Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This should work, Essek nods to himself both in mental preparation and anticipation.

Thoroughly cleaned of the day's sea-air pursuits, indulgently moisturized, and dressed in comfortably loose loungewear tucked at his hip, Essek stands in his second chamber within the tower, facing this newest door Caleb has gifted him.

He picks at the cuff of a sleeve.

It should work. Why wouldn’t it? He’s simply yet to test it.

So test it he does.

What awaits him is exactly what he expects: an empty room- Zemnian wainscot, warm amber lighting, two doors on the perpendicular walls, one each.

He breathes a smile as he crosses the threshold into the second of Caleb’s rooms, two floors up now a simple hop away, and steps with socked feet to the door of the bedchamber.

This is quite a convenient arrangement, he decides. He pauses to rap his knuckles, since that is the polite thing to do.

A muffled, warm-lilted sing-song greets him.

“Who is it?”

Who else could it possibly be. He sent just moments ago.

“It’s Essek. May I come in?”

Caleb’s regular dropped chuckle passes through the door.

“Yeah.”

The door is only a hair ajar when Caleb’s voice returns, playful again.

“Wait, I’m naked.”

Essek stops on decorous instinct.

No, Caleb is probably lying. Again.

Even so, Essek still only slowly peeks, ready to snap the door shut if need be.

The peep reveals Caleb, grinning wide and sly, his long hair spilling loose over shoulder and collarbone. He reclines atop bedcovers, propped against pillows and headboard with one leg stretched and the other crossed under, book and quill in lap and angled just enough to be purposeful.

His lounging form is, also, decidedly dressed.

Essek enters with a chuckled tut.

“Fool me twice.”

“Who knows, maybe the third time it will be entirely true.”

“You have new markings to show this go around, do you?”

Caleb barks a laugh.

Success.

Essek pads to the chaise lounge, remaining at a distance from the bed to offer privacy as Caleb writes.

But Caleb does not write, though still rolling his blue shell between fingers, instead keeping his gaze to Essek as he settles in.

“You have fun with Yasha and Kingsley?”

Essek throws a compulsive laugh to the room.

Caleb beams back.

“I see.”

An idle hand under his chin with the other’s arm crossed over his chest, Essek provides a little more detail.

“Yasha was quite right about the fish market. There was a cook with- I think it is fusaka? For lunch. Very good- it had a coconut milk curry alongside.”

“Bring anything for me?”

Based on the way Caleb bats his eyes, the question’s a rhetorical tease, but Essek gives him a sincere answer regardless.

“We did gather a fresh batch of honeyflame bread before returning this evening—that one kind with the extra cinnamon that Luc cares for—intended for everyone, but. Well.”

He chuckles behind his index finger.

“King held onto the rest of it, so consider it gone.”

Caleb gasps, faux-scandalized.

“And you let him?”

Essek offers a one-sided shrug.

“He liked it. What was I supposed to do, take it from him?”

A sigh of resignation.

“No, he works the puppy eyes too well.”

“Exactly. How was dinner with the Brenattos?”

“Good, good, you’ll never believe after.”

“Try me.”

If smiles could blind, Caleb’s is close.

“Luc kept begging me to make him float like kind Mister Kaelyn did.”

“Ah.”

As expected, then, since he still asked for more time after Essek indulged him for an entire concentrated hour yesterday. Essek thumbs at the small leather loop turned bebuttoned bracelet he’s been reluctant to remove since.

Caleb goes on, waving his quill-holding hand.

“I didn’t though, unfortunately. Veth repeatedly asked that I not use up a spell slot despite my offering, while Yeza just sat back and laughed.”

Now hold on a moment.

Essek sits up from his lounge.

“Really. Veth said for you to not expend a slot.”

And Caleb laughs a bright grin.

“What’s that tone for?”

“I’m assuming you’re rather fresh today?”

“Just the tower, yeah.”

“Unbelievable.”

“What?”

With a toothless huff, Essek kneads at the bridge of his nose with a thumb and second finger.

“Once my first cast ran out, she insisted I continue.”

He splays a disbelieving hand.

“Ate through all my seconds and thirds.”

Caleb’s eyes, caught on the bracelet of Essek’s raised hand, now gleam a puzzle-piecing mischief.

Oh no.

Essek withdraws his arm, tucking it away. Caleb cracks an even wider grin, shell rolling paused.

Oh no.

“You’ve been using Levitate?”

With fingertips and all the feigned indifference he can muster, Essek idly twists the smooth silver band on his right hand’s third finger.

“Caleb, I can float and can cast Feather Fall, Fly, and Telekinesis. Mage Hand. I can adjust the very density of objects themselves. Why would I have any need to know Levitate?”

It’s far too late, the base slot and component already gave it away.

Caleb keeps his cheeky grin.

“That is adorable.”

Well, there’s the tease.

Not as bad as he expected.

Still, Essek plays dumb.

“What is?”

“You learning spells specifically to make a child smile.”

Patently untrue, it is simply less taxing.

…When the sole goal is to make a child smile….

Essek remains contrary purely for the sake of argument. He doesn’t know it for Luc.

“It has other applications.”

“It’s been said, my friend. No backtracking.”

Essek crosses his arms just to project petulance, jutting his chin up as he’d learned from the child himself.

“If you weren’t so far, I’d flick you.”

And Caleb bats his eyes yet again.

“You can come closer if you’d like, tuck in cozy. I don’t bite.”

Essek narrows his eyes, sensing a punchline.

Caleb delivers.

“Unless you want me to.”

And Essek rolls his eyes.

“Save it.”

A blue-hued wink.

“I think I will.”

While not quite ready to ‘tuck in cozy’, as it were, nor dressed for such, Essek would like to be closer with Caleb after spending the day apart.

A day’s not so long, but time together after months away has been the sweetest of treats.

Caleb sits up proper and scoots aside towards the armoire opposite as Essek rises to approach the bed, and he returns to writing. His quill flies over the page as though it must be filled in a minute.

Close up, Essek notices that the bedsheets catch a strange sheen that they haven’t before, shimmering like a different silk under the faint scintillation of this room’s arcane burners.

Curiosity piqued, he pulls back a corner to feel them.

It’s odd; the texture of them is different, but it’s… familiar.

Taking a moment to rub a pinch of fabric between fingertips, recognition mounts.

It is very familiar. Why is it familiar?

It clicks.

But he holds back judgment. Perhaps he is mistaken.

He reaches a hand to his shoulder, just under the overshirt collar, just to be absolutely sure.

Well. That is certainly it.

The sheets hold the exact same thinly smooth tooth as the silken garment he wears directly against his bare skin.

And immediately, a burn rises through his neck, overtaking his cheeks and ears.

“Caleb?”

The first syllable cracks, pitched far too high.

He’s already mortified, what’s another embarrassment? He certainly can’t flush any further, he’s pretty sure.

Caleb closes his book immediately, turning to Essek with plain concern on his brow.

“Yes?”

Essek clears his throat once, twice, hoping to extinguish his blush and any follow-up to that strangled catch.

“I-.”

There’s his tenor. He meters his words to ensure no other odd slips.

“I don’t know how to ask you this without untoward implications.”

This seems to give Caleb pause, which he turns into a slow nod, concern easing into clear confusion.

“Alright?”

Essek takes a breath, measures clumsy words, and lifts the corner of the sheets he still holds.

“Why does this feel like the fabric of my undershirts?”

Caleb’s eyes go wide.

“Oh-, I thought that you might find it, ah- comfortable, familiar-? I didn’t mean-. I can have it changed.”

Comfort and familiarity, of course; Essek did say he wears the shirts for textural purposes.

So Caleb, again, wanted to provide him the opportunity of further sanctuary, here in this room of himself. Took an offhand comment and an instant’s worth of examination, and he reconstructed it into a tangible gift he is sharing willingly. Cleverly captured, freely given, as all his personalized kindnesses have been.

Stark embarrassment flips on its head, its magnitude shifting elsewhere entirely, layered sweet.

The way his heart begins its frigid pounding, Essek is quite convinced he’ll develop palpitations at the fresh young age of twelve decades. That is, if he isn’t frozen unmoving as a sculpture of ice first.

Further thoughts slip, his only consideration: regaining warmth.

His eyes flick to the secret notebook resting closed in Caleb’s lap, the shell and unspillable quill-and-inkwell he’d gifted him.

He’d suddenly much rather take their place. Very much indeed. In order for that to happen, they must be moved.

Forgoing peeling back the covers to investigate further, as all interest towards that has waned, Essek sets a knee to the bed.

His frame still, Caleb’s gaze drops to the impression before returning to holding Essek’s.

Essek speaks up, his voice passing lower than expected.

“Do you trust me, Caleb?”

He adds a supporting hand, kitty-corner, two of four limbs towards his goal.

Owlish blue blinks.

“That depends.”

Hm, not a yes. Essek will have to demonstrate at a distance, then. Not an issue.

He begins methodically casting Mage Hand.

There is no counter; Caleb stays put.

Essek sends his spectral hand to Caleb and grasps the book, shell, and writing implements from his lap, lifting them to chest level in the case Caleb wants to take them back.

Though he makes no move, the way Caleb’s eyes shift indicates uncertainty. He must not want Essek to read it.

No bother there, as he wasn’t planning to.

Items held firm, Essek sends them to the writing desk in the opposite corner of the room. He dismisses the hand.

He’ll apologize for ruining Caleb’s order later, thank him for the confidence.

Essek sets his other knee and hand to the bedspread, and Caleb’s sharp eyes hold fixed. He remains perfectly still and Essek would think time itself had stopped if not for the near-negligible expansion of Caleb’s chest and the drumming beat within his own. He is not being repulsed.

Onward, then.

He brings himself to kneel before Caleb, crouched just enough to be below eye level; coiled, or cowed? Either way, he admires—the faint stubble Caleb is gradually working into a fuller beard for the sake of Essek’s curiosity, his patient lips, bright eyes, the way his chest moves as he breathes steady, heavier now, the shift of his pretty hair over collarbone as he tilts his head just slightly—as though he, Essek, is the most voracious of votaries.

Slowly, slowly, Essek raises a humming hand, and he isn’t sure who he is afraid of scaring more.

With his freezing heart fluttering so loud, how is he to tell if he is the creature stalking, or the one who is wary prey?

He brushes fingertips to Caleb’s rougher cheek, and Caleb finally relaxes with a long, soft sigh as he leans into the touch. Still watching, observing with focus, but his gaze has lost all its sharp edges, sanded fond.

Good, good good good. Essek tries not to vibrate out of his own skin.

With every ounce of restraint, he hopes his slowness is question enough as he leans, because he can’t formulate words with any meaning while thrumming thoughts tangle.

Essek kisses Caleb’s cheek unimpeded, holding soft, then withdraws.

A ghost of warmth lives on his lips.

And like a dam’s hairline fracture, a faint rumble begins in his ribs, so, so quiet.

The room around is quieter.

Caleb takes Essek’s hand from his face, holding it in both his and running his warm thumbs over trembling palm back.

“What are you doing, Essek?”

“I don’t know.”

He presses a kiss to Caleb’s jaw; it’s faintly scratchy against his lips now.

Caleb chuckles, his thumbs making circles.

“Is this a ‘no leave it’ or a ‘yes change it’?”

Leave or change what?

Setting his lips under the corner of Caleb’s jaw, Essek finds him pricklier here, slightly more so than yesterday. Caleb tilts his head for easier access.

Is there something Essek could be dissatisfied with?

He reaches a stabilizing hand to the pillow behind Caleb’s back as he leans lower. The fabric is very smooth.

Oh, that’s right, the sheets. Sheets don’t matter for this.

“Leave it. Can I kiss you?”

At that, Essek can feel the laughter bubble up Caleb’s throat.

“You have been. And you still are.”

Essek removes his lips from Caleb’s neck and rests his forehead against Caleb’s shoulder with a shaky sigh. He smells nice- fresh-washed.

“Caleb.”

One of Caleb’s palms finds Essek’s. Fingers interweave.

“Yes?”

“You said I only need ask.”

Circumstances all seem stable enough.

Caleb runs the thumb of his loose hand down Essek’s jaw to chin.

“I did say that, you are correct.”

Essek attempts to kiss at his teasing hand without withdrawing from his shoulder, but barely manages a brush. Caleb chuckles.

“Did you miss me all day?”

“Caleb.”

“Yes?”

Essek tightens his grip within Caleb’s held hand, his one grounding tether of consistent heat.

“Please.”

“Am I talking too much for you?”

Caleb’s wide smile is evident in his slow tone and Essek shifts his clutching fingers within Caleb’s because friction can start fires.

“Please.”

And Caleb nudges him up, teasing hand holding his chin with fingers curled under.

He leans in, granting Essek the briefest touch of lips before drawing away again.

It’s plenty enough to knock the frigid wind from Essek’s lungs, a firm freeing of firn that reveals the deep glacier below.

Keeping him in place, Caleb does not let Essek chase warmth. Instead, he pauses, looking between Essek’s eyes.

With all the sincerity he can muster, Essek combs his free hand through loose waves of red, runs icy fingertips along the scalp behind Caleb's rounded ear. Tucks away the soft hair there, the motion very well-practiced.

“Please.”

They’re close enough that Essek can say it with Caleb’s own breath.

From corner-crinkled blue eyes that squint curved enough to turn dark, to off-balance laugh lines that appear and indent deep, to the scrunch of his nose as it folds a little sharper than Jester’s, to cheeks raised apple-ruddy round, these are all independent indicators of Caleb’s contentment that Essek has learned to recognize.

When thoroughly happy, the deep-set quiet sort, Caleb wears them together in every inch of his face.

And when Caleb slides his hand from chin to nape, that expression’s exact matching smile, a reassurance like no other, is the last thing Essek sees as he meets it with equal measures of habit and hunger.

He near melts when matched the same.

Caleb is warm, the way Essek has come to anticipate and cherish, encompassing and comforting in the assured ways he holds and moves. Yet he hasn’t managed to be overbearing, even when leading their meanders such as this.

Now though, Caleb seems to be letting Essek decide, receptive to his nudges and breaths, gifting him soft little noises while Essek runs fingers through his red hair as though each strand is a discovery. Essek keeps holding his hand, just because he can.

Scented pleasant from what Essek now knows is tower-conjured conditioning cream, he finds Caleb’s hair to still be damp at the nape.

He backs for breath, gives a light tug.

“Can I dry this?”

Caleb hums nodded assent into him and recent memory claims Essek’s air the same as Caleb- he’s told Caleb what this means, the care of hair, its upkeep in private.

He forgets to dry it while the words to do so are ardently misplaced against Caleb’s lips, his fingers too tangled in hair and hand to cast.

Eventually, though, it’s silken smooth.

Plush kisses continue, shared smiles and breath, small sounds exchanged in conversation, but Essek could be warmer. He could be. He has been, he could be. Caleb is warm.

A test of tongue, a slip readily accepted, and Essek is surprised to recall keltaly. Twice tangy-sweet in two nights, this night unordered by him. Caleb must have liked it. Essek releases his hand in order to cradle his jaw and find the slant that works best. Because how nice, he tastes quite like home.

Caleb announces his promising findings on sharp teeth with a caught call in his throat, drawing Essek from distraction, and he obliges quick, nibbling a fang to pink lip.

He catches Caleb’s resulting groan before it can join the room’s air, letting it rest warm and pleased in his cold lungs.

Caleb likes when Essek does this, he’s said both in word and present response. And Essek quite likes that Caleb likes it, likes that he can provide something nice for Caleb all his own.

He is sure to let Caleb know, to call back and reply just the same, exploring further alongside him.

Caleb is so, so warm, his hands now holding nape and back, fingers curled tight without grip into still-short hair and palm circling spine, his lips consuming all of Essek’s senses and sense.

But this can’t seem to curb the syrupy tug of longing desperation that the building chill in his chest seeks to sate. What does it want? To be touched, to be held, for certain, as that is what it always pleads for. This is what he’s asked for, what he’s so graciously received- receiving. Yet still, an untouchable craving seeps through him like honey; it burns in his throat, aching as like the best of gifted sweets. His imagination provides nothing else but Caleb, the concept of him and his continued warmth idealized and an achievable solution unrealized aside from that core component, he.

Then again, Caleb has been so, so very clever with all else regarding their touch together, and Yasha has been so encouraging about Essek finding contentment with touch in general, both independently indicating that very little is unwelcome, so maybe, maybe maybe- Essek doesn’t know maybe what, but maybe still…

Regardless, Caleb could be closer. Essek could be warmer. He seeks Caleb’s wrists, sets warm palms insistently to his own hips and presses on, claiming Caleb's lap as he had forgotten he’d intended at the start, and his arms return to twining neck, his fingers again tangle in soft hair. Pulling himself to overlap, he can feel Caleb’s ribcage expand with his own, feel the press of Caleb’s hidden-pendant silver ring into his achingly chill heart, feel external warmth percolate through fabric and into frosted flesh.

But gentle hands slide up to waist and collarbone, and Caleb nudges him away, out of his lap. The purr fades and Essek does not whine in reluctant withdrawal as he endeavors to rein himself in, his own hands haltingly reclaimed from their clinging grasp with this denial.

“Essek?”

Caleb’s voice is as rough as Essek’s breath.

He should say something, probably, but he can’t find any words because he cannot see them on Caleb’s lips, and he simply flicks a further wetting of his own between heavy pants. His heart is rather loud in his ears and he flexes ice-cold fingers, grips into his thighs to keep his hands from reaching, holding, grabbing, taking.

Both warm palms are back to Essek’s sides.

“Essek.”

Caleb squeezes and Essek draws a sharp breath.

The pressure near lights a fire under him; it feels very, very good.

Red hair sways as Caleb dips his head and sky-deep eyes, darkened as a sinkhole, catch Essek’s attention, heated intention; they grip and peer and Essek stares back silent.

“Are you asking?”

Is Essek asking is he asking is he asking, what would he be asking. That is very unclear. But? Oh, no he knows, remembers now that this is their code, their roundabout way to talk about that, about this. They could be clearer, probably should, as ‘this’ could be anything new, anything progressively bold labeled under a shifting signpost of arbitrary designation. But for now his thoughts spin. He’s thought about it, different reaches, different places, different touches. He’s thought about this, about himself, about Caleb, about them, about Caleb, about Caleb.

Essek’s voice, now found, is air.

“Maybe.”

Caleb licks his lips, breathes. Swallows. Breathes more, swallows again. Essek’s eyes eat every twitch.

And then Caleb leans in, and Essek tries to match, to meet him sweetly in the middle as longing dictates, but he is held at bay by a forehead and a chuckle.

