20 Searing, 123
"Aurin?" The smith's voice was quiet in the already quiet room.
It was his own bedroom, in his own house, and he was in bed, bare as born, with the man he loved tucked close beside him. For all the trials, dangers and fears that had come with the Eclipse, the continued cold at least made it comfortable to cuddle, skin to skin, without becoming sweat-sticky. The had made love, or fucked, or whatever whomever wanted to call it, and now they were laying close as the single candle left alight burned down on its holder. There was time left before it would snuff itself, perhaps an hour, and Torin was content to let it do so without interference. It wasn't especially late, but Timon was elsewhere for the night, and, after supper, there had been no reason for the two men not to spend their time in what way they chose as best.
Thus they found themselves, bodies in the state of languid, comfortable tired that was not exhaustion, but still made Torin feel heavy, as though his bed were iron and he a lodestone. His mind drifted for a time, staring up at nothing in particular as he dreamt, still wakeful, of fanciful creations and far off places. When he began to come back to himself, he recalled the resolution he had made, and the second he had made to inform his master of the first.
That was when he spoke the name that lived ever etched on his heart, tentative, as a question. When he got a sound as response he said,
"Can I talk to you about something?" This too was tentative, not because he thought Aurin might reject his request for a conversation, but because what he wanted to talk about might end up being uncomfortable.
"Aurin?" The smith's voice was quiet in the already quiet room.
It was his own bedroom, in his own house, and he was in bed, bare as born, with the man he loved tucked close beside him. For all the trials, dangers and fears that had come with the Eclipse, the continued cold at least made it comfortable to cuddle, skin to skin, without becoming sweat-sticky. The had made love, or fucked, or whatever whomever wanted to call it, and now they were laying close as the single candle left alight burned down on its holder. There was time left before it would snuff itself, perhaps an hour, and Torin was content to let it do so without interference. It wasn't especially late, but Timon was elsewhere for the night, and, after supper, there had been no reason for the two men not to spend their time in what way they chose as best.
Thus they found themselves, bodies in the state of languid, comfortable tired that was not exhaustion, but still made Torin feel heavy, as though his bed were iron and he a lodestone. His mind drifted for a time, staring up at nothing in particular as he dreamt, still wakeful, of fanciful creations and far off places. When he began to come back to himself, he recalled the resolution he had made, and the second he had made to inform his master of the first.
That was when he spoke the name that lived ever etched on his heart, tentative, as a question. When he got a sound as response he said,
"Can I talk to you about something?" This too was tentative, not because he thought Aurin might reject his request for a conversation, but because what he wanted to talk about might end up being uncomfortable.
