warm blankets. He felt incredible. His body was loose, shoulders no longer aching, and wings pleasantly heavy instead of exhausted.
He stretched slowly, releasing a satisfied groan. “Damn.” Best sleep he’d gotten in weeks.
Something moved beneath his arm. Adam froze. Silver hair. Pale skin. One very familiar wing pinned beneath his own. Lute. He was practically wrapped around her.
One arm beneath her waist, while the other rested over her stomach. Their legs tangle beneath the blankets. His face apparently spent most of the night pressed into the side of her neck. She was awake, and currently staring at the ceiling.
“…Morning.”
“Good morning.” Her voice was far too even.
Adam’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How long you been awake?”
“Thirty-seven minutes.”
He lifted his head. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You seemed tired.”
He smiled. Something about that pleased him tremendously.
“It was practical.”
“Sure.” Adam settled against her again for several seconds, clearly content. Then his gaze drifted across the room and noticed the discarded armor. Lute’s boots beside his bed. Her gloves on his table. His own shoes abandoned crookedly near the chair.
Little pieces began arranging themselves in his memory. Her coming into his room. She stood in front of him. Touched his chin. Kissed him.
Adam’s smile faded. Wait.
She kissed him.
First.
He stared ahead. The memory continued assembling itself. Lute kissing him again. Her hand behind his neck, very deliberately moving closer. The first man’s eyebrows slowly rose, then his entire body went rigid.
Lute felt it. She said nothing.
Adam pulled away enough to look at her. “Wait.” He pointed at her.
“You.”
“Yes?”
“Last night. You were…”
She finally turned her head toward him. “I was?”
His sleepy mind finally slammed fully into consciousness. “Holy shit.” Adam shot upright. “Holy, FUCK.”
“Lower your voice.”
“You were trying to fuck me!” From somewhere down the hall came Abel’s voice. Adam immediately slapped both hands over his mouth.
Lute closed her eyes. Silence. No footsteps approached.
He lowered his hands slowly. Then whispered with the intensity of a battlefield confession. “You were trying to sleep with me.”
The woman remained lying comfortably against the pillows. “I thought that was obvious.”
Adam stared at her in utter devastation. “I said no.”
“You proposed an alternative.”
“I said cuddle.”
“Yes.”
“I SAID CUDDLE.”
“Quiet.”
Adam dropped his voice again. “And then…” He remembered wrapping himself around her, getting comfortable and declaring her warm. Then apparently lost consciousness.
He looked horrified. “How fast did I fall asleep?”
Lute considered lying, then decided against it. “Less than one minute.” Adam clutched his chest. She nearly laughed.
“Don’t.” The lieutenant sat up slowly and reached for her shirt. While she was doing that, he buried his face in both hands. “I can’t believe this.”
“You were exhausted.”
“That doesn’t matter!”
“It clearly mattered to your body.”
Adam dropped his hands. “Lute, you never do that!” Her movements paused. He pointed at her again, scandalized.
“You never make the first move!”
“I have.”
“Okay, sure, you initiate like once every fucking solar eclipse.”
Lute resumed dressing. “And?”
“And I MISSED IT.” Adam fell backward onto the bed. His wings spread dramatically across the mattress. “I’m such an idiot.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Stop being dramatic.”
“I waited years for you to start shit!” He grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his face. His voice came muffled through it. “And I turned you down?”
Adam lowered the pillow just enough to glare at her when he heard a suspicious giggle. “You think this is funny?”
“A little. You were barely conscious.”
“I could’ve powered through.”
“You couldn’t even remove your own boot.”
He frowned. “Shut up.”
She stood and started collecting her things. Adam watched her cross the room. Then his expression changed. Less horrified and more calculating. He leaned back against the headboard as a slow grin started spreading across his face.
“Since last night was interrupted, maybe we could—”
“No.”
His grin vanished. “What?”
“We have training in forty minutes.”
Adam looked toward the window, then back at her. “I’m commander. I can cancel training.”
“You scheduled it.”
“Past Adam was an idiot.”
“So is the present variety.” Lute picked up her other glove. He slid out of bed and approached her.
“Alright, alright. How about this?” He began, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Training starts late.”
“No.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
Lute turned in his arms. “You’re not negotiating military readiness for sex.”
“…When you say it like that, it sounds irresponsible.”
“That’s because it is.”
He sighed dramatically. “Fine.” Then Adam’s expression shifted again and he leaned closer. “But tonight.” She stared at him. The other’s grin softened. Not his obnoxious one. Something warmer. Hopeful, almost.
Lute sighed. “…If you are still awake.”
Adam gasped. “That is so fucked up.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
“I’ll drink six coffees.”
“No you're not.”
“A nap?”
“That would actually be sensible.”
He brightened. “Wait, yeah.” Lute immediately realized she made a tactical error. Adam released her and started toward the door. “I’m napping after lunch.”
“You have duties after lunch.”
“Then after duties.”
“We have a briefing.”
“After the briefing?”
“Paperwork.”
“I’ll make the kid do it.” Before she could object, the first man was already pulling on a shirt. “I’m getting eight hours today if it kills me.”
Lute pinched the bridge of her nose. “You cannot fit eight hours before this evening.”
“I’ll figure it out. Mike probably has some bullshit for that.”
Adam headed toward the bedroom door, then stopped and turned around. His expression softened again. “Hey.” Walking back, he gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”
Then ruined it. “Tonight, though.”
She shoved him toward the door. “Go eat breakfast.”
He laughed, stumbling into the hallway. Abel’s voice floated from the kitchen. “I made cinnamon rolls!”
Adam immediately changed direction. “FUCK YEAH!”
Lute stood alone in the bedroom and looked at the rumpled bed. Then toward the hallway. A faint smile betrayed her.
“Idiot.”