Caleb’s hands find Essek’s, gingerly pry them from fists. Their fingers tangle tight and Essek’s blood sings of snowmelt.

“Sit with me a moment?”

Patience and caution and caution and patience, as if this is anything but safe.

But, if that’s what Caleb needs, wants.

Essek can do this for him.

He can.

He nods.

Foreheads remaining together, they simply sit.

Essek fights from fidgeting.

Since they fill all current vision and thought, Essek examines Caleb’s eyes while he waits for whatever Caleb is doing to resolve itself into another decision. Close enough to see every minute shift, every twitch of iris and flick of lid and flutter of lashes, he considers these traits in order. They’re dark, black subsuming, but blue is not hiding and a pupil doesn’t count for much when it doesn’t take up its own space. They hold steady, save for unhurried blinks, and the finest lines of laughter frame them. They’re dark, like his brows, without the brighter reddish shine of his hair even when they flicker. Perhaps his pretty hair has grown lighter with time in the sun. It’s his; it’s pretty.

Essek’s breathing begins to settle to a composure a few steps below purely ragged. His heart slows enough to hear Caleb’s breath.

Caleb is so close they share air- how could he not have heard it before now?

He manages to remain still despite the quivering, burning chill under his skin, the consuming honey-draw to Caleb and his warmth, that deep ache settled low. He keeps holding Caleb’s eyes and hands like the lifelines they are, and the hum and tug and ache do not disappear despite Caleb staring into his very soul.

Oh.

Ordered notions finally collect enough to discern, barely.

One thought: the feelings are not going away.

One question: what is he doing?

A second question: what are they doing?

A second thought: they’re doing nothing and Caleb is staring and the feelings are not going away.

One question: what has changed?

A second question: what happens next?

This hush between them suddenly feels quite like the withdrawing tide of an awaiting tsunami.

A third and final thought, more extensive than the two prior: the hum, the tug, the ache. The first and last can be dealt with together and alone, respectively. But that middle aspect, distinct from and fusing the two? That still eludes his grasp, defies direct definition, makes no sense. He can’t hear a thought buzzing about it beyond Caleb.

It’s as Essek is considering this when Caleb’s lips quirk a slight smile, a brow cocks.

“This is different.”

It’s a statement-phrased question, the way his graveled voice pitches up by a hair with what sounds like surprise, the way his bright eyes seem to be searching Essek’s own.

There’s a slight waver to Essek’s surety, vague nerves settling into undirected uncertainty.

“Is different… unwanted, at the moment?”

Oh, wide eyes and a wider grin, Caleb appears rather eager.

“Absolutely not- it is very, very wanted.”

Very eager.

Now the pendulum of Essek’s fervor swings entirely opposite, enthusiasm leaking away and into the strange-hollow pit of his stomach.

Though keeping their hands together, Essek removes his forehead from Caleb’s, with effort, and draws back in his sit, a motion made distracting with ache.

A drop of realized comprehension wells up into chagrin. He’s recently read moments quite like this, now more familiarized with the script.

“Have you been waiting for me, Caleb?”

All this time, is this how it’s been, this strain of composure?

Essek had gotten a glimpse, he thinks, during their experiment with Telepathy in the ninth floor’s chamber, but all feeling of overflow has since slipped from memory like fine sand through a sieve.

He does not add this clarification.

Caleb tilts his head, runs his thumbs along Essek’s, seeming to contemplate Essek like silvered glass.

Then he simply shakes his head.

“Waiting implies expectation.”

This is different.

Something soothing trickles a pool into worrisome cracks and space, though it’s not quite enough to quell doubt.

“Have I been testing your patience?”

Caleb gives another shake.

“Expectation again.”

This is different.

Relief roots, blooms to unbridled curiosity.

Essek leans in as before, his head now tipped a reciprocal hint to match Caleb opposite.

“How would you describe it, then?”

Caleb chews his lip. Essek could do that for him. Caleb, looking aside, likely cannot tell.

“I… am….”

And Caleb takes a breath, before meeting Essek’s eyes again with a hunger that sends a heated shiver down his cold spine.

“Intrigued.”

Intrigued.

Essek squeezes Caleb’s fingers and gestures his chin up, just a little, just enough to prod, to dare.

“How much?”

Blue eyes flick, twitch a tiny narrow.

And that is the only warning Essek receives before Caleb pounces forward, toppling him to his back and pinning him to the mattress by bracketed hips and interwoven hands.

Caleb’s voice drops to Essek as a caressing rumble, his sunlight smile spreading sly a mere nose away.

“Quite a lot.”

Gaze affixed to Caleb’s eyes as if by the tether of their silver rings, Essek breathes deep, once.

Twice.

Three times before he screws his eyes shut, as if that will quiet the cold buzzing caught taut in all his muscles, as if that will calm the tangled torrent of torrid nebulosity in his mind. He is now glad to not have laughed when Caleb was in this exact position, attempting to settle himself; the effort is monumental at present.

Eventually, he looks up to Caleb, ever-patient and red-curtain flushed. He squeezes Caleb’s hands.

“Do you like this angle?”

“I am not picky.”

It might not be kind to Caleb’s knees, hurting or not, if he were to stay like this; a conversation feels imminent.

“Come down?”

With a nod, Caleb settles beside him, hands now regrettably reclaimed and pillowed under one cheek.

They are facing the wrong way, lying on their sides with their feet towards the headboard. That’s unimportant. Caleb is here and all else could be upside down and sideways for all Essek cares at the moment. He can deal with strange gravity. This seems different from that, too.

Caleb blinks his pretty blue eyes.

“What do you want?”

That’s the issue, isn’t it? Right to the heart of the matter. Essek wants so much that it’s nothing, so little that it’s everything. It’s incredibly hard to gauge without a baseline of comparison set at the same contradictory magnitude, without a workable vocabulary to draw from.

So he reflects both pose and question like he can put up a semblance of self-possession.

“What do you want?”

And Caleb, smiling sweet, shrugs.

“As I’ve said, I am not picky. Ah- and, if need be, the nightstand drawers can produce anything.”

Eyes now narrowed, Caleb looks away and squiggles his mouth in consideration.

“Well, not anything anything. Smaller-scale things. Many things. Some things do require more preparation and conversation but, ah. Ja.”

He punctuates this with a decisive nod and returned gaze.

And Essek balks despite himself, turning his eyes to the mattress. Caleb seems thoroughly primed for quite a lot, as though he’s planned for circumstances such as this for a while. No, not planned, he’s already said his piece on expectation, time and time again. Prepared is the best term. And even so, Essek retreats, intimidated, to his familiar fortress of frigid comfort with nothing to offer Caleb but too many ideas, too many paths, none of them sticking in mind long enough to present themselves as feasible or phrasable. It still hums in his bones like a spell on the cusp of being cast.

He’s thought along lines similar, he has, so why can’t he focus and find anything now?

Caleb seems to sense the pause, calling Essek’s eyes up.

“Essek?”

“Yes?”

“Where did all that confidence go?”

It is not a mock. Instead, it sounds more like concern with how it’s woven with a little smile, gentle-drawn brows.

Essek lets his weak wall fall; Caleb’s already seen past it now.

“Where do you think it went?”

“I was asking you.”

And Essek breathes a slow sigh.

“I don’t know.”

Caleb’s smile settles soft.

“There is no obligation with anything, you know. I’m having fun just like this.”

“I know, I do, I just-. Something, is…”

Essek draws his brows.

“New?”

Caleb’s grin warms.

“And have you ever shied away from learning something new?”

As if this is yet another dance. May as well be, for the bat underwater Essek feels.

He presses a flat grin in reply.

“You’re taunting me.”

And now Caleb’s eyes crinkle deep.

“A little.”

Exasperation is not what’s coating Essek’s tongue, but instead something adjacent that rubs elbows with self-consciousness.

“I’m all talk with this, Caleb.”

“That’s alright, it’s entertaining.”

He waggles his brows.

“Besides, you know one of the genres my preferences in leisurely reads lie.”

As if those have been helpful at all.

Essek can only give a tense sigh in response, heart thrumming his ribcage gelid.

Though Caleb’s expression settles to a cautious concern, he keeps a soft smile.

“Are you alright?”

Thought is one matter, action another, and sentiment yet another besides, but none of it matters much if Essek can’t get his mind to rest intelligibly quiet.

So he offers a wry admission.

“I don’t know what to do with myself.”

And Caleb replies with a toothy-cocked grin as though he’d never dimmed.

“What do you usually do with yourself?”

Haze finally settled but mind still churning, Essek now can’t fight a flush nor a reflexive rebuke at Caleb’s salacious spin to his statement.

“Presumptuous.”

“My apologies.”

And Caleb backs down, a stalemate.

This won’t get them anywhere but longing looks and Essek has had enough of those to last a lifetime.

So he takes a breath, clenches fingers into the bedcovers.

“I’m- teasing.”

Hopefully not too blatant a lie.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, forces a mumble despite his burning cheeks.

“And nothing particularly… interesting, I don’t think.”

Certainly nothing like the sorts of things in the books Caleb enjoys, and Essek would know, having snuck quite a few since Caleb gathered the newest bunch.

A moment of silence and then he cracks his eyes open to see Caleb shrug, face neutrally pleasant as if they are talking about the weather.

“It’s all interesting to me.”

Essek manages to hold back a scoff.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I can imagine.”

Quiet nerves return, thickening Essek’s throat.

What is unfounded imagination if not another facet of expectation? And that aside, despite having lost the ability to recall telepathically shared sensations, Essek is still distinctly aware that they feel things such as this very differently.

“And if I’m… what is it… lackluster? To whatever stirs in that mind of yours?”

“‘Lackluster’? Essek….”

Caleb’s tone sounds too soft to chide, too kind to pity.

Essek wrinkles his nose. Perhaps that was a mistranslation.

“Poor phrasing on my part. I don’t know how to express it.”

Caleb’s lips quirk to one side.

“Imagination has nothing on reality and interesting can come later, then. How is that?”

The reiteration of a point two nights prior and its present addition have Essek’s heart caught in his throat, and he isn’t sure if that’s a bad thing.

“There will be a later?”

“If you want.”

“I don’t know.”

He didn’t even know… however many minutes ago.

Caleb would know how many minutes ago, smart man.

The smart man speaks.

“What about now?”

“I…”

Now? Yes.

The rest of what that entails beyond the pinprick instant of the present?

Unresolved, unknown.

He has such a lack of capacity that he can’t even begin treating this as a challenge, something he can easily puzzle and overcome, let alone decide where to go from here.

And Light really, where is his mind? Icicled thoughts slog as though through achingly sticky honey, all thrumming Caleb Caleb Caleb, which is not helpful in the slightest. Yes, Caleb, Caleb is here, he knows this, he knows, and that’s half the problem; all else is too large or too loud to fathom.

But Essek knows very well that Caleb is warm. He knows very well that he himself is cold.

Thus, the only currently feasible direction of comfort and relief is Caleb.

A first step.

Essek shuts his eyes again since hiding always seems to help, recreant that he is.

Words pour without order.

“I want to do something about- whatever this is, because it’s incredibly distracting and it’s not going away, and I feel-”

His brows feel tight enough to crack opal, his face and ears aflame as with his worst sunburn, and there’s no Yasha nor Jester here to assist him. This is the worst.

But maybe saying this next part aloud will make things better, or at least set the stage for solution.

“I feel it might be nice, whatever this could be.”

When he’s only met with lasting silence, craven tension grows to tentative curiosity.

He peeks.

Caleb is staring, unsurprisingly, his blue eyes darting over Essek’s face, seeming to drink detail like a parched man in summer’s first monsoon.

And he’s not probing per se, not with his mouth set as a smirked squiggle- instead his expression is flavored as focused, attentive, maybe even amused. Under this gaze, Essek finds himself feeling adjacent to an arcane curiosity, a puzzle posed. He knows very, very well just how much care Caleb places into learning their intricacies once they’ve captured his interest.

Caleb’s mind and memory may just be a blessing in this case.

Determination sets in.

Let him decipher, then, since Essek can’t seem to.

They’ll make something work for the both of them.

Chapter Text

Caleb’s inquiry begins, his voice light and warm.

“Many things are easier unseen.”

As good a starting place as any.

Essek nods, and Caleb goes on.

“Would you rather be alone?”

“Don’t go.”

Essek says it without a first or second thought.

This is not about him- this has everything to do with Caleb.

He reaches a hand to Caleb’s face.

“Don’t go, please.”

Caleb wraps a warm palm to the back of Essek’s hand, strokes a soothing thumb to his knuckles, leaving a trail of ice melt in its wake.

“I won’t. I am here.”

And those chuckled words fill Essek’s chest; he can hear his own pulse rushing.

“What about…”

Caleb’s eyes wander about the bed’s starry-wood canopy and he squints before flicking his gaze back to Essek.

“The lights?”

Caleb should be able to see, able to be sure he is wanted here, like this.

Essek means to say this, but instead, he blurts another, adjacent thought.

“I like your colors.”

And to Essek’s surprise and delight, Caleb flushes further under his fingertips.

“Okay, then… if I close my eyes? Or turn around?”

Essek offers a wry smile.

“There goes blue, and pink.”

Caleb shifts closer and bumps Essek’s nose with his own and a chuckle.

“Conflicting interests.”

He’s close enough that Essek could claim his breath with a nudge if he weren’t frozen stationary.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. You’re putting that mind to work and you know I love a puzzle.”

There it is. That’s what the problem really is. The first part; the second is filed away as flustering.

Still, Essek eases a relieved trickle.

“It’s working too much--”

But the dam shatters- untidied clarification keeps spilling and Essek winces into it, unable to staunch the deluge.

“This feels not only different but new and unknown and I don’t know what to ask, where or how to begin asking, nor what I want from this, from you,”-

“Essek.”

-“nor how you play a part when you are so obviously present and ready or- or prepared for so much, and together, and I cannot think a single thing beyond-”

“Essek.”

Caleb’s hands now hold steady against Essek’s cheeks.

The last word slips out anyway.

“You.”

Essek finally clacks his ruinous mouth shut.

There is silence, breath.

He opens his cowardly eyes.

But there’s a sparkle in Caleb’s crinkled blue gaze and it can only be amusement.

“A different distraction, then?”

Oh.

Clever Caleb.

Something superseding his loud thoughts might just help.

He has enough trust not to question what Caleb may have in mind.

“Pleamfh-!”

Caleb quickly, gently, teases the request from Essek’s lips.

Just as soon, he pulls back by a hair, hand curled and thumb running along Essek’s chin, pretty blue eyes shifting between Essek’s with what reads clearly as an unspoken question for approval or lack thereof.

Frazzled frazil settled, first step through snow shoveled, and all Essek can do is smile in reply.

He closes the distance between them again.

Caleb guides their returned grins soft before Essek steps up to eagerly ease them into an unmetered rhythm, just to keep Caleb on his toes.

This is familiar enough, comfortable. This he can do. This is nice. Caleb is warm.

Hands returned to soft red hair, tucking tight to root behind rounded ears, Essek offers a light nip and sigh, thrumming pleased when he is quite warmly received. Caleb still grins against him, so Essek cards a hand further to clasp nape and ushers Caleb closer, nudging a shift in angle between heating breaths.

And then Caleb draws away again. Essek does whine this time.

Caleb laughs a chaste kiss to a corner of Essek’s lips and swipes a thumb over cheek.

“You will tell me no?”

And what is Essek supposed to decline when the rules of thermodynamics themselves encourage him towards Caleb’s warmth and a continued ‘yes’?

Then he remembers. This is reassurance.

“Yes, of course. And you?”

“I will.”

And, cradling Essek’s face again, Caleb presses firm kisses between sentences.

“We will go as feels nice.”

To Essek’s cheek.

“And stop what doesn’t.”

To Essek’s other cheek.

“And just see where that takes us.”

To Essek’s forehead.

And then Caleb pulls back, blue eyes as much as words stunning Essek in their sincerity.

“How is that?”

He sounds so sure, that confidence and care grip a kind fist to Essek’s heart; it’s held secure enough for a faint rumble to sound around it. Caleb’s grin at that is radiant.

So Essek nods.

“Okay.”

He meets Caleb’s lips and he nods and he whispers again with Caleb’s welcoming breath.

“Okay.”

Further words have little room on Essek’s tongue as Caleb’s soon enough takes their place, catching up right where they left off.

Tangled together, together they stay. Caleb is very warm, his hands cupped to cheek and pressed to shoulder blades in a breathlessly comforting embrace. This, Essek can do.

This is nice.

But.

Perhaps he could be warmer.

What would warm him further? A different touch perhaps? Caleb had asked what he does with himself. Such as what in particular?

Ears now heated in opposition to his standard chill, he certainly feels warmer with the immediate thought that presents itself in response to that question. But he can show this, even though it is something new, something rather intimate, maybe.

No, no, he can be decisive.

He can certainly do that. That might feel nice.

Freeing his topside hand from long hair, Essek trails mapping fingertips down warm neck, to collar, topside shoulder, upper arm, elbow-

Oh, arms don’t twist back like that- he can’t reach Caleb’s hand from this angle, not while it’s still busy high between shoulder blades.

“-Caleb.”

And Caleb draws back, wide-eyed.

Unable to bear the weight of Caleb’s sudden focus, Essek tucks him under his chin.

Caleb seems to misinterpret this as a suggested location for his mouth to explore, familiar, but Essek has no complaint as now he can speak without obstacle.

“Your hand, please.”

It’s all the thought he can verbalize.

Caleb immediately pauses, his heavy breath spilling hot against Essek’s throat.

“What?”

Essek squeezes Caleb’s topside elbow.

“Your hand. Please.”

Caleb’s voice dips especially gruff.

“How do you mean?”

What? Oh- not a mind reader, of course.

Essek needs to put his words in order.

He draws enough thought and breath to formulate a complete sentence.

“Can I hold your hand?”

He squeezes Caleb’s elbow again to indicate which.

At that, Caleb lets out a wonderfully vibrant laugh, nodded against Essek’s neck alongside returned warming kisses.

He withdraws his arm from around Essek’s back, offering his hand up while still thoroughly occupied. Essek laces their fingers, squeezes. Familiar, lovely.

When Caleb squeezes back with a grinned graze of teeth against jaw, Essek immediately returns the favor to lips, almost forgetting what he was intending.

Almost, but not quite.

Readjusting his palm to the back of Caleb’s, Essek presses his mouth to Caleb’s inner wrist, just because he can. Caleb kisses the side of his chin. Comfortable.

Then, from lips, Essek shifts their hands over cheek, aside. With a suddenly invigorating surety, he coaxes Caleb into running featherlight fingertips up the base curve of his ear.

