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The wizard was unexpected.
Obviously, Essik had met foreign mages before. Even mages from the Dwendalian empire weren’t unheard of in there parts—no one had come over in many years, yes, but there was the occasionally outcast magic user wandering around the moors, sometimes summoned to town for one reason or another.
They were necromancers at the end of their half-lives, sorcerers running from a land that wanted to control them, clerics that took their magic from a forbidden god.
This man— Caleb , Essik mouthed, rolling the name over his tongue, Caleb Widogast —was different.
The first time he’d seen him he’d thought the man was a slave, dressed in leathers and covered in mud, standing subservient to the others. And then he’d pulled a beacon of the Luxon, a holy symbol beyond any holy symbol, a part of his god , out of a pink backpack, and held it before the entire high council.
It had been a desperate move, the Shadowhand knew that— not the action of a cowardly enchanter, or a feeble old warlock, and not the action of a calculating, manipulative man, either. Essik knew his fair share of men like that, who would’ve held the beacon in front of the council and demanded rewards before giving it back, demanded riches and accolades and all number of favours.
Caleb Widogast hadn’t done that. He’d asked for something, sure, but only after the Bright Queen offered a favour; and he hadn’t even asked it for himself, as far as Essik could see, but for his friend.
There was something about that image—of a filthy, cornered man wearing leather slave straps and with tears in his voice, holding up the physical embodiment of a dynasty’s hope—that Essik suspected would stay with him for a very long time.
He’s just some wizard, though , he thought, just another runaway Empire mage.
It doesn’t matter if he looks—well.
Mages from the Dwendalian Empire weren’t supposed to look like that .
They were old and twisted, their faces half shriveled to bits from all the torture and experimentation inflicted upon them by their Assembly, or else their skin was stained red and black with the blood of nameless murdered millions. Not straight-backed and proud and curious, and so bizarrely beautiful not even being bound and covered in dirt could keep Essik from staring at him.
He knew some of that, this Kryn image of an Empire mage, had to be an exaggeration, but it was still somewhat startling to glance over his shoulder at the group he was leading, and see a man like Caleb Widogast.
Even more startling to find the wizard staring back .
“Herr Shadowhand,” the human called to him, a faint, intriguing smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. “Are we permitted to look at the public library again, sometime?”
“I imagine so, for a few hours, Herr Wizard,” Essik replied, making sure to show his teeth when he smiled back. “But if you need longer then I’m sure something can be arranged.”
“Thank you, sir," Widogast replied, nodding his head and letting that levity linger in his expression as he held eye contact.
That was the other thing—Essik, like all children of Xhorhas, had grown up hearing about the subjugation of the Dwendalians, how they were forced to conform to these bizarre systems and rules, trained to always bow to their masters, their barons, their lords.
He'd always hated that idea, felt repulsed by the notion of constant deference, but a part of him did have to admit—there was something quite charming about the wizard’s manners. Maybe it was in the particular care he took in pronouncing Common, or in how easily he used honorifics, but Essik wouldn’t mind, really wouldn’t mind, hearing, in a different context, the way Widogast said certain words.
— please , may I, thank you, I need —
Possibly not the best things to be thinking of in public.
They’d just visited the library again, and the newcomers had spoken to the Professor after their most recent venture to the north. Essik hadn’t bothered listening in—there were few things the Professor could tell them that were of any interest to him—but given the good mood Widogast and his companions had left in, he could assume it went well.
He could assume, but why not ask?
Letting his pace slow a little, Essik dropped into step next to the wizard, making sure to still lead their group in the right direction. Widogast blinked at him—and, gods , weren’t his eyelashes long—before saying, “Everything alright, Herr Shadowhand?”
“Shadowhand is really more of a title, you know,” he said, letting his arm brush against Widogast’s for a moment. “It’s Essik Theylas, Essik to my friends.”
He thought he saw the human do a double take, but he may have been mistaken. In any case, Widogast only paused for a second before answering, “Well then, Essik , is there anything I can do for you?”
So very many things. “I was just wondering how your meeting went with the Professor,” Essik said, feeling the tips of his ears go hot. There was something in the way Widogast looked at him, the almost-hunger there, that made him think perhaps the wizard wasn’t quite blind to his own charms; that he was testing something—but, surely, that wasn’t the case.
“Oh, well, that’s for only us to know, is it not? I think we get to keep some secrets from you, especially about this strange magic you use here,” Widogast said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards again.
