76th of Searing, Year 122
And then there was joy.
It was strange -- despite the harrowing circumstances that had led them there, Asher and his lover had lived well the last few weeks. It was, doubtlessly, the warmest glimpse he had ever had at life. Over time, it became clear that his role in the Legion was no longer to guard the Emperor, but to serve as Talon's right-hand. Given that, he had been allowed to spend nearly every waking hour with him if wanted, and Asher took the opportunity more times than not. They had spoken much, sharing stories and perspectives, mostly rudimentary things but also deeper things: Asher had been given the opportunity to dive into the way his lover thought, the things that guided him.
Their intimacy had changed shape. The hesitation and awkwardness from before had gone, as their dynamic evolved away from transaction and command, and closer to mutual trust and affection. Gone were the worries that he would be discarded or reassigned after fulfilling his duty; the Empire had not denied him Talon, nor Talon him. From that, his loyalty had become bolstered, as parts of him wondered whether he was finally being given the freedom and companionship he deserved. Asher wondered if his service to the Empire was the source of this treatment, and ignored any thought that his place at Talon's side was luck, and happenstance. He was privy to feeling that everything in Gelerian was engineered, including his current, blissful state of mind.
Early in the morning on the seventy-fifth, he had been asked to meet his lover at the lighthouse that night, the retreat they often shared when they wanted to be further away from company, appointments and prying eyes. The two met once darkness fell, and before long became enveloped within one another, a night of passion joining them as a welcome reprieve. Asher awoke within the corded strength of his lover's frame, Talon's naked leg hanging over him and Asher's hand clinging to a mound of muscle between his lover's axilla and obliques. Sighing, the Kathar opened his eyes, leaning into Talon's masculine warmth, their bodies meeting with gentle friction.
"Good morning, my dear," whispered the Knight, who moved to thumb along his lover's stubble. "Rest well?"
And then there was joy.
It was strange -- despite the harrowing circumstances that had led them there, Asher and his lover had lived well the last few weeks. It was, doubtlessly, the warmest glimpse he had ever had at life. Over time, it became clear that his role in the Legion was no longer to guard the Emperor, but to serve as Talon's right-hand. Given that, he had been allowed to spend nearly every waking hour with him if wanted, and Asher took the opportunity more times than not. They had spoken much, sharing stories and perspectives, mostly rudimentary things but also deeper things: Asher had been given the opportunity to dive into the way his lover thought, the things that guided him.
Their intimacy had changed shape. The hesitation and awkwardness from before had gone, as their dynamic evolved away from transaction and command, and closer to mutual trust and affection. Gone were the worries that he would be discarded or reassigned after fulfilling his duty; the Empire had not denied him Talon, nor Talon him. From that, his loyalty had become bolstered, as parts of him wondered whether he was finally being given the freedom and companionship he deserved. Asher wondered if his service to the Empire was the source of this treatment, and ignored any thought that his place at Talon's side was luck, and happenstance. He was privy to feeling that everything in Gelerian was engineered, including his current, blissful state of mind.
Early in the morning on the seventy-fifth, he had been asked to meet his lover at the lighthouse that night, the retreat they often shared when they wanted to be further away from company, appointments and prying eyes. The two met once darkness fell, and before long became enveloped within one another, a night of passion joining them as a welcome reprieve. Asher awoke within the corded strength of his lover's frame, Talon's naked leg hanging over him and Asher's hand clinging to a mound of muscle between his lover's axilla and obliques. Sighing, the Kathar opened his eyes, leaning into Talon's masculine warmth, their bodies meeting with gentle friction.
"Good morning, my dear," whispered the Knight, who moved to thumb along his lover's stubble. "Rest well?"