New and-!

Essek gasps against Caleb’s cheek as the touch shoots pleasant prickles down his neck.

A line along the back, brushing the top contour, the same tingle, retrace to the beginning along the underside, again the same.

This does feel different; Caleb is warmer than him. Caleb can warm him. Essek knows this, has known this. This feels different, and it is still nice. He’s glad to have already doffed his earrings for the night- their clinking would likely be enough to make him combust with the indecency of noisily twitching ears.

Now Caleb detaches from where he’d apparently gone still, catches Essek’s eyes and hand, and his lilting voice may well be delightedly lit coal.

“Here?”

He does it again, firmer pressure following the same path like an indication of certainty- of intent, and confirmation comes out more a nod-swallowed whine than speech as Essek vibrates a chill shiver upon the interweaving of touch and thought.

Maybe it’s fine if Caleb looks- Essek can’t bring himself to be embarrassed when everything is singing together so well.

But Caleb should feel nice too, and it’s this thought that moves Essek’s tongue before his mind can properly consider doing so. Hands to Caleb’s face, he manages to ask, and is quite proud of it considering his delightful lack of air.

“Can I touch you?”

Paused, now just as breathless, Caleb questions back.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

The last word is drawn out as Caleb begins tracing along his ear again.

“Wherever is--”

Caleb does it once more with a lovely, lopsided grin and it’s suddenly been too long since Essek’s lips have felt him.

Eventually, Essek catches his train of thought when Caleb has to draw away for breath.

He taps at Caleb’s topside forearm before hanging his hand on Caleb’s wrist to tug it away, and is able to hiss a few words out.

“Like this, show me.”

Caleb entwines their hands and supplies a few squeezes, likely thinking between kisses along Essek’s jaw. Caleb can take all the time he wants- it’s not like Essek can measure beyond humming heartbeats.

In the next moment, noses brushed and breath mingled and eyes held half-lidded, warm palm to Essek’s palm back, Caleb settles their hands to his own neck. Familiar- Essek knows very well how he feels here, tastes here. Caleb’s pulse rushes under his fingertips.

But then Caleb drags them down, down his collarbone and over shirt, down together to the side of his chest, until he guides Essek to circle his thumb into soft flesh that gives and firms.

Very new.

Caleb sucks in a breath with the continued touch.

So maybe the books weren’t quite lying about that after all.

Still, Essek rolls unprompted to be sure, speaking through a pleased grin.

“Yes?”

Hands returned to Essek’s cheeks, Caleb nods into a loose kiss with a soft groan, this one a new sort, somehow lower and more airy than those from fangs.

Or so Essek thinks. He’d better test to be entirely certain.

A nip of soft lip with sharp tooth proves him correct.

What about both together?

Louder than one alone, and this draws Caleb clinging closer.

Fascinating.

A smug thrill strikes through Essek and he continues to drink down the results of his discoveries.

Though, as wonderful as Caleb’s soft lips are, he does have much more warm skin left to peruse. Caleb already had a turn exploring anyway. So, while Caleb holds his back, close and chuckling against him, Essek wanders his face, eventually skipping over jaw when he finds it a little too rough for continuous close contact.

Roaming the easily-reached front and topsides of throat, neck, clavicle, he’s eventually teased by the collar of Caleb’s shirt.

Warm memory washes over him like daybreak.

Maybe Caleb would like that too.

So Essek slows, draws back.

Caleb loosens his hold, his breath and cheeks notably lively. Blue eyes flick, crinkle relaxed, maybe curious.

“Hallo.”

With a hand to Caleb’s cheek, Essek shares his gaze, his air.

“Hello.”

He sets his eyes to Caleb’s soft smile and wears one of his own as he gently matches once, twice.

The third time, he slides his hand from jaw, to neck, and this time to shoulder, trailing fingerpads until he nudges Caleb away with a firm palm.

Caleb blinks clear concern.

“Alright?”

“Yes, keep going, please.”

Essek pushes his shoulder again.

Caleb complies, settling to his back. Essek follows close, leaning over him with a forearm braced, setting their foreheads together.

With a warm grin, Caleb runs thumbpads and the back of fingers across both Essek’s cheeks.

“What are you doing?”

“What feels nice.”

An even brighter smile lights Caleb’s face.

“A little more specific?”

“Nothing new.”

Essek is not trying to make a particular point as he was yesterday, though, so additional assurance is likely in order with that phrasing.

He leans into one of Caleb’s hands and holds the other, intertwining their fingers with the hand not bearing his weight.

“Is that alright?”

And Caleb’s eyes practically sparkle.

“Ja, go on.”

The trust squeezes the life beating in Essek’s chill chest the same as Caleb does to his hand, and he drops a reflexive, slow kiss to Caleb; it’s soft, a sweet little morsel.

Then he remembers what he was planning and dips away, leaving Caleb to make a noise suspended between surprise and disbelief. Unintended, but now they’re even.

Down to Caleb’s collar, Essek sets his lips to warm-flushed skin- one press… two… three… no, he’s not going to number every inch because he will only lose count as he maps and he’d rather focus on his task.

And so while Caleb’s unheld hand slips around and strokes his back, Essek continues leisurely—kisses along the shirt collar, follows its boundaries—only touching his lips to the areas allowed by its design without tugging or dipping under, just how Caleb did with him two nights ago.

Was Essek wearing this exact one of Caleb’s shirts at the time? Likely not, since Caleb keeps several similar. Still, this shirt and that certainly settle differently across both of their shoulders, proportionally revealing more on Essek’s part, the scandal of it all.

He can’t help a hummed laugh at the thought and nips it to that particular freckle on Caleb’s collarbone. He squeezes Caleb’s hand and gives the spot an extra kiss when Caleb draws a sharp breath beneath him.

Continuing his musing, Essek did enjoy the spaciousness though, despite the too-long sleeves, and Caleb probably hasn’t come up with any complaints against Essek wearing his shirts again should he decide to do so. Especially taking into consideration the fact that Caleb set up the very first instance.

The concept stirs sweet-piqued interest in Essek’s stomach as he completes his trail- investigation for later, perhaps.

Warm hands suddenly cup Essek’s cheeks, and Caleb draws him up from thought and to his lips, bestowing a lingering kiss that Essek easily relaxes into once the initial surprise wanes.

Caleb must have liked that. Good, good good.

That’s nice; satisfaction fills the glacier cave of Essek’s chest as it drips sweet pools of meltwater.

The hand he is not using to support his weight finds soft, long hair, and traces, runs, cards on instinct.

This is nice.

Warm fingers find jaw, find ears- oh.

This is nice this is nice. He says it- sounds it? Sounds it low as gravity takes hold. Lips part soft, then hungry, and Caleb gifts him a delicate little sound in return; it tastes as such when Essek shares it in kind. Now lying upon breathing, living warmth, Essek is so sure he can feel their two hearts together through a shared rumble and a pressed silver ring. This is nice.

Then Caleb attempts to speak with a breath.

“Es--”

“Mmh?”

But Essek interrupts in an automatic hurry to kiss his name off Caleb’s lips. Before instant regret can root, Essek feels Caleb smile with him, his warm hands still stroking soft.

Perhaps the interruption was amusing instead of rude.

He lets Caleb have his distance again.

“Esse--”

But not for long.

“Mhmm?”

Now Caleb chuckles and Essek can feel it in his chest, can feel it playing on his lips.

Mischief alight in his veins, Essek pulls away, preparing to strike once more.

“E-.”

“Mnf-!”

Fooled by Caleb’s feint, Essek’s attempt to interrupt again is halted by a deft palm slid over his mouth as Caleb laughs against him.

“Essek.”

He kisses a laugh of his own to Caleb’s palm, since that is the only reasonable thing to do, and props up enough to brush noses, immensely proud of the wide smile Caleb is wearing.

Then, between the granting of slow-bestowed kisses to each quadrant of Caleb’s palm and the fingertips Caleb begins tracing soft against his lips, Essek hums in question. He keeps Caleb’s darkened blue eyes, keeps carding through soft hair when Caleb speaks.

“Can I take this off?”

Oh.

Essek pauses in his daze.

Caleb is holding out his own shirt collar, and he tugs twice as though selling the concept. He might be, with that grin-turned-cautious smirk.

Flushed vivid as he is, perhaps he is feeling especially warm, the hearth-heart.

Essek already knows what lies beneath the shirt, technically speaking—silver ring, several many scars since-healed, so much pale skin, soft hair—but he has not seen Caleb in a context quite like this, let alone touched.

There are so many places he has yet to kiss.

So maybe this, too, will be different, nice.

The excitement of continued discovery licks at him like a candle flame to a hovering cold palm, and it doesn’t take longer than a wide-eyed blink to decide.

“Can I help?”

And Caleb beams, shining into Essek’s crystal-cold heart.

“Ja, ja, of course. Please.”

They sit up with fingers tangled, arranged quite like they were before, Caleb facing away from the headboard.

Though he still thrums a pleasantly hazy honey-verglas, the shift is enough to somewhat restore Essek’s senses to a sharper alertness and draw his attention to ache’s acute distraction. If it becomes too obvious he can take a brief leave, deal with it alone, luscious new memory his aid. Caleb surely wouldn’t mind; he’d probably enjoy knowing, if anything.

Then, suddenly startled to be so unabashed, Essek shakes the thought. If lucid unease with the concept is any indication, he’s rather sure that’s not for now. So he sets his focus on enjoying the present. He can keep some things to himself for the time being- Caleb’s certainly very good at doing so when he wants to.

As they settle for their next task, Essek does not let his thoughts wander further and instead gives in to simple compulsion, lavishing attention to the side of Caleb’s neck and collarbone he realizes he’s yet to with depth. Solely for the sake of balance, of course.

“This isn’t exactly- helping.”

Caleb says it as though he is putting effort into not holding Essek to his neck with loose hands kneading at nape and back. There’s a glowing grin in his voice.

With his own hands grasped into unremoved shirtfront, Essek holds back a laugh between smiled affections set to the hollow of Caleb’s throat and up along the silver line of his ring’s thin chain.

“Your fault for not choosing buttons.”

And at that, Caleb tucks his face to the crook of Essek’s neck, enveloping him in a hug and shaking them both with a burst of a lively peal.

A hearty success.

Caleb shakes his head and speaks through bubbling chuckles, leaning his warm weight into Essek.

“If I’d known you would be feeling frisky, maybe I could have obliged.”

Smiling into Caleb’s hair, Essek bumps back, leaning the same.

“You couldn’t have, if even I didn’t know.”

“Oh, so this wasn’t some grand ploy? An orchestrated plot from the depths of that scheming mind of yours?”

Sarcasm shining, Caleb tips Essek’s head up with a nuzzled multitude of tiny-grinned kisses under his jaw while he continues.

“Could have fooled me, Essek. I’d have been none the wiser.”

Tilting his head further for even easier access, eyes to the bed’s canopy-top star map, Essek manages to speak around a heavy snicker at the melodrama.

“You surprised me.”

Then Caleb leans away from their embrace, just enough to set his forehead to Essek’s, smiling like the sun.

“What, with the sheets?”

And Essek stills, his ears finding a way to flush further flame.

Sheets could matter for this, and Caleb is not keeping the thought to himself.

The purr quiets, fades near stopped.

Caleb draws back, holds Essek’s face between warm hands, somehow cooling the burn.

His expression still shines amusement, but now it rests steady as he runs his gaze over Essek with gentle-pulled brows.

“And how are you feeling about those ah, untoward implications, as you said?”

Surely Caleb can hear the new quiet, the uncertainty it indicates.

Essek looks Caleb—his straightforward curiosity—over, and focuses on his red hair instead of those patient blue eyes. Essek’s enthusiastic handiwork has left it a tousled mess, so he tidies it a touch, tucking flyaways behind round ears.

Caleb deserves actual words for a response, at the very least.

In order to find some, Essek considers with more depth, smoothing out red loops with careful fingertips as if they are the thoughts he is trying to untangle.

That fabric, suited to slip against his skin, he knows how it feels to wear it with intimate familiarity. He can, quite readily at the moment, extrapolate how it would feel to lie in, to swim or shift or splay. But his shirts are a barrier within which he keeps himself, cordoning a space all his own. To be bared the same in sheets—tangled, shared, warmed—how is that any different from exposing himself to open air’s vulnerability? It’s a large enough concept right now to spark unease into fear.

Essek knows it is fine to say so, he does, but thought and practice are not the same when Caleb is here to see into him, clear interest presented in light. Despite Caleb’s politeness thus far, and given past experience, Essek is rather confident he would find tangible evidence of such should he let himself look. All that, and Caleb has given no indications that he wishes to stop on his own behalf.

Discomfiture, shame’s lesser face, decides to parade on Essek’s tongue.

He speaks through it anyway.

He can; he is safe and Caleb should know he feels so.

“Not now, I don’t think.”

And Caleb smiles, the sort that reads as deep delight.

And Essek loves him, very much.

He takes Caleb’s mouth again, smile matched and purr revived in full.

And it’s sweet. Caleb is sweet.

Then Caleb breaks steady contact, peppering Essek’s face with affection and a hummed laugh.

“When everyone asks why - my wardrobe has changed - to exclusively button-ups - I’ll - send - them - your - way.”

“Don’t you dare.”

This, Essek chuckles, once again finding his lips.

How much longer until everyone knows the specifics? Yasha and Caduceus, perhaps Jester, probably have the most accurate idea as far as Essek can tell, and the rest certainly don’t hide their attempts to pry.

But there is some fun to be had in teasing them and it’s frankly none of their business besides.

That sounds mean.

Still, they are nosy as a collective and Essek prefers his privacy with each of them, getting to pick who sees what and when, getting to decide what interactions mean without outside opinions.

He can choose for himself; he has learned to do so since departing from his Den.

Caleb teases, bringing Essek back into the moment and leaving center to kiss the corners of his smile.

“Oh, I dare.”

His smirk wanders its way to Essek’s pulse again.

“Caleb ‘Daring’ Widogast, didn’t you know?”

Essek combs his fingers through silky soft hair, runs fingertips over scalp.

“Keep your clothes- some of it actually looks nice.”

“I’ll ignore the slight and instead pose the question again: what about this?”

Caleb draws back up and tugs on his shirt collar with a wide grin.

Oh, that’s right.

“Sidetracked.”

It’s all Essek can say as he reaches for the hem and that smile.

Caleb tugs up the back collar while Essek lifts around the sides of belly, and his knuckles brush more fabric- a tactile reveal, with sight still stolen by a continued, uncoordinated kiss, of high-waisted sleep pants just covering the navel.

Sleeves snarl stuck elbows in their—well, in Essek’s, he can admit—reluctance to part far, and Caleb ends up bent forward heaving a laugh while Essek attempts to pull up and back with a toothless grouse at their distance. The shirt does eventually find its way to the wayside between giggled giddiness.

There’s an anticipatory instant when Caleb straightens, his long hair settles, and Essek lets himself look.

And then a tightness clenches his mind, grips his gut.

His vision tunnels to the feature he has not yet laid eyes upon. Not so close, at least, in any circumstance. At a distance, in bright beach light, buried beneath bath bubbles, it’s imperceptible, easy to ignore. Here, it is the only thing he can see.

His heart pounds too fast in his ears and the purr catches, grinds to a halt. Excitement inverts on itself while remaining in magnitude, and he does not want it back now that it’s caught nausea, replaced with a clinging upset.

Caleb needs to get away, to escape, and Essek shoves him back, against the headboard with a palm to sternum- but now Caleb is too far, much, much too far away, and he tackles the issue with a paled-knuckle hug and his forehead pressed into Caleb’s heart, vision cast black and relieving behind his eyelids.

It’s gone, Caleb’s here. It’s fine.

Essek tries to breathe as he’s learned, still learning, holds his eyes tight and shifts to hang his hands behind Caleb’s shoulders, fingers gripping into giving flesh. What can he feel? He can feel Caleb, very warm, breathing alive in his grasp. Caleb’s fine. He smells of his bath: honey-herb citrus, cinnamon and skin. None of those bad, not here, not now. They breathe. Essek feels him breathe, hears him breathe. Caleb is warm, alive, fine.

They breathe.

He’s fine.

They breathe.

The air is quiet.

“Essek?”

Caleb’s arms are loose, warm, around his back, palms a flat press on shoulder blades, unmoving.

Mortification lights in Essek’s gut and oh, gods, what did he do what is he doing.

“I’m-.”

He grits his teeth against the hot prickles behind his eyelids and speaks through the tremor in his voice.

“I’m sorry, for that- for this? I don’t-.”

What does it matter, he’s not the one slammed away.

He shakes his head.

“Are you alright?”

Caleb sighs against him, ruffling his hair, voice gentle with what might be a small smile.

“I can handle a little roughhousing. Are you alright?”

Essek can’t think of a proper response.

Caleb’s hands press a little firmer, his voice a murmur.

“You’re shaking.”

“I-.”

Essek clenches his jaw to hold back a cry.

“Tell me?”

It’s far from a command, only an entreaty with that tender tone.

What is this feeling? It’s undoubtedly internal, gripping oppressive and suffocating.

Beyond roaring white noise, all it says is Caleb.

He can focus on that, on Caleb.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, attention firmly set on how Caleb feels under his hands, and the sharpest edge of alarm recedes to reveal a few cresting thoughts.

“I… am….”

This upset is an unpleasant opposition of excitement, though not exactly in the directions of repulsion or disinterest, and it freezes his fingers in place as they hold onto Caleb for his dear life.

“I’m- scared, perhaps? And I don’t know of what.”

Caleb loosens his arms, releasing Essek and leaving cold imprints behind in the absence of pressure.

“It’s not you, Caleb.”

Essek shakes his head and clutches Caleb’s shoulders tighter.

“It’s not you.”

“Let’s stop, Essek.”

But then Caleb will be far again. Essek is barely able to swallow down the trepidation that statement summons.

“Conflicting interests. I-.”

Enough about him.

“How are you?”

There’s a pause as Caleb breathes once, and twice, and more, as he should.

His voice returns quiet, but Essek can’t tell what sort.

“Concerned, mainly. Also nervous, maybe still some excited mixed in there.”

Essek picks out the trait that worries him as much as it surprises.

“Nervous?”

The weak chuckle in Caleb’s chest rumbles against Essek.

“Who isn’t a little, when facing an unknown? Even in trusted company.”

Ah. Essek manages half a chuckle of his own.

That’s perhaps the greatest reassurance out of everything that’s been said so far. Maybe Caleb has been going in clueless just the same.

Caleb’s voice returns gentle.

“Do you know what you need? It’s alright if not- I don’t want to assume right away.”

That’s kind of him.

“A moment, please?”

“Ja, okay.”

Essek continues to hold Caleb and breathes for a bit, considering and attempting to recall what set off distress.

After the shirt’s loss, clearly.

Not skin- that, Essek has become more or less accustomed to seeing, being around the Nein as a whole, and it wasn’t himself undressing besides.

Gods, he was undressing Caleb.

There’s a stunning lack of embarrassment as his sweetest heart of icy hearts sets itself on repetition.

He doesn’t allow the thought enough room to breathe into an aspiration before he moves on.

It wasn’t Caleb’s ring on the silver chain, the bonded companion of Essek’s own, not that thing of their love.

He freezes.

Their love?

Their love?

No, no, no, not now, not now.

Essek shoves that dizzying notion deep away for meditation; he’ll need time to sit with that.

He releases a shaky breath. Finds his way to stability again.

What did he feel as he pushed Caleb away, the one thing he’s been so unwilling to do?

A souldeep desire to protect, to protect and keep safe.

There’s only one thing it could be, then, if self-reflection over past months has indicated anything.

Essek nudges his forehead reluctantly against Caleb’s chest, against his heart’s too-smooth starburst.

“This, the scar.”

Caleb is quiet for a moment and Essek listens to his breathing, feels how his chest moves, the tickle of it against his forehead.

When Caleb speaks again, there’s a tightness to his voice that could be pain as easily as it could be tense relief.

“Will you close your eyes for me?”

“They already are.”

“Alright, keep that, but lean back a bit, ja?”

Essek shakes his head, reflexively tightens his grip; he can’t let Caleb out of his grasp, not when it still feels as though he would disappear upon severed contact.

No, this is ridiculous. Caleb clearly has something he wants to do, a plan of some kind, and Essek is keeping him from it.

Yet still, he hesitates.

“I…”

What does he want?

Caleb’s hum is gentle as he prompts.

“Mhmm?”

What does he want?

Nothing resolves.

What doesn't he want, then?

That's easy enough: for Caleb to leave.

“I don’t want to let go.”

But clinging tighter would be counterproductive.

“Can I have your hand, if I must?”

“Ja, ja, okay. I’m here.”

There’s a little smile in Caleb’s voice.

“I’m going to touch your shoulders, ja?”

“Alright.”

Though he knows it’s coming, Essek still flinches at the contact.

Caleb’s warm hands rest light, unmoving, secure as they ease out some of the tension in Essek’s muscles. After a steadying moment, Essek manages to lean back, sliding his hands from Caleb’s back, along arms, into Caleb’s kind clasp.

Drawing them together, Essek grasps one of Caleb’s hands between his and presses a kiss to knuckles before holding their hands to his own forehead, hunched but still breathing, vision still dark.

Caleb’s weight shifts in the mattress.

A thin-fabric shuffle sounds.

“I’m going to have you hold my knee for a second, okay?”

Essek draws a breath, nods.

“Okay.”

His hands are led down, and he does hold Caleb’s knee for an approximate second while there is more shuffling.

“Can I touch your face, both sides?”

Essek nods, and Caleb’s palms warm his jaw, no flinch to be had when his head is gently angled up.

“Open your eyes?”

What awaits Essek is searching blue, a soft smile. Pretty red hair.

A solace of a sight, kind Caleb Widogast, and all static stops.

Thumbs swipe gently over Essek’s cheeks.

“Hallo.”

Essek hangs his hands from Caleb’s wrists, half over shirt sleeve, half over skin.

“Hello.”

Caleb lets go of Essek’s face and sets his arms open, inviting.

Essek scoots a little closer and simply lets Caleb wrap around him.

Caleb murmurs into his hair.

“I’m alive, Essek.”

“I know.”

Hands gripped to Caleb’s back, Essek nuzzles into his chest.

His nose bumps the ring under Caleb’s shirt, and he sighs.

“I know.”

Essek holds him tight until the shaking stops.

Chapter Text

They sit in each other’s arms for a while, no further words yet, only steady breathing.

Though Essek may be still, his mind is not.

Caleb removed his hands the instant Essek mentioned fright, and did not return them until they needed to move. Even so, Essek held tighter despite Caleb’s discomfort, and the last thing he wants is for their closeness to be a source of Caleb’s unease. But Caleb has stopped him before when inadvertently attempting to cross a line, and that was because of complicated memory. But then again, Caleb said he was nervous, said to stop and Essek certainly did not.

Guilt continues gnawing his stomach uneasy as this train of thought cycles, tangling upon itself.

When he can bear the silence no longer, Essek blurts to Caleb’s shirt, hands tight to his back.

“I’m sorry, about the clinging, before.”

Essek rises and falls with Caleb’s long breath.

“Not your fault, my friend. It happens.”

“No, the-.”

That’s the wrong focus.

“For making you uncomfortable, whether- with memories, or--”

“No, no.”

Caleb tightens his arms around Essek’s shoulders.

He nips Essek’s reflexive protest before a sound can leave his tongue.

“This is different from then, Essek. Believe me, please.”

Caleb knows his own limits.

Essek nods a sigh, a miasma caught between relief and self-directed frustration swirling through him.

At least he can think without static now.

He knocks a loose fist to Caleb’s back.

“This seems to be a recurring circumstance, regardless.”

Caleb nuzzles into Essek’s hair, a smile in his voice.

“I’m not complaining.”

Well, there’s a fragment of cheer.

“I am.”

Essek can complain for the both of them, especially if it might grow Caleb’s smile to a laugh.

As hoped, Caleb chuckles to Essek’s temple. A little success.

Then:

“Would you like something to drink?”

Essek’s confusion must be readily apparent in his pause, as Caleb speaks up again with no prompt.

“It’s seemed to help before.”

“Oh.”

Essek leans away, just enough to see him.

Light-drawn brows and a little pressed smile- seems cautious but not overly concerned.

Well, if it will help Caleb. Essek supposes he himself also has a bit of cottonmouth, as Beauregard calls it.

“Yes, alright.”

Caleb reaches a hand back as if to knock on the headboard and summon a cat, and Essek holds it instead.

“I can, ah- take care of it, if it’s the pitcher you want.”

Fingers adjusted to hold Essek’s hand, Caleb runs a thumb over knuckles.

“Yeah, that was my idea. You’re sure?”

Essek still doesn’t want to let go, but he scrounges up some humor anyway.

“If you don’t mind waiting forever.”

“Essek.”

Perhaps that one fell too flat.

He shifts to sincerity.

“Let me, please?”

After what feels like an assessing pause, Caleb presses Essek’s knuckles to his lips and releases his hand.

Though it does not take forever, it’s still a fair while before Essek actually extricates himself, but, eventually, he makes it to the small reading table in the corner of the bedroom.

Atop it rests its usual contents: the same four-tall stack of table reading found throughout the tower, drinking glasses and Essek’s target ice water pitcher, and a steady magic candle. He runs his free hand over the flame as he pours; it won’t burn him; it simply warms no matter how close to the wick he goes.

Turning with their drinks, Essek is struck to find Caleb watching him with his head tipped against the headboard, an extremely gentle expression across his face. What that’s for, he’s unsure, but he certainly does not mind. He returns with cold hands, drawn in as if by magnet, perhaps a winter moth to flame.

“Welcome back.”

Caleb says it when Essek sets a knee to the bedside to hand the glasses over.

He was only a few paces away.

Even so, Caleb seems pleased, so Essek responds polite.

“Hello.”

Essek now sits leaning into Caleb’s side, and Caleb leans into him just the same.

A solid, warm pressure- this arrangement is very comfortable.

Caleb speaks up again, casual as they finish settling against the pillows, giving Essek a glass back.

“It’s lemon this time- a Beauregard recommendation.”

“Hm.”

The first sip leaves Essek with a nose wrinkled in consideration as he finds the water faintly expected-sour. Its citrusy aftertaste isn’t bad at all.

Caleb continues without pause.

“Well, it was an offhand comment she made at one point that I took into consideration because she was rather adamant.”

Essek hooks a grin with another sip.

“So a recommendation.”

Caleb nods a single chuckle to his drink.

“A recommendation.”

“What for?”

“Refreshment, after- ah….”

And then Caleb reddens, tracing the rim of his glass and watching the water swirl, as if suddenly bashful.

Odd.

Essek is in the process of taking another sip when Caleb finishes the thought.

“Strenuous activity.”

And so Essek learns lemon water is not recommended for sinuses.

“Careful, or it’ll come out your nose.”

Caleb’s lip drawn under teeth and his well-crinkled eyes indicate he is trying very hard not to laugh.

Almost losing his drink again with a snort as he wipes the back of a hand to his mouth, Essek sputters.

“And whose fault would that be, Caleb Widogast?”

There’s nary a pause before both of them break to laughs, accompanied by further clearing coughs and a quick Prestidigitation on Essek’s part.

They manage to finish their glasses in companionable quiet without further incident, setting them aside on Essek’s left-hand night stand once empty.

Still side by side, now they simply breathe together and hold hands, Essek resting his head on Caleb’s shoulder, Caleb resting his head on Essek’s own.

Essek traces back and forth over Caleb’s knuckles, and decides he misses Caleb’s voice.

“How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

There’s a little tease to Caleb’s voice.

Essek sighs a chuckle before elaborating.

“Better, I suppose. I may have…”

Another sigh, less a chuckle.

“Gotten ahead of myself.”

“So it goes. Were you enjoying yourself, at least?”

And Essek presses his mouth flat as a blush heats his face and ears. It’s not enough to thaw the frost coating his ribcage, instead only making it more noticeable.

“…I was.”

In redirection, he squeezes Caleb’s hand.

“Yourself?”

And Caleb’s laugh is rich and resonant, tugging an unwitting smile to Essek’s lips.

“Very much so, yes.”

Disappointment wins out over pride and Essek’s face settles as he picks at Caleb’s shirt sleeve with his free hand.

“You do too much for me.”

“I don’t.”

Caleb nudges Essek’s hair.

“This is as much for myself as it is for you.”

And Essek turns aside to get a better look at Caleb’s expression. Not disbelieving Caleb’s words, necessarily. That would be unkind.

Maybe he just misses the sight of him too. The cold ringing through Essek seems to agree.

Caleb returns the glance, looks him over with those warm blue eyes.

“What’s that face for? I can be a little selfish.”

He winks with the last word.

Perhaps there’s still something playful to be had here.

Underlying urgency has all but faded now that the dread it became has drained away, but that same honeyed chill remains, pulsing in time with Essek’s heart. That’s likely much easier to deal with, much easier to find a solution for, now that he can properly think.

A genuine grin starts to pull on Essek’s lips, and he leans further into a taunt and Caleb’s side.

“How selfish are you willing to be, Caleb Widogast?”

Caleb squeezes his linked hand, tone perfectly nonchalant.

“How selfish do you want me to be, Essek?”

How selfish indeed.

So Essek sits before Caleb again, this time keeping to himself save for their still-held hands.

He rests his voice the same way one would lay a delicate bloom across a pillow. Runs his thumb, knuckle by knuckle, along Caleb’s like it’s a trimmed rose stem, or an unlit wick.

“What do you want, Caleb?”

“For you to be comfortable with me.”

It’s a quick reply, as though already at the forefront of his mind. Reassuring as everything, but they still remain in place.

“I am. What else?”

And now, Caleb stays quiet, blinks his pretty eyes wide. Were it not for the slight line between his brows, the depth of his gaze and breath, Essek would think him surprised instead of restrained.

He shifts his grip, their fingers now inelegantly tangled. They don’t have to be perfect.

“Ask, please.”

With no further hesitation, Caleb slips from hand to forearm as he speaks, Essek’s elbow now cupped; it’s a firm enough caress for Essek to draw a quick inhale with Caleb’s words.

“Can I touch you?”

They’re more breath than whisper, as if said too loud they may shatter this moment.

Patience and caution, caution and patience.

So Essek tips his head, echoes the beginning as though this is one.

Perhaps it is, anew.

“You have been.”

He traces fingertips over Caleb’s forearm, wondering if cool touch can permeate the fabric into human warmth; this is a reciprocal position, after all.

“You still are.”

Another question of intent in another statement of fact. 

Caleb’s other hand finds its place under Essek’s unattended elbow.

“I know.”

It has an easy answer, then: reassurance, requital.

The line between treating each other as fragile and treading each other with care is still indistinct, but they can be kind to one another, continue piecing together bounds without spiraling into circumspect inaction or yanking the other into the proverbial—and literal—bathwater.

So Essek inquires.

“Where?”

And Caleb breathes a soft smile, warm hands wrapped over forearm topsides, holding without restraining.

“Wherever—however—you’ll have me.”

A genuine request to study, a sincere attempt to understand.

This is not so surprising a question from one who hungers for knowledge, let alone one who especially enjoys learning how things unravel and come together again.

An unplumbed tension carried deep in Essek’s mind connects without definition, draining away into ease like a hidden let wound set to set.

His next drawn breath scores and soothes deep into bone and flesh, breezing through, perfusing cool, tingling right under his skin.

Essek has found himself with quite a few loose threads the longer he spends with the Mighty Nein.

Then, again, let Caleb comb through them. It can be a discovery for them both.

As if imbued with new confidence, Caleb flirts fingers down forearms to claim Essek’s hands and he continues speaking, mellifluent; that rare tone, a sweetly coaxing syrup as thin and light as pitch, coats every syllable stickily-slick.

“Show me, Essek.”

Frozen still even in breath, the shiver elicited by his name with that mouth is entirely internal.

Pale thumbs slip their way through the parted break between plum fore and thumb, and stroke against cold palms.

“What you want.”

While Caleb’s sea-deep eyes hold steady as a stillpool lure, he draws Essek’s wrist to his lips and gifts a soft kiss inside, words dripping slow from his tongue as with pure golden indulgence, his breath warm to tender skin.

“What you need.”

Gaze drifting closed with a vulnerable dip of his head, he meets the raise of Essek’s other hand and grants another kiss, warming yet-untouched inner wrist. This time, he lingers by a fraction- just enough a delay to notice.

Then, like blades against bursting silk, his eyes dart up through lashes.

“Please?"

The growing corporeal burn in Essek’s chest reminds him that lungs are intended to release air as well as inspire; he does so in the most dignified of shaky manners his cold-pounding heart will allow while his mind restarts.

Despite the sugarcoating, Caleb’s not even trying to hide now.

Very well.

Essek interweaves their fingers, strokes thumbs over Caleb’s for a contemplative instant.

Caleb seems to have ideas, but wants him to put on a demonstration.

But Essek still can’t pinpoint what he wants beyond Caleb, let alone what he might need.

What to do, what to do.

Ah. Maybe just that.

Essek can be selfish, too.

He slinks a rush closer, standing up on his knees while bracing their hands to the headboard, up beside Caleb’s flushing ears, crowding him framed with noses near-brushed before drawing back to see him whole, quite like how Caleb did yesterday in the empty drawing room.

Having now gained some slight height over Caleb where he rests wide-eyed against pillows, Essek, head tipped, throws down a confident smirk.

“How about this, Caleb Widogast.”

Savoring every syllable, Caleb’s name slips rich over Essek’s tongue like browned butter.

Caleb’s only motions are the subtle bob of his throat, the slight part of his lips. His sky-clasped eyes hold unwavering, his focus undeniably rapt.

A nearer nudge, and Essek drops his voice to a breath.

“Show me yourself.”

After a prettily pinkening blink that reads far more calculating than hesitant, Caleb leans in even further, almost defiant as he now smiles right back, eyes settling heavy-lidded.

The puff of his murmured words is as warm as his gaze, both low to Essek’s lips.

“Show you myself or show you my self? A little specificity may serve you well.”

Essek simply clicks his tongue, mostly unswayed now that he knows what he’s up against.

He’s no want nor need to be doted upon, certainly not now.

“Which do you think, Caleb? You’re clever.”

A faint shrug as blue shifts up smug.

“Well, the latter did seem to backfire just now.”

And with sudden-snapped laughter as much as bemoaning, Essek sets his forehead aside, shaking against Caleb’s shoulder.

“This is horrible.”

Why did he need a reminder.

But Caleb only chuckles bright with him despite the shattered spell, slowly swinging their held hands by elbow hinge: dip out, dip in, repeat.

“I don’t know about that, I’m entertained and you can’t seem to keep away a smile now. But I would like to be sure.”

Ah.

In that case, Essek can demonstrate certainty and security.

Leaning back and reclaiming his hands, Essek places them on either side of Caleb’s face and takes a large, rather overdramatic breath.

“The former, Caleb.”

He lets his face rest earnest, waiting until Caleb’s eyes lock focus and watch him exceptionally close.

Then he sets a kiss to one cheek, followed by another on the other, before returning to their shared gaze.

“I can say no.”

I can trust you, he impresses into each word best he can.

Caleb blinks; something promising is caught in his eyes.

So Essek sets a third, final kiss to Caleb’s forehead, that one oft-fond spot between brows.

“I will say no.”

You can trust me, he emphasizes in hopes of bolstering Caleb’s trust in himself.

He lingers a hesitant breath, and finally draws back.

Based on the way Caleb’s brows knit, how his face softens across every inch, confident sentimentality constricts Essek’s heart, his throat; he’s been heard to the fullest extent.

And so Essek slides his hands down arms to find Caleb’s warm, guiding them just above his own hips.

He squeezes Caleb’s hands in place, still up upon his knees.

“Please.”

If anyone in this world is allowed to witness Essek’s self-serving supplication such as this, Caleb is among the dear-held few.

Caleb squeezes independently, a pleasant pressure.

“Are you still asking, as before?”

How much more sense that makes with a lucid mind, even though it is still vague.

But, well.

“No, not- not exactly. I--”

“Do not apologize.”

Caleb is now leaning in, peering up stern.

What a sweet soul, this one.

Essek offers a smile and a hand cupped to Caleb’s cheek.

“I was about to say, I think the most of that has passed for now.”

And Caleb simply nods.

“Okay.”

Unwelcome guilt slides off Essek’s tongue before he can swallow it back.

“Are you okay?”

A grin spreads sly over Caleb’s face and he leans into Essek’s hand, burner blue eyes smoldering as he smickers.

“Why?”

Oh no, here he goes.

“Are you perhaps interested in a show, my friend?”

“Caleb.”

“I can almost certainly make something work if that’s the case.”

“Caleb.”

“I may not be as sprightly as I once was, but I can still--”

“Caleb Widogast.”

Immensely self-satisfied, Caleb bumps Essek’s nose.

“That is me.”

Essek bores as flat a stare as he can without bursting a laugh.

And Caleb sighs a soft smile.

“Yes, I am okay.”

“Truly?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow as they flit between Essek’s.

Then, he tips his own chin up.

Ah.

“Believe me, Essek, please.”

Essek gives him the kiss he is angling for, a faint impression, enough to convey understanding.

Not only is this different from complicated memory, but Caleb is also content to be here, with him, like this.

“I do, Caleb.”

A secondary thought to the second: this certainly differs from the scenarios of Caleb’s smut that Essek has managed to read through thus far.

He immediately throws the concept out of mind.

They share a gaze, foreheads together, before Caleb casts his pretty eyes down, aside and too unfocused to be staring at Essek’s lips again.

He must be thinking.

He still wears a little smile though, so it’s probably okay.

Essek waits, watches how Caleb’s eyelashes flutter with every blink. Caleb’s hands are warm where they gently rest, still, against his sides.

Soon enough, Caleb speaks up.

“Essek?”

“Mhmm?”

Blue greets him, lined soft with a grin.

“May I kiss you?”

And Essek blinks.

Laughs.

Caleb’s eyes crinkle deeper.

Smiles brushed, Essek nods.

“Please.”

And he does.

And he’s rather sweet about it, despite the faintest tang of leftover lemon on his lips.

Essek wraps his arms loose like the scarves Caleb is so fond of.

Caleb's hands begin to move in firm passes up and down Essek’s flanks, and warmth seeps through his shirts, slow as it tend to.

This time, they don’t seem to roam so much as catalog steady- palms, then fingertips, then thumbs, then all together, repeat.

It’s predictable, reassuring enough to spark Essek into thinking perhaps he has spent too long dithering about this, letting himself be experienced by—with—Caleb.

The worst parts of him have already been aired within this city’s very harbor, in the belly of a now-sunk ship. Along the same line, during the lowest points of their independent delve into Aeor, Caleb still let him stay close. They had even broached the notion of commitment to remain in each other’s lives a mere two nights ago, adding to his willingly-grown collection of promises to the Nein.

So really, what is there to find that could lead to Caleb’s disapproval at this point?

If Caleb is entertained in this present moment, if Essek is enjoying him and himself, what much does anything else matter?

Perhaps it hasn’t been ‘too long’, then.

Maybe now is simply a time when thoughts, actions, and sentiments have comfortably aligned.

Because this is nice, and Caleb is warm.

In a pause of slight breath, Caleb tips aside and noses at Essek’s cheek.

“Essek?”

Even his voice is sweet.

“Mm?”

Elbows framing ribs, Caleb’s hands shift from sides, now passing over the back of Essek’s shoulders.

“What are you thinking?”

“That this is nice.”

Caleb’s smile plays against Essek’s cheek with a hum, but he says nothing further.

Essek turns to meet him soft, prompting with a breath between.

“Why?”

Another few leisurely kisses, and then Caleb’s hands move along Essek’s shoulder blades.

“Curiosity.”

Essek weaves a little skepticism into his voice.

“Is that all?”

“Oh, you doubt me?”

Warm fingertips trace spine.

“I never said that, Caleb. I am simply interested in nuance.”

“I am a simple man at times, I’m afraid.”

As Caleb completes a shrug, his hands circle the small of Essek’s back.

“Perhaps I just missed you.”

“I am here, Caleb Widogast.”

Essek relaxes more of his weight against Caleb to make his point.

“What is there to miss?”

He’s allowed to be a little hypocritical here.

“A very fair point, my friend. Your voice, then.”

Essek trades his voice for a kiss and Caleb, a laugh on his lips, returns to caressing Essek’s sides. His runs go a little lower than before, over hip, then back up, down again and repeating. Not lingering, but not fleeting.

Warmth is slow to sink through Essek’s shirts, the same as before.

A few sweet seconds, and Essek reclaims his mouth to set it beside Caleb’s ear.

“You.”

A light kiss to rough cheek.

“Are the one who asked to take it.”

And Caleb murmurs back, a grin woven into his words.

“Conflicting interests. How’s that for nuance?”

Essek gives him a single hum of a chuckle, brushes it to the corner of his jaw.

Then Caleb leans away, enough to catch Essek’s eyes.

“I can be selfish, Essek?”

Just like his present touch to Essek’s lower back, Caleb’s words are purposeful but not demanding. His smile reads much the same.

So Essek crooks half a grin.

“Sure.”

Caleb’s smile spreads.

“In that case, I’ll take it again and then some. How is th--”

Essek gives his grin before Caleb can do so.

And when Caleb laughs against him, Essek easily breathes him deep with a laugh of his own. His hands find their places tucked into soft red hair while Caleb’s continue their path.

Had he spent any mind to consider Caleb’s pace and low direction, perhaps Essek could have predicted where those warm hands were headed.

Instead, his breath hitches with the touch, surprise catching a startled noise at the back of his throat.

Caleb immediately retreats up to the small of Essek’s back, his brows tight.

“Are you okay?”

Well, that certainly didn’t hurt, far from it. It’s just- very new, bubbling an uncategorized jitter in his stomach.

“I’m fine.”

It’s true enough for honesty.

And before Essek can even begin to overthink, Caleb ducks to kiss under Essek’s chin while his warm hands return to kneading Essek’s sides.

Recognition rings.

“Were you trying to distract me?”

“Were?”

Caleb kisses the question to Essek’s neck.

Ah.

“Are.”

Caleb lifts a wide smile.

“Is it working?”

And who is Essek to resist that happy hope?

“Mhm.”

He hums his grin to Caleb’s.

And then Caleb hunches in with a sputter, jostling them together with bellowed laughter.

Essek flushes despite himself, confused embarrassment intertwining with indignation, of all things.

“What’s so funny?”

“I re-!”

Forceful chortles cut Caleb off.

After a few more noisy shakes, he pulls himself back together. Mostly.

“I remembered- something. It’s really- very dumb.”

That isn’t reassuring in the slightest.

“Have I done something?”

Caleb quiets, solemn for a moment, and he holds Essek’s eyes, his face between warm palms.

“Oh no no no, no no.”

Relief is a cooling swipe of thumbs over cheeks.

But Caleb begins falling apart with a barely held-back snicker before breaking boisterous yet again. He tucks his grin into Essek’s shoulder, arms folded around his back, his warm laugh shaking through both of them.

Concern eases away entirely with Caleb’s contagious joy, Essek now unable to restrain a chuckle of his own.

Then Caleb’s laugh simmers to a whine as he wheezes his words to Essek’s shirt.

“Oh- I am going to cry. I am crying. Ohh no.”

He leans back, face glowing flushed, and scrubs at his eyes with a thumb.

One hand to the crook of Caleb’s neck, Essek clears the loose red hair fallen into Caleb’s eyes with the other.

“Tell me?”

Caleb wears a deep smile across his face, eyes creased tight in delight, shoulders still bouncing slightly. He was not kidding about the laughter drawing tears; leftovers gleam in his lashes.

“Jester and Beauregard, inspectors supreme.”

Oh no.

“Even disguised, I believe you have been determined to possess a pretty good butt.”

He punctuates the sentence with a very brief, very precise pat.

Essek lets out a long-suffering groan as his ears warm incredibly fast.

“I hate it here.”

Caleb’s hands shift from lower back to once again knead against waist, grin undimmed as he peers and poses questioning statements.

“You don’t like to be looked at.”

“My cloaks are multipurpose.”

“You haven’t worn them so much as of late.”

“They’re not very useful when I stay in one place, the outdoors swelter, or when there’s rigging to be caught in.”

“Ah.”

Caleb's eyes still hold curiosity.

Essek sighs, gives him the answer he’s clearly fishing for.

“I’m getting used to the notion of… being perceived, I guess. Without knowledge nor obfuscation. Though it is- mm?”

He picks words with an inhale and relinquishes them with another, even longer sigh.

“Easier, admittedly, without my own face. Something about the constructed anonymity.”

“The safety of disguise?”

“A given, considering the circumstances of, well.”

Essek gestures a splay of fingers to his own face, the one he now near-never wears outside the sole company of the Mighty Nein and their most trusted associates.

There’s some shift in Caleb’s expression, a slight tightening, almost analytical. It’s just as soon gone.

Then he deadpans.

“But you still hate it here.”

Essek nods sagely.

“I still hate it here.”

Caleb puts on a little grin that reads quite like pride.

“You let me look, with your face.”

Is this what that expression was for?

Essek raises a brow.

“Do I now?”

He isn’t sure if his own words are genuine or a tease.

Though undiminished, Caleb’s face eases a little more sincere.

“Sometimes, I thought.”

And Essek looks aside, a thoughtful fang to his lip.

“Maybe.”

“Should I not?”

Should he not?

Essek takes a long breath, weighing the thought.

The Nein’s attention does feel different from that of strangers, at the very least.

“I suppose I don’t mind as much, with you and the rest, since I can trust your intent. And I don’t…”

It’s not as though he undervalues their opinions, they’re simply still new to consider.

“I do, care for your thoughts.”

This is too serious for comfort.

“Though the, ah-.”

What was the silly phrasing he had come across? Ah, right.

“The ‘assessment of assets as a matter deviating from pure aesthetics’, per se, definitively less so.”

Caleb’s gaze sharpens, piercing and crinkle-eyed.

“Essek?”

Oh no.

“Essek, have you been reading my naughtier books perchance?”

Oh no.

Essek freezes, examines the astoundingly captivating flatness of the wall behind the headboard.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Of course Caleb read that one; it’s on the salon’s shelves.

Caleb’s grin curls in the corner of Essek’s vision as he leans more into view.

“That isn’t a no~.”

Caught, Essek hides against Caleb’s shoulder.

“I wanted to know why you like them so much.”

And Caleb laughs yet again, this one sounding boastful as it erupts from his belly.

“Of any line for you to pick, of course it’s the one with all those layers.”

“I’m going to teleport away, back to the depths of Aeor.”

Caleb’s voice drips bawdily as he leans bodily against Essek.

“You could at least share if you came upon anything interesting during your investigation.”

By all the divine and the First Radiance itself, what has he done.

Clinging tight to Caleb’s back, Essek continues griping to his collar.

“If I am not buried in the ice with a misfire, I’ll find a way to reverse engineer the stasis bubbles, solving a mystery of generations. Then, I will encase myself in one for the rest of eternity.”

“I’m not making you the butt of the joke, my friend.”

He can feel the satisfaction oozing from Caleb’s tongue.

“Is that the case.”

“I’m only trying to express my delight.”

Should he change the subject? No, too obvious.

Diverting attention will have to suffice. Literary analysis it is.

“You want to speak on delight, Caleb? Well, your books sadden me.”

Still carrying the lightness of amusement, curiosity softens the lilt in Caleb’s voice.

“Oh?”

“‘Just friends’ this, ‘only friends’ that, ‘more than friends’ et cetera. What is so bad about friends, I ask.”

He pauses to ensure he is holding Caleb’s attention before continuing.

“They’ll only upend your entire life and make you grateful for it.”

Caleb laughs again, this time as intended. Success.

Essek goes on with a nuzzle, backing from his hide just enough to speak without being muffled.

“The leads tend to make no sense to me besides.”

Tone scholarly, Caleb leans his head against Essek’s.

“I can’t say I quite understand the phrasing either. Makes you think they don’t care much for the bonds they’re supposedly trying to form in the first place.”

“Really.”

“That said, I don’t necessarily purchase them for lasting reference, my friend.”

Caleb chuckles his tease.

Fine, two can play at that.

“I am ah, well aware, and do want to clarify that I’m not judging, because- what is it?”

With Caleb’s arms still around his back, Essek leans away to meet his eyes, hands smoothing against pale collarbone as he schools the heat from his ears.

After a brief moment to ensure he’s holding all of Caleb’s attention again, Essek continues with a hopeful fang caught to his lip.

“Different strokes for different folks?”

And Caleb positively giggles at that, tucking into him with a hug. Success.

‘Lasting’ reference, though.

Well, they’ve managed alright so far without such guidebooks.

This entanglement doesn’t need to be everything.

Especially not if this, now, tonight, isn’t the last of it.

Essek’s hands find Caleb’s unmoving behind his back and sets them to his waist.

“You can, um. Go on, if you would still like to.”

Caleb gives his sides a squeeze, blue eyes inquiring.

“Do you want me to?”

Why would he prompt so in the first place if not? A flicker of self-doubt lights with the additional questioning.

“If you want to, Caleb. I-.”

Hm. How to phrase this? It’s still a puzzle, determining exactly what it is he wants.

“I don’t… quite know where one ends, and the other begins? How to tell.”

“Ahh, see now, that”-

And Caleb brings a hand around and taps a finger to the side of Essek’s nose.

“That is very good to know.”

Seems more convoluted than before, and Essek is the one to have said it.

He raises a brow in question.

Returning to caressing flanks, Caleb moves his hands up and down with the same slow tempo as before. So Caleb does want to continue.

“That is where preferences begin, that acknowledgement, considering where lines between are. Or so I’ve been told.”

Oh?

“And who told you that?”

Caleb puts on an affected air, almost haughty in his smugness.

“Well, there’s this very knowledgeable pair named Guinevere and Oskar--”

“Do not bring Tusk Love into this.”

With a quick smile kissed to Essek’s cheek and all pretense dropped, Caleb chuckles.

“I’m kidding. Marion Lavorre is very wise. I spoke a while with her today.”

Though it has been a bit since any in-depth discussions, Essek has had his fair share of engaging chats with her.

Jester must have insisted on her mother’s conversational skills to Caleb as well, despite her busy schedule with other pursuits.

Then again, perhaps not and Caleb sought conversation independently. Jester’s encouragement seems highly likely, though.

Essek looks Caleb’s face over, eyes narrowed to gauge truth.

“Were you asking advice of some sort or did she offer to gossip out of the blue?”

Caleb’s hands pause on hips, his voice near a taunt.

“The means of conversation’s start and its contents are confidential, unfortunately.”

Ah, obscuration instead of lying outright or claiming an unspoken option. That clears it up entirely, then.

But Caleb goes on, genuine again, before Essek can voice his correct guess.

“Though I do recommend speaking with her, as she knows her stuff.”

Even more evidence: Essek has heard nearly those exact words chimed through pearl-happy fangs.

“Suspicious.”

Caleb leans close enough to bump noses, hands to the small of Essek’s back.

“What, the secrecy isn’t alluring?”

Essek has to scoff as he mimics.

“What, the secrecy of ‘Momma knows best’?”

Hands up to Essek’s shoulder blades, Caleb lets out a dramatic sigh of defeat as he slouches to Essek’s shoulder.

“There goes my mystique.”

And Essek lays his head upon Caleb’s, petting through his red hair.

“I can pretend not to know it was Jester’s idea if it would be more amusing.”

Fingers curve down along spine to lower back.

“No, no, now it is a secret we share, my friend.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s tried to have all of us talk with her mother for one reason or another while we’re here. I know she encouraged at least Fjord and Kingsley before we returned to port.”

Caleb rises, setting his face beside Essek’s, nudging close with a stage whisper to his ear.

“Shh, I am still trying to be mysterious with you.”

Cheek to cheek like this, Caleb’s faint stubble scrapes rough, but it’s not wholly unpleasant with just a brush. Caleb’s hands are softer against his face.

The notion catches something in Essek’s mind. Thoughts on texture and skin are what started this, after all.

Still curious though, Essek prompts.

“But you were talking?”

“Genuinely, yes, and she is a kind advisor. But that’s all you’re getting until I have another secret to share.”

And now Essek has more questions, predominantly focused on ‘why’s and ‘what’s. He leaves them be and murmurs a chuckle.

“I’ll figure you yet, Caleb Widogast.”

He enjoys puzzles as well.

Then Caleb snickers, devious.

“And I you, Essek.”

His hands drop and squeeze and Essek does not let out a flushed squeak.

Instead, wholly toothless, he grumbles.

“Incorrigible.”

“I would beg to differ. My proclivities are quite malleable upon request.”

Caleb punctuates this with a squeeze to Essek’s hips before his warm touch continues to the outer side of thighs, still firm but by no means forceful.

And then Caleb’s hands begin to slide towards the back of thighs. Suddenly unbalanced, Essek takes his wrists.

Caleb draws back, hands removed entirely.

“Stop?”

“A moment.”

Without pause, Essek returns Caleb’s palms to his waist.

Caleb holds him steady with both hands and eyes.

The focus a bit too much at the moment, Essek averts his gaze and settles his arms over Caleb’s shoulders again. He kneads against his own fingertips.

What does he want?

Still too nebulous to phrase.

What does he feel, then?

Though still unclassified, that path felt as though his legs would be swept out under him.

Perhaps that could be thrilling in a different circumstance, but here? Not so much.

So, probably not that particular direction. Caleb doesn’t seem to be in such a rush, besides.

What else?

That sweet chill, though quieted, still persists.

He could be warmer. Caleb could be closer. How can he be closer than he already is without pressing current comfort too far?

What does he want?

This shouldn’t be so difficult.

No, no, no ‘should’ or ‘should not’- that’s no more helpful a line of thought than not thinking at all.

What about preferences, then?

What might Caleb like?

Perhaps a continuation of what he had been doing, though different? Warmer, closer.

Essek may like that, too.

The thought snags, and Essek moves before he can intimidate himself.

Removing Caleb’s hands, he settles to his haunches and untucks his shirts, both under and over in one swift motion. Some part of him is grateful for the spacious fashions of the Menagerie Coast, allowing this course of action without creating more obstacles than the ones already beginning to present themselves in his own mind.

This is different from shared sheets; this is his own space, his own invitation.

If Essek is allowed in Caleb’s space, Caleb can be welcome in Essek’s own.

This is both appealing as well as fair.

The logic is sound, yes.

Taking Caleb’s wrists again, Essek returns Caleb’s hands to his waist. Perhaps this is even another trust exercise.

Though, isn’t everything between them?

Withholding a tremble, Essek takes a pool-plunge breath and faces the ocean-depths of Caleb’s eyes.

“Do as you want, Caleb.”

Chapter Text

Caleb’s pretty eyes go wide.

“You mean under, or off, or?”

“Under.”

“Anywhere?”

“Just the shirts.”

And Caleb taps their foreheads with a chuckle, voice level, if lowered in humor.

“I was not intending to get into your pants with my questions.”

A tension in Essek’s stomach relaxes, and he accepts this overdramatic distraction with an amused scoff.

“You’d have to work a little harder for that.”

Caleb tips his head, eyes smugly half-lidded as his hair drifts soft, his tone rhetorical through his smile.

“Is that a challenge?”

Essek tucks the notion and Caleb’s hair away. Is that an idea for later? Who knows.

“No, it’s a tease.”

He once again rests his arms loose over Caleb’s shoulders, forehead and gaze to Caleb’s.

Caleb’s smirk softens sincere.

“Coy, I see.”

He rucks up the sides of the shirts a little farther, eyes shifting between Essek’s, question plain.

Apprehension peeks into the corners of Essek’s mind as he nods.

“By design, Caleb.”

He takes a controlled breath to keep it at bay and let anticipation take its place.

“By design.”

Mirrored slivers of cool air are soon replaced by Caleb's gentle hands, and Essek hitches a quiet hiss.

Hypersensitive to every inch of contact, he discovers that Caleb is even warmer like this, palms paused and pressed flush against his bare skin.

This is not so surprising.

Neither is this so bad; it does not burn.

Of course it doesn’t.

Caleb is only ever comfortingly warm nowadays.

Caleb is, also, still still.

“Alright?”

His voice carries nothing but quiet care.

Essek just nods against him, not trusting his own to be anything but mortifyingly weak. He blinks his eyes open, realizing he’d closed them, and is met with the same pretty pools he expects.

Consistency, stability, assurance; Caleb’s steady gaze can provide him much when they dive into unknowns together, however simple.

Sentiment prickles faintly behind Essek’s eyes.

Maybe it really is fine if Caleb looks, like this.

And then Caleb begins to move and, oh.

This is not so different, a sure caress up and down his flanks- ribs, waist, not quite the top of hips, back again to the top.

Undamped warmth seeps directly into frozen edges, melting them smoother than silk, all with the same rhythm and tempo as before.

No, not quite, actually.

Seconds seem to tick at the same pace as chilled honey, as if he is being both savored and soothed in the same smooth stroke. Caleb is watching him closely, those harbor-blue eyes holding as soft and safe as his hands.

His breathing now synced with each up and down, Essek blinks slow, gaze settling low and unfocused.

A few more prolonged runs of his side, and then Caleb’s hands begin shifting to Essek’s back.

Essek is almost amused by the ease of it.

Surely he’s nigh unrecognizable in a state like this, so different from even a year prior, let alone another year before that.

What a hope that is, to imagine himself better than before.

What a relief that is, to have grown bounds of comfort so far in such a short length of time.

Then, thinking on time, a realization emerges like rising mist in frosted dayspring: Caleb must be counting.

Hands up, and down. Breaths rise, and fall.

Yes, that must be the case.

Considering how he keeps track of the seconds is beyond Essek’s current capabilities, only able to focus on the moving notion that he is in good hands.

Very good, very warm hands; hearthstone against gnawing cold, thawing it sweet and drowsy.

Hands up, and down. Breaths rise, and fall.

A mantle of cool peace descends dense upon him with every subsequent pass of soft touch over spine, easing tension in his chest.

His back.

His shoulders.

His limbs.

Until, finally, it passes through a last, stubborn mental resistance and settles especially heavy.

Much like a weighted blanket, a kind gesture gifted yet again, it muffles straggling unease into comfort and grounds loose tethers of him whole.

He sighs soft through parted lips, and his eyes drift closed.

Hands up, and down. Breaths rise, and fall.

Essek simply basks, his mind quieted to ambling, leisurely as molasses while he categorizes this touch.

Temperature aside, Caleb’s hands, though not nearly as coarse as his faint-stubbled jaw, have a rougher texture to them than the familiar tooth of Essek’s undershirts. This is not so surprising; Caleb’s hands have seen a harsher history than his silks.

It’s most notable on fingertips and heels as they lightly drag, fascinating against the derm of his back.

And it feels good. It feels good, the miracle of it all.

Such touch had once been downright inconceivable, a thought he continues to return to with wonder.

Before the Nein—before Jester—bumbled in… why would he have considered this in the first place?

And why would anyone have wanted to do this with him, no strings attached?

And then even when nagging thoughts arose and newer sentiments swirled a mere year- year and a half ago, anything remotely similar was still intolerable- enough to incinerate him within the ice cap of Foren.

But now?

Now it feeds contentment into his very essence, sating a skin’s craving as though it’s never been nourished the same. Then, a note: it hasn’t, not quite like now, though freckled blue hands have certainly heralded this extended circumstance.

So, like a starved vice well-victualed docile, it grows a flourish into the quiet gratitude Essek harbors within his cold heart.

A seed crystal of tactile vocabulary blooms in the polar waters of his growing lexicon, and just like that, certainty settles the same as a sleepy cat in a lap.

This is what was wanted. Needed, even.

If he can remember to mention it to them, Yasha and Jester will be proud to learn their thoughts on such satisfaction have finally sunk in.

He loves them all, he really does.

If he could glow, for a brief moment Essek feels he just might.

And in a moment more, the purr begins anew.

Caleb gives a bright giggle, stirring Essek’s mind enough to remind him he can move, and he finds a path by lip’s touch—nose, cheek, rough jawline—eventually nuzzling soft kisses below Caleb’s ear.

This is nice. This, he can do. Caleb is warm.

Caleb’s heart and hum thrum against Essek’s lips as he meanders under stubbled jaw.

Caleb’s hands hold still all the while, pressing a cozy embrace.

Essek, near boneless now, rests comfortably aside on Caleb’s shoulder, breathes in his sweet-washed scent. Runs slow fingers through the long hair he can reach while draped.

Having learned not to rush, he gradually makes the purr a little louder; maybe Caleb can feel it now too.

And, to Essek’s delight, Caleb’s fingers splay against his shoulder blades as if to hold all they can.

Yet he does not grab, does not grip; Essek is bound solely by his own volition.

As slow, sweeping slides continue, Essek leans more of his weight into Caleb, giving himself over to his fate as putty under Caleb’s kind caresses.

What else can Caleb make of him, with that mind of creation and change, these hands of molding and mending?

And what else can Essek provide him? What else can they both be together? Presence, people- different from before, and not so bad? Maybe, maybe.

Essek does not expect answers at present; time, his future self, will be his informant.

It is quiet, save for the rumble, the slight susurrus of skin to skin and cloth, and their soft-matched breath.

Up, and down. Rise, and fall.

After perhaps a century, maybe a minute or two or few, Caleb’s warm voice contributes a murmur to the gentle air.

“What was I thinking, suggesting a name like Phillip?”

His hands curl like paws, and now he runs knuckles over Essek’s back.

“‘Schmusekatze’ could have fit much better.”

Most of the way into a soft-fog trance, it takes a while longer for Essek to remember he is a creature capable of speech.

When he finally does, words flow airy and roll thick from his tongue, entwined with the louder purr.

“…A proper Empire name, for disguise?”

He hears Common, but the mouthfeel is off, sibilant around the edges, softer in the center, burred.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Caleb makes a low noise like consideration, or a little stifled laugh, voice holding that thicker timbre all his own.

“I have not met someone named such.”

“That is…”

Essek’s heard something like that somewhere.

Recollection drifts buoyed with the rest of his mind before it bumps itself.

“Part sounds like ‘cat’?”

He nuzzles into warm skin.

“As with, hm…”

Ah.

“Der Katzenprinz?”

Caleb nudges against him, a smile in his voice.

“You are not wrong. Though I'd say you're more cuddle than prince for the moment.”

Calling names now, then? That's fun. Essek's practiced with Jester and Kingsley. He can play along.

“You, Caleb Widogast…”

Oh, but his name alone is already unfairly felicitous. How can Essek possibly come up with something that fits just as well?

Caleb hums.

“Me?”

Well, if Caleb is prompting….

“You can be…”

Hmm. Oh- what was the thought earlier, when Caleb was flushed so pretty beneath him?

Ah, that’s right.

Essek decides to sound out his thoughts in Undercommon, just to see how they weigh on his tongue.

And also maybe to tease Caleb a little bit, too.

Caleb doesn’t need to know everything.

“Sreen'aur iz’chath, sune iz’delmah.”

Safe as fire, warm as home- befitting a hearth such as Caleb, no?

He breathes Caleb in deep, speaks the rest of his reasoning with a smiled sigh.

“Lam iz’stylad, iz’xukuth.”

Steady as a pulse, as a heart…

Yes, that’s certainly right, very accurate.

Hearth-heart. That fits, truly.

Should he wrestle it into Common? If it’s a game, no. Not since Caleb offered Zemnian first. The nuance would get lost anyway, not that Caleb has the current ability to gather it.

How to arrange the diminutive then….

‘Chelmath’ is simple enough for hearth, he needn’t reinvent perfection.

Fire is light and light is guidance and it embraces home close, safe and warm.

Like a cozy blanket, just as Caleb does him now.

‘Xukuth’, sturdy, steady, fits well in the middle, as heart is inseparable from home.

“Chelkmuth.”

Ah, yes, that fits around his tongue nicely. So gentle on the outside and a hint of underlying strength clicked faint in the middle. Again, just how Caleb is with him now.

Then Caleb replies, says… something?

Something in Zemnian.

But Essek does catch ‘du’.

So Caleb’s talking about him now, and with the informal ‘you’.

How forward of him, he didn’t even ask to deepen familiarity. Essek can’t help a titter.

Or… is formality different in Zemnian compared to Undercommon…?

He can’t remember at the moment.

Regardless, he asks for clarification.

“Hm?”

Caleb’s chuckle is cozy in Essek’s chest.

“That is a very long name you’ve shared, my friend.”

His friend his friend, Essek’s dear, trusted friend.

No… no no, he can’t say that yet.

Not yet.

Someday, though, maybe.

But is it long, ‘hearth-heart’? It’s not even the expanded compound, only two, or- two-and-a-half-breath syllables when condensed.

Zemnian compounds tend to be much longer.

“It is fitting, Caleb.”

“Ah, I understand that one.”

So Caleb is just teasing, since he’s laughing quietly. Fun, that’s fun. This is nice.

Before Essek can come up with a tease of his own, Caleb speaks again.

“But you’ve actually read that?”

Read what, Der Katzenprinz? Of course.

Essek chuckles through a lazily grinned kiss to the crook of Caleb’s neck. His lips brush the silver chain that rests there.

“Who do you take me for, Caleb Widogast?”

He plays his fingertips slow at Caleb’s nape.

“It is table reading.”

Caleb’s fingertips trace figures like starbursts against Essek’s warming skin.

“It’s entirely in Zemnian, Essek.”

“I know Comprehend Languages, Caleb.”

Still too early for Caleb to know he’s been practicing reading.

Caleb seems none the wiser as his shoulder rises and falls under Essek’s cheek.

“Fair.”

“Mm.”

Essek tucks his nose into Caleb’s hair as his warm palms still, press flat.

“How many times have you read it?”

There’s a grin in the way Caleb’s words rush.

Essek shrugs with an iunno in his throat.

“It’s short. Easy to reread. I’ve had to wait hours for my host to wake, on many occasions.”

He lost count long ago. Let Caleb do the math if he wants.

Fingertips and the edge of blunt nail run along Essek’s spine, eliciting a slight shiver and a shaky breath.

That is very nice.

Then Caleb asks, tone soft.

“Okay?”

Essek sighs a slow smile, nodding into Caleb’s neck.

“Mhm.”

He does it again, up, down. Essek hugs him a little tighter before going lax again.

Then Caleb’s voice drops to an accusatory tease, fingers tracing warm again.

“But table reading, you say?”

Hmm, now which one of the four could draw that tone. Probably not the fairytales. Not the one on transmutation, probably.

Ah, he knows.

Since he can beat Caleb to the punch, Essek nods against his neck again while Caleb returns to open palm caresses.

“Mhm, including Tusk Love many times, yes. But do not tell Jester yet, please?”

“And why is that?”

“It’s only been…”

When did he first read it?

“Only a year, and I want to see how long it will take.”

“How long what will?”

“For her to figure out that I’ve read it.”

Caleb hums.

“A year ago was our trip into Aeor.”

So clever, such a good memory.

“Sharp. You sleep so much, Caleb. I had to pass the time somehow.”

“Is that so?”

Oh, but maybe Essek’s statement sounded like a complaint. That won’t do. Caleb is so pretty when sleepy, at peace.

Essek nudges the side of his head to Caleb’s.

“I didn’t mind, Caleb. Being by.”

“Ah, but that’s past tense, my friend. Should I change my current habits?”

Pedant. There’s another word in Common, more fun, but Essek can’t recall it at the moment.

Either way.

“I don’t mind, no worries.”

And Caleb chuckles.

“This really is honesty hour now, hm?”

Rude, Essek hasn’t been lying at all. He’s been trying so hard to make sure he doesn’t lie unless it’s a harmless thing or to be funny. Or for safety, but that’s different entirely.

He’s even been speaking his mind.

So he protests a mumble into Caleb’s hair.

“I am honest.”

“Apparently.”

Fine, if he wants to play at that.

“Tell me… mm? Tell me something about Aeor, then. It is your turn for honesty, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb hums in consideration maybe, now running open palms along Essek’s sides with extended thumbs pointed to his belly. Caleb’s so smart, so clever. He thinks a lot with that beautiful brain of his, so him taking time to think now is no surprise.

He can have all the time in the universe. In all branched universes before they dissolve into the recycled potential that continues feeding into this one they share here, now.

Essek would give him so, if that is what he wants.

Then, arms stilling, crossing Essek’s back, Caleb leans his head against Essek’s and rocks them side-to-side oh so gently, just the slightest sway.

Him and his dances.

Maybe Essek should practice more. It makes Caleb smile, after all. He’d probably get lots of kisses out of it too, if he surprises Caleb.

He has no option but to surprise Caleb.

Who can he practice with if he wants to surprise him, though?

Jester is the first to come to mind with her lively enthusiasm, but if recent talk is any indication, Beauregard and Yasha have the most current and prolonged experience with Caleb’s tastes in dancing.

Then again… Beau has begun her intensive taunting, and it’s quite a force to reckon with.

That’s Essek’s own fault though, giving her the go-ahead.

Maybe… Yasha and Jester together?

But then Kingsley would probably tag along. And then Fjord, and Caduceus, Beau would notice something was up, and then Veth and Caleb would not miss anything either.

Hm… Complicated. Nosy, meddling, tangled, rambunctious bunch.

And he loves them all for it, so very much.

Like the rumble of a well-tended fireplace, Caleb’s voice is warm, low, as it stirs Essek from his reverie.

“How about this.”

What were they talking about?

But Caleb stays quiet.

Essek nudges in time with Caleb’s rocking.

“You leave me in suspense.”

A lull to their sway, and there’s a smile woven into Caleb’s words, into the way his fingerpads draw lines of heat down Essek’s back.

“Yes, the pause makes it enticing.”

Enticing regardless.

Essek nudges again, a little more insistent.

“Tell me.”

Caleb chuckles low.

“Eiselcross was interesting, the very first time.”

Oh, Aeor, that’s right. Caleb goes on, swaying them again.

“For lovers, one might say.”

“Why…?”

Of any place. Though perhaps he means it tongue-in-cheek.

This time, Caleb’s chuckle passes as a hum.

“Beauregard and Yasha, Fjord and Jester.”

Oh, that makes some sense, then. Interesting folk.

Then his voice dips a touch.

“You and I.”

“We are not lovers.”

The others can have their comfort with the word if they want, but that’s not for him.

And Caleb laughs against him again, quiet and lovely, sweetly soothing miniscule bristles.

“No, this is different, I know. Adjacent.”

“Companions, Caleb.”

Essek kisses it to his silver chain.

And Caleb nudges slow nods in time with his rocks.

“Companions.”

But Aeor was another beginning between them though, wasn’t it? Several of them, really. Essek is not one to choose terms and titles at random.

“Et- no, ento-…? Etym-?”

Essek sniffs as the prefix tangles.

“Origin, of it is with the Aeorians. We always ate together. And you like bread.”

Yet another lovely laugh.

“So that is why you picked it?”

“You didn’t figure?”

“I had my guesses. Rightfully assumed you were being very clever with it.”

Essek preens under the praise, tucking a smiled hum to Caleb’s skin as Caleb continues.

“Still, it really did seem to foster how we all arranged, in some ways.”

“That so?”

Much much later than Essek had assumed, then.

He amends his mental note board of Mighty Nein connections.

“Mm. Maybe it was the looming danger, a sense of urgency, that ushered things further along their trajectories at the time, but… our collective dynamics seem to have worked out well so far, I think.”

So far, so good- everyone seems content, still so close. They care so much for one another, best Essek can tell, assume, hope.

So he nods.

“It is nice, having so many friends that all get along.”

“Pretty special group, hm?”

“Apt description, given you’re pretty and special.”

Caleb chuckles once again, a sound of success that pools sweet in Essek’s stomach.

Then:

“Is that a gift, or should I pass it along to everyone?”

Essek takes a moment to consider, rolls the concept around his mind and tongue.

Caleb deserves the compliment.

“It’s true, but it’s yours, right now.”

“Ah.”

There’s a warm rosette, a curled puff of breath, under Essek’s ear.

“Thank you, my friend. I think you’re rather pretty and special too.”

Delight flutters in Essek’s stomach, and it bubbles up as a sleepy laugh. Caleb joins him out of sync, all the more lovely for it.

Eventually, the quiet maintained solely by breath and purr returns, settling snug as they sway.

And Caleb made no mention of their time in the ruins at all.

“You haven’t told me about Aeor, Caleb.”

His purr burrs his words.

“Our trip.”

“I think, I answered your question.”

Caleb sighs quiet, his voice slow and dramatic like he’s contemplating something important.

“But, if you do insist that I--”

Insisting, Essek sets sharp teeth blunt against the junction of soft neck and pale shoulder.

“Ja ja ja okay, okay, bitte. Gleich.”

He hasn’t heard that last one before at all, and it’s isolated. Must be a little lesson.

“A new word?”

“Ah, so you really are awake.”

“What is that supposed to mean. Both that and this.”

“I wonder.”

Essek gives a close-mouthed grumble, lips warningly flat against Caleb’s neck.

And Caleb laughs, soft.

“Patience and patience. Let me think, please.”

Satisfied, Essek presses pleased kisses to his warm skin.

“You are still being distracting, Essek.”

As he says this, Caleb starts up the swaying anew, and Essek simply huffs a smile as he rests with Caleb’s motion.

Caleb takes his time.

Essek gives him this, his time. Their time, really.

What’s a better use for it than this?

He settles a little heavier, mind slowing again.

After some number of further rocks, Caleb draws them to pause.

His hands resume their slow stroking of Essek’s skin.

And then he breathes a warm whisper, nose nudged closer to nape.

“Perhaps you already know, but I’ve never been quite sure.”

Is there something Essek is supposed to know? He knows quite a lot already.

“Try me.”

A chuckled kiss pressed to the side of Essek’s head, and Caleb murmurs a low rumble to his ear, conspiratorial.

“The number of times I almost kissed you, right on that pretty mouth of yours?”

Shameless flirt, tossing Essek’s words back to him once more, this time with that alluring tone.

But ‘times’, plural?

“Mhmm?”

“Staggering.”

“Oh.”

For a long moment, maybe they’re the only people in the universe.

Then Essek inhales. Counts one, two kisses like that, on Caleb’s own pretty mouth. One almost and the other the first.

He’d missed so many it seems.

“No, I didn’t.”

But that’s alright.

He nudges Caleb with his nose.

“Glad you didn’t, though.”

“Oh?”

That pitch sounds like genuine surprise.

“Mhm. Don’t think I’d’ve liked it much, then.”

“Ah.”

A notable pause before Caleb returns, quieter.

“What about now?”

Oh, no, no, doubt won’t do.

There’s no doubt to be had here.

So, as hopeful reassurance, Essek hums a giggle and nods featherlight presses of his pretty mouth against Caleb’s neck- up, down, lingering with each.

They can make up the deficit.

Make out the deficit, ha.

And now Caleb chuckles with him, bright as before.

Good, good, that’s such a lovely sound. Caleb is lovely. He loves Caleb. And Caleb loves him. And they love each other. Such a lovely little miracle that Essek has to laugh again.

Ah, but laughs do remind him of what they were saying even before all this.

Arm looped behind Caleb’s neck, Essek runs a loose hand over his shoulder, patting at him before sticking a pinkie out as Jester does.

“Promise me you won’t tell Jester I’ve read it.”

“But we could start a book club.”

“I want to ensure she laughs when she finds out, Caleb. I have plans.”

He does not, but he will, he resolves. Jester deserves laughter.

“Promise.”

Still sightless as he has been, Essek pokes at Caleb’s face with his pinkie and finds an ear.

Caleb bumps another chuckle, withdraws a warm hand from Essek’s back, a pity, and links a pinkie with Essek’s, a delight.

“Ja, okay. It’s a promise.”

Both Caleb’s hands return to their steady caresses and Essek sighs a smile.

Oh. Right, the weight of such a pledge.

“A condition I forgot, Caleb.”

“What’s that?”

“Caduceus said he would heal any broken things, in general.”

Caleb’s laugh purls, cresting like sunrise.

“Ah, no need for that, my friend.”

Hands now to the blend of flank and back, he adds a little more pressure with the heels of his thumbs.

“It can be our little secret.”

His warmth seeps deeper into muscle, and Essek sighs a low sound, arching slow into the touch.

“Good?”

Very, very very.

“Mmhm.”

In some distant fragment of his mind, Essek is glad to have indulged in the tower’s lotions.

When Caleb presses again, a little firmer than before, it pulls a drawn out oh from Essek’s lips as he curves with it, pressing his weight chest-to-chest into Caleb. Caleb’s silver-ring pendant is held between hearts.

And Caleb hums; it echoes in Essek’s ribs, warms with the purr.

Pliant dough set to rest after kneading, Essek relaxes further, adjusting on his haunches.

But as he flexes his ankles with the slight shift in weight, the motion sends pins and needles racing through his feet and calves, stabbing into his lax state.

The purr stumbles, but is sustained.

Caleb pauses his ministrations, hands lifted to hover torturously, leaving Essek’s skin to cool.

“Are you alright?”

Essek buries his nose in Caleb’s hair, allows himself a childish grumble while unwilling to open his eyes.

“Legs’ve fallen asleep.”

Caleb reclaims his hands entirely and this is, as far as he can remember in this snug moment, the harshest punishment for candor Essek has yet experienced.

His fabric shields against the world are reinstated with the loss.

Hands gripped into the back of Caleb’s shirt and voice small, Essek shakes his head against the crook of Caleb’s neck.

“Please come back.”

There is a soft laugh in Caleb’s voice as he supplies a few pats to Essek’s back.

“Be comfortable first, Essek.”

Essek huffs and then follows Caleb’s suggestion, unwrapping himself from Caleb’s shoulders and neck.

He blinks open his eyes only to be met by his smiling sun, sky-bright eyes and flame-halo hair, and he suddenly wonders if this is how those built for day feel in its light.

Though, that doesn’t matter much, does it?

This moment is theirs, his and Caleb’s.

They need not compare.

Caleb, radiant as ever, greets him quiet as dawn.

“Hallo.”

Essek simply smiles warm, replies in kind.

“Hello.”

Chapter Text

Still enveloped in gauzy satisfaction, Essek’s mind begins reacclimating to broader awareness and vision.

He and Caleb rearrange themselves, centered on Essek adjusting to sit more sideways and stretching his legs out to get blood flowing as it is intended. This is not without a few more unfortunately rousing winces. Caleb folds himself accordingly, lap a cradle, and Essek finally settles again, leaning into Caleb’s chest with both legs draped over Caleb’s right. This is familiar, they’ve done this before.

More awake now, Essek presses a kiss to Caleb’s knuckles, holds those crinkled blue eyes.

“How are you?”

“Good.”

Here he has been, basking under Caleb’s touch while leaving Caleb entirely unattended.

Essek cups his cheek.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Can I keep…?”

Caleb swipes a slow thumb from chin to jaw, sends warm fingerpads tracing down bared throat.

Oh, right. Essek isn’t the only one who wanted this.

He kisses into Caleb’s palm, against his closed fingertips, before setting Caleb’s hand to his stomach. Leaving Caleb to his own devices, Essek runs his fingers through Caleb’s hair.

“Go on, please.”

Nodding a soft kiss to Essek’s forehead, Caleb’s hand slips under the shirts’ hems.

As fingertips graze over stomach, Essek sucks a quick inhale with a halting purr, and Caleb freezes against him.

“Okay?”

Easily relaxing with a half-lidded smile, purr smoothed soft, Essek nods.

“Mm. You’re warm.”

Caleb chuckles and continues, his touch now confident.

Rather than up and down again, Caleb shifts his hand from side to side, navel, midriff, up.

There’s a fleeting thought pertaining to underbellies and vulnerabilities, but it doesn’t quite catch as Essek’s eyes slip closed and he continues to soak up Caleb’s warmth, his rhythmic motions again easing away motes of aimless tension.

Fingertips find ribs, trace under slight pectoral slopes, smooth up sternum.

And then Caleb pauses when his fingers bump Essek’s veiler.

He takes the amber-eye amulet in hand, removing its contact from Essek’s skin.

He remains paused.

Essek opens his eyes and finds Caleb’s brows beetled over downcast blue, his lips set in a little frown.

“Caleb?”

“I’m…”

Caleb lets out a breath through his nose, lips pressing flat, momentarily wry.

“Sorry.”

Concern tinging the edges of his languor, Essek again cups Caleb’s face with one hand.

“What for?”

“This.”

And Caleb taps the amulet back to Essek’s chest. It is warm against his heart.

“I know it can be a- a shackle, wearing it for so long, and without reprieve.”

Ah. The veiler is not a statement piece, hidden away under layers as it always is, and the purr stops with the reminder.

Essek mentally chides the fickle thing when Caleb’s brows somehow grow further taut.

Essek offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he strokes a thumb along the currently-missing crease of Caleb’s laughter.

“If it means I can be here with a little bit more safety, I can’t fault it, Caleb.”

Now Caleb sounds curious, though no less somber.

“As far as I’ve been able to tell, most divination can’t reach across the tower’s threshold.”

“I know.”

Since Caleb still stares, Essek shrugs. Perhaps leaning into humor will help.

“I like getting to choose who is looking. Being assured that I can decide.”

Caleb’s eyes remain tight.

Essek presses further.

“Especially at times like these.”

There goes some of the tension, quietly chuckled away; Essek can trace a ghost of a line.

“I don’t think any of the others would peep on you, Essek. The tower wouldn’t let them, besides.”

Essek bumps a chuckle back.

“Well, you’re here after all.”

Caleb’s voice falls offendedly flat, but it’s unconvincing paired with the faint crinkle around his eyes.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Humming a smile in lieu of the purr, Essek takes his time with his tease.

“I’ve heard some, mm… tales, let’s say.”

He drops his hand but not his gaze from Caleb’s face, and traces idle patterns into Caleb’s shirt.

“Worry over Fjord’s entanglements at sea, in marked example.”

He pokes fingertips through the ring sheltered below fabric.

“How helpful Frumpkin could be.”

Eyes narrowed, Caleb deadpans.

“I was not watching for hanky-panky reasons.”

Essek raises a silent brow, hooks a smirk.

Caleb’s lips remain pursed like he’s committed to putting up a protest.

So Essek laughs as he pats his hand back to Caleb’s cheek.

“I know. I am also speaking on myself.”

Essek holds his other hand over Caleb’s where it rests against his chill heart.

“Regardless, this for me is… freeing, I suppose.”

Though his face slackens, Caleb still is not smiling.

How to further impress this thought….

Essek has spent time reflecting on both the benefits and detriments of the veiler's constant presence, and there must be a way to convey the security it brings to someone outside his own mind.

Especially one with the same such experience.

Ah, reflection, of course.

Leveling his voice as though to lecture, Essek presents his case.

“Answer me this, Caleb Widogast.”

Trailing down from cheek, Essek traces the thin silver chain hanging around Caleb’s neck and with a finger crooked, he gently teases it out from under Caleb’s collar.

Releasing it high, the smooth silver band it holds thmps against Caleb’s heart.

Essek flicks his eyes to Caleb’s blue.

“Is this a shackle?”

Caleb draws a breath as his brows furrow.

“No.”

Though that could be answer enough if he were to give a pause, Essek continues to play.

Caleb can find the further point himself.

Essek hooks the chain with his right hand’s third finger, his own part of Telepathy's component gleaming like a mirror.

He tugs.

“Why not?”

“You can remove yours.”

“When?”

A spark of recognition lights in Caleb’s bright eyes, and a triumphant thrill spills into Essek’s chill heart.

Clever Caleb replies, checking his work.

“Whenever you want it returned.”

With a wink, Essek taps the side of Caleb’s nose twice. Caleb cracks half a grin.

This must have been the right chord to strike.

So Essek breathes relief, smiles and tucks Caleb’s ring away, giving it a pat once it settles.

“Maybe I’ll feel different later, but for now it’s a reassurance. It was a gift, and it still feels as such.”

Separated by his shirts, Essek sets both his hands atop Caleb’s, all three over the veiler. Then, squeezing Caleb’s hand through fabric, he goes on, part to echo, part to make up for the silence.

“Believe me, Caleb. Please.”

And Caleb bumps a little chuckle, presses a kiss to Essek’s forehead.

“I do.”

Success.

Essek settles against Caleb again, sideways as he has been, and Caleb resumes his perusal.

The purr does not return, but that is alright.

Essek is safe and Caleb knows it.

With the generous allowance of Essek’s roomy garments, Caleb is able to freely reach all the way to his collarbone and shoulder. Even so, there are distinct areas of avoidance to either side of his sternum, yet to be warmed.

“Caleb?”

“Mm?”

“I did say anywhere.”

“You did.”

And Caleb’s hand remains centered, fingerpads tracing curves to the hollow of Essek’s clavicle.

Caleb’s continued hesitation is just enough to unwrap Essek from the vestigial blanket of stupor and draw his attention to the reality of their arrangement.

And what a scandalous picture of debauchery they must be, Essek pressing up so indulgent against his human, lounging lax in Caleb’s lap with Caleb’s forearm, albeit sleeved, resting wholly under his rucked shirts.

He tries not to think too much about it; contentment narrowly outweighs embarrassment.

Redirecting attention, Essek focuses solely on Caleb. Perhaps the lack of the purr is dissuading.

“You want me to show you?”

Caleb gives a solitary, oddly-intent nod.

Essek nudges Caleb’s hand aside, aside, and Caleb inhales as if he is the one being touched, his eyes still watching Essek’s face close.

So that’s what the pause was for.

Essek trails fingertips backwards across Caleb’s cheekbone and traces around the shell of his short ear.

“I don’t think it feels the same for me as it does you.”

Seeming emboldened, Caleb presses firmer, circles his thumb as he’d coaxed Essek to earlier.

“You feel much the same to me as I do.”

Now Essek pulls Caleb’s cheek, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t play, you’re not going to get anything.”

Caleb tosses him a grin that seems equal parts shy and cheeky.

“Sorry.”

He sweeps his hand opposite before returning it to Essek’s side, brushing with knuckles and the backs of nails.

Then he chuckles a murmur.

“You hit me in the face last time I touched an ear.”

Essek fights down the warmth attempting to rise in his face and looks aside to mutter.

“They’re sensitive.”

Caleb’s hand pauses, open-palm warmth against ribs, before passing across midriff.

“Is that, ah, common, do you know?”

A glance reveals a guileless blue gaze.

Essek watches the bedspread.

“Another reason why hair care tends to be quite, um- personal, within the Dynasty.”

“Oh.”

“Hm?”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Mm.”

“Do in and outside feel different, then?”

Caleb’s hand rests stationary again, back over belly.

Hazarding another glance over Caleb’s expression, he still seems purely inquisitive rather than attempting to be invasive, despite the pretty blush staining his cheeks.

Fine. Essek sighs as if that will extinguish his own.

“Ticklish and irritable versus… ah- nice…? I guess. In- certain circumstances.”

And he rushes on.

“But generally uncomfortable if unwarranted or unexpected and I’m surprised this hasn’t come up sooner, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

“I figured it might be rude. You used to wear so much more um, decoration.”

Oh.

“Ah-. Yes. Well-.”

What else has Caleb seen of him.

Essek clears his throat, finds the words caught there.

“You’d have been quite right, so. Thank you, for the restraint, I suppose.”

Caleb quirks a smirk, his eyes still seeming to wander Essek’s face curious.

Essek returns the gaze.

“What are you thinking?”

Slow and light, as though paging through an ancient text, Caleb runs his fingertips over stomach, side, back.

“That I’ve never quite… done something like this.”

“No?”

And Caleb shakes his head.

Well, this is a little surprising.

Then Caleb breathes a slight smile.

“This is… it’s new, different. But nice. We can take our time, just….”

Continuing to rhythmically stroke over Essek’s skin, Caleb lets quiet hang as if to emphasize the seconds they are passing together.

But new. No wonder he’s seemed so tempered despite his eagerness.

And this information also spins the fact that Caleb spoke with Marion today in a different light. Reframes at least some of his preparedness and confidence as graciously advised deliberation instead of overawing aptitude, answering an earlier ‘what’. Yesterday’s bath seems plenty a prompt for such, now that Essek is thinking about it.

Maybe he really should talk to her, too. She’s only ever been kind with him, and Caleb shouldn’t have to do everything between them. Essek can hold his own, if he has the knowledge to do so.

Caleb nudges Essek from thought.

“Have you?”

Essek shakes his head.

And Caleb nods with a little sigh.

“Last I did anything remotely similar, I didn’t… really expect I would have much. Time, I mean.”

So he is thinking a lot about memory as well.

The complicated sort? Highly likely.

Essek watches close, to be sure.

“And that was before, everything?”

Caleb drags out a shiver with blunt nails against Essek’s side.

“Mhm. Or, well, before not so much as- during, I suppose.”

While Essek wouldn’t quite call Caleb’s expression a grimace, there’s a wry twist to his lips before his face smooths softer.

“And not- not after, though.”

And then Caleb huffs a single bump.

“Lucky you, you get me out of practice.”

Though Caleb divulged this last part yesterday, the phrasing here clicks a loose piece into place, answering an earlier ‘why’ and explaining nerves a little further. But Essek can’t overlook the knowledge that Caleb is so willing to be here, with him, despite them.

So he lifts a hand and caresses smooth-to-stubbled cheek, offers a gentle smile.

“Lucky me, I get you, Caleb Widogast.”

This is new, and they’re both practicing together.

Caleb’s face softens further with pressed lips, upturned brows, blue eyes slow-blinking pretty.

He tucks a kiss against Essek’s wrist.

Then he sighs through his nose, face settling into what Essek can recognize as bittersweet recollection.

“Usually it wasn’t so, um. Calm, then. Passions of youth, or so.”

His smile diminishes some.

“Generally more for escape than enjoyment I think, though, looking back.”

Another bound slots into place: two nights prior, Caleb wouldn’t kiss him when he, Essek, was wading out the depths of distress. But Caleb still stayed by, stayed so close and comforting, just the same as tonight. So there’s some distinction between a kiss and an embrace in that regard.

Was earlier tonight an uncertain departure from old habits, ingrained but atrophied, then?

Essek chews this over for a moment.

He meets Caleb’s eyes, flits between them.

“I can’t say I understand what that is like, necessarily, but…”

What he’s looking for, he’s not sure.

“It seems important to you.”

A few short lines, and already so much makes new sense.

“It was. Is?”

A flick of a half grin, quiet blue eyes.

“It’s complicated. You know.”

Complicated, and still he stays. Because, despite, regardless.

Curiosity claims Essek’s tongue and he asks, soft.

“Will you tell me more?”

“Now?”

And why does Caleb look surprised?

Essek runs a gentle thumb under Caleb’s eye, along the figments of past tear trails.

“Whenever you’re inclined.”

Caleb isn’t the only one to have a fascination with learning how and why things tick. Not knowledge sought for its own sake in this case, no. Instead, it is for care, solely to better chart cognizant courses through and around waters once deeply murky, now a little less so.

He draws a fingertip from strong nose, to a corner of pink lips, to dimpled chin.

“It’s part of you.”

If he has learned anything in past months, there is nothing but rewarding amelioration to be found within further understanding, intention distilled pure as this.

Then again, maybe it’s naïve, to consider his own aims innocent or harmless or beneficial. Especially with one as enrapturing as Caleb.

But that feels to be the case, anyway.

Caleb leans into Essek’s hand, stubble rubbing rough to palm.

“Maybe, then. I don’t… well, to say I don’t want to do this wrong implies there’s a right way.”

There’s an underlying tenderness on Caleb’s tongue and the gentle slope of his brow, and Essek would almost swear by the shine of his blue eyes that he means ‘I want to do right by you and myself’.

Then Caleb goes on with a shrug.

“I don’t want to be a bore, at the very least.”

A bore? Perhaps he is tired of storytelling outright for the time being.

“You don’t have to tell me, Caleb.”

“I know.”

That will be all for now, then.

Idle curiosity continues to drive Essek’s train of thought, though in an adjacent direction.

“What will you do, when you grow bored?”

“Of?”

“Me.”

Caleb’s hand stills against Essek’s stomach.

Essek chuckles at the concern.

“I can’t always be so, ah-.”

He waves a lazily showy hand to hopefully make his sarcasm clear.

“Engrossing.”

Relaxing, Caleb moves his hand again, kneading a thumb above navel.

“Well, I’d need to find that limit first.”

“Do you think you will?”

“I don’t know. Do you expect me to?”

“I don’t know what to expect. What’s a typical thing to expect with things like this?”

“What’s ‘typical’?”

Again a pedant. Maybe Essek can outsource his vocabulary.

“Mm, what was that word- phrase? Fjord used it. Almost rhymed in itself. Something small and fiddly, a little pointless poke.”

“Nitpicky?”

Like an itch scratched gone, the word gives rise to relief.

“That’s the one. That’s a nitpicky, ‘what’s typical?’.”

“Nitpick is the noun, and verb.”

Essek gasps a scandalized breath.

He supplies a pat to Caleb’s cheek, deadpans.

“You’ve led me astray, Caleb Widogast. How dare you.”

Caleb kisses the heel of his palm, his voice just as flat.

“Forgive me, Essek.”

And Essek beams.

“Forgiven.”

A brow raised, and Caleb presses another kiss, this one with a smile.

“Are you wandering or trying to make a point?”

Essek hooks his smile sly.

“Why not both?”

Then he settles his face back to neutral.

“No, I don’t know. Wandering, I suppose. This is how conversation works, yes?”

“Your research has paid off, my friend.”

“Wonderful, I’ll be an expert in no time.”

“Speaking of, if memory serves.”

Oh no. That tone holds nothing but mischief.

Same goes for the glint in Caleb’s eyes.

“I seem to recall one of us claiming even a lifetime’s study of the other wouldn’t be comprehensive enough. Do you feel that’s still true?”

Caleb’s memory is going to be the bane of his existence.

Face warming, Essek removes Caleb’s hand from his shirts. He studies the whorls and arches of his pale fingertips, his short nails and well-kept cuticles—the latter still a surprise for such a hands-on mage—and pointedly ignores the smug face Caleb must be wearing.

There is a reason Essek said it in the dark, unseen. Or- several, but diffidence and decorum are bedfellows much the same as he and Caleb.

Essek mutters.

“It really hasn’t been that long since.”

Caleb taunts further.

“That's indirect.”

Essek continues his protest.

“It's accurate.”

“Inconclusive.”

“Complex.”

“Evasive.”

“Embarrassed.”

Gritting that out is apparently too much a show of truth, as Caleb expertly counters him with cunning, cutting verity.

“Vulnerable.”

Essek only glares in response.

He was right about Caleb’s expression; Caleb oozes self-satisfaction as his nose wrinkles with a laugh, and Essek fights to keep his scowl up through Caleb’s tease.

“Ah, was that it?”

“You’re insufferable.”

Caleb speaks to Essek’s temple, words dropping to a whisper that dares to border on reverent.

“And yet you stay.”

Still maintaining a grumble despite his cooled face, Essek leans further into Caleb’s hold.

“Would you rather I go?”

“I’d rather you do as you please.”

And Essek sighs in defeat as his traitorous face cracks with a grin.

“I am.”

With a kiss to Caleb’s palm, Essek sits up, returning to his haunches to properly face Caleb.

“Yes, I still mean it.”

Essek is quite glad for Caleb’s short ears; they don’t hold his long hair very well.

So, simply because he can, he tucks away the soft locks that have worked themselves loose.

“Every day, I am-. Trying.”

Continuing the motion, Essek cups Caleb’s cheeks, cradling his warm face precious between palms.

“I’m learning. How to be here, what that means to you, and me.”

He didn’t spend weeks translating the prayer preceding such a confession for something he thought would be exceedingly transient a sentiment.

“I know I can, for myself. For you.”

Essek takes a breath and continues even though he’s unchallenged, recites the prayer's closing praise soft.

“You, a safe beacon of light and hope, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb's eyes go wide.

Just to prove honesty, Essek appends.

“That was the name, earlier. ‘Chelkmuth’. Don't ask me to say it again.”

A moment of quiet, calm, as his words settle soft between them.

Caleb seems to find his words; they're flavored gently with humor.

“Should mine for you go without reprise?”

Essek gives him a chuckle.

“Call me what you will, Caleb. Add to the list. I still mean that, too.”

Nose and brows now scrunched, Caleb’s blue eyes crinkle; they’re curved-dark above apple cheeks and deep-creased smile lines.

That deep delight again.

Hands resting against Essek’s waist, Caleb nuzzles their noses together, his voice just as soft as his touch.

“Give yourself some credit, then.”

He places a little kiss on the tip of Essek’s nose as he crosses his arms behind Essek’s back and draws him closer.

“You know yourself and I’ve yet to, and I doubt there’s a dearth to find.”

Perhaps that’s true in both directions, then: facets, new and old, to be discovered, made, gifted.

Heart held, cradled cold with Caleb's offer of potential, Essek offers him a half grin in return, arms linked loose behind his neck.

“I hope that’s the case.”

And Caleb sets his lips to the side of Essek’s chin.

“I know it is, and my interests are not so fickle besides.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

Caleb’s gaze trails low as a smile flickers around his eyes.

“All the more reason for me to stay.”

This is not so surprising; voluntary presence, a sentiment requited.

Essek provides a leaned grin in reply before Caleb’s question has a voice, and Caleb gently matches, a little laugh on his lips.

Simple and unhurried, they impress a soft amble of shared contentment.

And then, just as leisurely, Caleb’s hands begin to descend behind Essek’s hips.

Quickly filled with that restlessness he’s yet to determine if he enjoys, Essek draws his lower lip in with a mm-mn and a shake of his head.

Caleb’s hands instantly retreat.

“No?”

“No.”

And Caleb beams, peppering gentle kisses to Essek’s chuckling face before Essek pulls him into an embrace and supplies a counteroffer to his long hair.

“How is this?”

Caleb only deepens the hug, holding tighter like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Essek nods against him, a smile sighed as they stay together.

This is nice; Caleb is warm.

When he finally draws away, there is mischief in Caleb’s voice.

“Maybe later?”

A slight squint of a smile, and Essek teases back.

“Maybe later. Maybe not.”

“Either way, so long as I can have you here.”

A full grin breaks out.

“I’m here.”

Then Caleb inquires while still holding him, running warm hands over Essek’s upper arms.

“Are you wanting to stay here tonight? I’m beginning to think about sleep.”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Always.”

Now why does he have to say sappy things like that.

Essek holds their foreheads together for a moment.

“I should probably change, then.”

Caleb gives a put-on pout, some gleam in his eye, shining bright. Suspicious.

“I like you as you are.”

“I mean clothes, funnyman.”

“The compliment stands.”

“Flatterer.”

And Essek winces as the word leaves his lips.

“That’s three for three so far.”

Caleb’s victorious grin broadcasts nothing but sharp self-satisfaction.

Essek kisses it soft.

When breathless to satisfaction, he murmurs to Caleb’s lips.

“I’ll be stuck here if you keep distracting.”

And Caleb laughs bright.

“Be free, Essek.”

A nudge of farewell, a smile of send-off.

“Come back as you like.”

Essek could, quite easily with his new door, return to his own chambers and change into the sleepwear he keeps with him. But he’s already here, so he may as well stay.

There are things here he’s yet to try, after all.

So Essek shuffles his way towards the armoire and Caleb turns facing away from him, leaning a casual slouch against the headboard without question nor prompt.

A flicker of disappointment is enough to settle Essek’s course into certainty.

He rustles through the pajama drawer Caleb keeps for him, back turned to the bed. Decisions, decisions, and not solely about sleepwear.

Considering different pant-shirt combinations, Essek focuses on the task of dressing to distract from what he is intending to say.

“Caleb?”

“Mhmm?”

Despite the controlled atmosphere, Essek’s not quite warmed up to the quarter sleeves, so half-sleeved it is. Then again, there’s always Caleb’s shirts and their roominess….

“You hold no expectations?”

“I try not to.”

Then again again, he could be a touch even bolder with regards to spacious garments, as he hasn’t made use of the nightgowns at all yet.

Now he wonders if there are long sleeved ones.

He continues shuffling through.

“I’m not putting on a ‘show’ as you might say, but.”

Ah, this one has longer sleeves. Essek holds it out, measures it to his front. Seems it will hit just below the knee. That’s not too new; that should be alright.

Off with the overshirt, leave the undershirt, as per usual.

“You can look, if you would like.”

The air seems rather cool against his bare arms. His ears remain warm.

“You’re sure?”

Essek stays paused despite the nerves beginning to stew.

“I’m debating rescinding the offer the longer we discuss, but yes.”

“Say no more, my friend. Point taken.”

There’s a shuffle behind, then quiet, and then Essek slips on the shift. Very comfortable, actually, and just thick enough to not cling, opaque as all else in this drawer is.

As he’s twisting to examine the drape, his eyes catch on Caleb’s book, the one he had sent to the writing desk.

“I’m sorry for taking your book earlier- I know you have your order. But, thank you for letting me.”

Lounge pants are next to go, easily enough since all is covered. All else under remains, including the socks. He leaves those if only to not torture Caleb with cold toes.

“I was done writing for the time being. This pause from it will make it better.”

Strange phrasing- is it intended to be a novel, then? But if it’s to be a riveting read then maybe a delay helps with planning anticipation. That makes some sense, at least.

Maybe one day he’ll get to know what Caleb is making with it.

But that’s a thought for another time.

Essek folds up his clothes meticulously, before shoving away hesitation and turning to see how Caleb awaits.

He’s a little flushed with what looks like a schooled soft smile, but otherwise he seems to be on his best behavior. This is not so surprising, merely another step of assurance that Essek has rightfully gifted this trust.

Essek presses a smile with ducked eyes and circles the bed to place his loungewear on his left-hand nightstand.

He pauses.

Caleb did say it can produce anything, albeit small.

Maybe Essek can give him one more thing before they rest.

So he thinks with intent as he is accustomed to in this tower, opens the nightstand’s drawer, and finds exactly what he asked for.

He should have considered something for cleanliness as well, but Prestidigitation will suffice.

Caleb watches closely, probably quite curious, as Essek returns.

Once again, he kneels before him.

And now, Essek proffers his gift: a single morsel of honeyflame bread, extra cinnamon.

“Since you didn’t get any tonight.”

There is a strange, heavy beat as Caleb simply stares, Essek continuing to hold up the bite between thumb and forefinger for Caleb to take.

And take he does, almost delicately, slowly and between teeth. He holds eye contact through lashes all the while.

Essek isn’t sure what to do about this, but he stays put regardless, oddly enthralled.

Caleb chews with deliberation, face neutral, eyes still latched to Essek’s own.

And then he flashes a grin, eyes sparking as they flick to Essek’s lips, the only warnings before he lunges.

“No you don’t!”

A flurry of words and gestures—reflexive cast attempt, counterspell, counterspell—and then the air rests quiet again with slight-panted breath.

Essek, now fallen to his back, holds his feeding hand as a shield to Caleb’s mouth.

Caleb, wide-eyed and flushed, facing conversely and angled just offset with his nose a mere inch above Essek’s, now levitates.

Other applications indeed; he is glad to have kept the bracelet with him.

Caleb quickly regains composure and kisses a sticky-laughed imprint to Essek’s palm, mischief the only thing unswallowed.

“And here I thought you wanted to share, only bringing out one.”

“Caleb, that is disgusting. I am not a bird.”

And Caleb smiles rosy-cheeked wide delight, framed in sweet-scented flame and entirely unapologetic.

“Apologies for ruffling your feathers, then.”

Since he is so very close, Essek flicks his cheek with a sticky forefinger.

“Was it good, at least?”

And Caleb bites back, holding eyes intent and the digit between blunt teeth, before kissing Essek’s fingertip damp, but honey-free. Essek finds he rather doesn’t mind.

Caleb drops him a devilish grin.

“Delectable.”

Then he turns schmoozy.

“Perfect for when one is feeling particularly”-

He taps a kiss to the tip of Essek’s nose.

-“peckish.”

This man.

“Come here.”

Essek tugs Caleb down gently with his unsticky hand threaded to nape, and lifts his own chin to slot their mouths unparted.

The spell holds.

When they separate, Essek licks his lips in a manner he hopes he’s made mostly modest, and cleans his thumb and palm of honey the same.

Voice smooth, he supplies a nod.

“There. I’ve had my taste.”

It is sweet. Spiced.

Both hands now laced behind Caleb’s neck, Essek asks with narrow-smiled eyes and a fang caught to his lip, half genuine, half dare.

“Satisfied?”

Caleb’s reply comes in the form of another kiss, held lingering. Gentle and chaste, gracious and undemanding.

The spell holds.

Drawing back a breath, noses bumped, Caleb’s words are as soft as his smile.

“Quite, thank you.”

Essek tucks red hair behind one rounded ear, then the other.

And then he puts on his sweetest smile, the one reserved for the best of tricky occasions, as it is exactly what Caleb deserves.

He pushes Caleb up and aside, and then releases Levitate.

Caleb plops to the mattress with a soft-winded oof.

Essek, having not considered reactions to actions, ends up yelping a jounce, pressing flush against Caleb’s side with the impact.

Faceplanted, limbs splayed, Caleb’s back shakes with a muffled laugh as he throws an arm over Essek and pats a hand to his heart.

“I admire your concentration, my friend.”

“I have a younger brother.”

Essek stares at the bed’s canopy, its wood grain star map visible even in the light, while his continued words bubble around a heavy chuckle.

“And also Veth is extremely proficient with Luc’s toy crossbow.”

The warm line of Caleb’s full-bodied guffaw jostles Essek into joining the same.

Overall, a success.

Eventually, once they have finally quieted, Caleb sits up from his prone position, and he holds out a hand to Essek.

When Essek accepts, Caleb hoists him to sitting and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Essek gives him one in kind.

It’s a truce.

They nestle their way under dimming lights and covers; the sheets do feel divine, even just brushing calf.

Side by side on sides and with breath shared, Caleb runs the back of first and second fingers along Essek’s cheek.

“Will you be up for a while longer?”

Essek holds Caleb’s unoccupied hand between both his, half smile set deep.

“I’m not sure. The day is catching up to me.”

“I propose an experiment, then, if you would like to partake, though it may leave you hours to wait yet again.”

Essek hums as if trying to decide.

“You have my curiosity.”

“How aware are you when you trance?”

Oh? Interesting already.

“Depends on how deep a trance it is.”

“With an average depth.”

“I can generally tell when you shift in your sleep.”

He does not finish the statement by saying ‘because I am trying to grow attuned to you and your rest’.

The way Caleb blinks fond, he may have heard it regardless.

Caleb speaks his proposal with a warm smile.

“If I were to do as I did earlier, my hand on your side, would you feel that?”

Oh. Very interesting indeed.

“In all likelihood, though I cannot guarantee it entirely.”

“May I? Over the gown.”

Expression schooled flat, now Essek throws him a little playful derision.

“And who is this for exactly, you or I?”

Caleb winks.

“I can be a little selfless.”

A smile indents Essek’s cheeks.

Drawing the hand on his face to his lips, he presses a long kiss to Caleb’s knuckles, the backs of his fingers, and sets his warm palm to his waist. Then he returns to holding Caleb’s loose hand.

“Indulge me.”

Caleb squeezes hand and side, thumbs caressing both.

His eyes make those happy curves, silvered-blue in the dark.

“My pleasure.”

And Caleb begins to run his hand over Essek’s side, not straying to stomach or back or hip. Strokes up are notably lighter than down, a distinct pattern from before.

Essek considers this as he meters his breath to match Caleb’s motion and, with remarkable ease, alights into restful relaxation.

Down, and up. Rise, and fall.

Perhaps it is a secret message? Wouldn’t that be silly.

Down, and up. Rise, and fall.

It almost reminds Essek of the way one pets a cat, coasting in one direction so as to not ruffle fur.

Down, and up. Rise, and fall.

Oh. It is a message.

Down, and up. Rise, and fall.

He’s trying not to drag the gown up.

Down, and up. Rise, and fall.

Essek could kiss him for it, but that would put a pause on their experiment, and they’ve only just begun.

So instead, he wanders to find the place within himself that keeps his purr, since that stubborn thing has yet to return. It has to be somewhere, and Caleb would probably like that right now.

He ends up among towering thoughts, spiraled tall as a verdantly vertical garden.

A tintinnabulation sparkles consistently through the space, encouraging rose-tinted blooms with its song. They draw his attention aside, and though he longs to investigate, he has a task before he can settle in to do so.

He rummages around applicable plots; plants ceded and seeds planted, the new record present whim.

Behaviors tended to foster connection, habits left to wilt and mulch to nourish purposeful development, thoughts pruned to encourage meaningful redirection, efforts grown fresh every day.

And—ah!—there it is, well-watered right along his current stream of consciousness, newly sprouted in mint condition and comparison to the long-withering years contained in his decupled duodecennial drought.

On his way back to the garden’s wall, he plucks a few low-hanging sentiments—fondness, amusement, calm—just because he knows they’ll be genuinely sweet, these concepts so easily sincere now that they have been cultivated with such care from near nothing.

He returns to the boundary of wakefulness with his prize held proud and his successful pick of saved succor, preserving the latter along the winding path of his memory bank.

He sets the rumbled notion beside himself as one would with a laugh or a cherished music box, dusted off proper and opened to sound, letting it root closer to consciousness. Perhaps it will grow to be as easy as breathing, its beginning voluntary as well as spontaneous.

Though deeper, chiming thoughts still call Essek to examine them, he leans on the veil of semiconsciousness, focused tactile just to feel Caleb as long as he can.

As he does, he finds that Caleb’s caressing hand has gained a tremor to its rhythm. Were he not breathing along to keep himself submerged, Essek isn’t sure he would have noticed. His equilibrium sways just slightly, quite the opposite of an ocean rock in magnitude and frequency.

Essek smiles to himself. Caleb must be laughing again. Finding the purr was a good idea.

Willing it louder, he finetunes its dial, slowly, slowly.

Then, warmth presses the back of one hand, soft and brief, a dearly familiar rosette; now Essek can say for certain he’s able to recognize Caleb’s kiss in his sleep. Hand shifted, there’s another pressure, firm and lasting. This second one seems a little damp, prickly rough. Well, Essek has most certainly survived things worse than a stubbled cheek and sweaty palm.

And so this continues until the tremor quiets to the same steadiness as before.

Caleb’s hand continues its caresses.

Down, and up. Rise, and fall.

Eventually, eventually, Caleb’s hand grows heavier, slower, until he, too, stills to peace.

Essek leaves his little music box open to play until it winds down on its own, and heads off to find that steady chime- that smooth ring.

Heart light, his stride towards this unknown is comfortable, confident, and content.