Essik thought he could see the other man’s gaze lingering on his throat, and then his jaw, and then his lips, but that to have been—what? a fantasy?
Did he want—
“But you’re welcome to try and convince me to tell you.”
—oh, well then.
The wizard was fully smiling at this point, letting his expression fall open a little as he stared Essik directly in the eye. Essik felt his stomach drop a little, almost involuntarily, at the look in Caleb’s eyes—it was attraction, sure, and he wasn’t a stranger to seeing that , but something else, too. Something a little more feral, like the look of a glass window about to break, or a tower about to collapse.
“Would you like that?” Essik said, swallowing the last syllable to cover for how heavy his breathing suddenly felt. This did not seem like a conversation to be having as they walked down a public road—and yet, he kept talking. “If we had a private conversation later, to, uh…”
He trailed off as Caleb’s eyebrows narrowed and his lips parted. The tension there, between them, was enough to make him gulp, and it was stupid that he was feeling this on-edge after only a few moments of conversation, but at the same time—could he have a few moments more?
Caleb cleared his throat, still keeping his eyes on Essik’s, and replied, “To compare notes?”
“Sure, to compare notes. To, um, learn from each other.”
“Oh, ja , that would be, uh, helpful. I feel that there’s a lot I could learn from you.”
That charming edge was back in Caleb’s voice, and now— now Essik was sure that he was doing it on purpose. Caleb wanted something from him; whether it was a friendly alliance or information or even—he looked at the hard, tense line of the wizard’s shoulders—the chance to think about nothing at all for a few hours, he didn’t know. But, in the end, he didn’t really care, either.
Leaning a little closer so his breath could brush Caleb’s oddly round ear, Essik said, softly, “If you’d like, you could visit my library this evening, Herr Widogast.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Caleb asked, snorting. “It’s not a very appealing one.”
Essik rolled his eyes. “No, I—what do you take me for? I do actually have a private library, feel free to come by after dinner. And also,” he made a very quick decision about how good the hearing range of Caleb’s companions probably was.
“I don’t need a euphemism to say I’d quite like you to suck my cock.”
Though he wouldn’t admit it on pain of death, Essik held his breath as he watched a highly satisfying flush creep up Caleb’s neck. He forced himself not to push, not to prod too far, to remember that Caleb might very well say no, that this might not go anywh—
“You know, where I’m from,” Caleb said, a little hoarse, “we take care of our guests before we satisfy ourselves.”
Essik blinked, and laughed softly, feeling the brief moment of anxiety pass. “I suppose you might be onto something there, maybe we could try that. If you’re interested, that is.”
Caleb visibly tried to keep a smile off his face, but, small though it was, a sharp grin appeared anyway. Everything about it, everything about this conversation, really, was making Essik feel a touch light-headed in a way he hadn’t experienced since his first years learning dunamancy.
The wizard was unexpected, all right—he was tense and untrusting and wound tight as a spring, all while he brushed his fingertips against the back of Essik’s hand. He was also flushed a beautiful pink, as bright as the pictures he’d seen of flowers growing in the west, and in dire need of some kind of release, clearly, and if he wanted to use Essik for that—and if Essik, to his own utter confusion, wanted to be used like that—then so be it.
“ Ja , I’m interested.” Caleb said, his accent a little thicker than it had been before. “I shall see you tonight, my friend.”
With that, and an absolutely scorching look, Caleb fell back to walk with the monk, picking up the conversation as easily as if he’d been talking to Essik about the weather.
But just as they arrived at the party’s house, shining like a lantern as always, he caught Caleb’s eye again. The wizard covered his mouth for a moment, and then Essik heard in his mind:
ɪ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴜᴅʏɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴏᴋs ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴇssɪᴋ.
Essik covered his own mouth, half to hide a reply and half to smother an irritatingly warm smile.
ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴇᴜᴘʜᴇᴍɪsᴍ, ʜᴇʀʀ ᴡɪᴢᴀʀᴅ.
—
It's not personal , Caleb thought, walking swiftly through the town later that evening, this is business. It will be helpful to get on his good side, and he has information we need .
The memory of the Shadowhand's smirk resurfaced, almost blinding in its clarity, and Caleb nearly tripped on a rock. He has information, that's all.
Another moment, from earlier that day: the Shadowhand throwing him a wink as he explained his levitation spell—overdramatic, cocky, charismatic as all get-out. He has information, and useful spells.
The Shadowhand at lunch, merely hours before, ordering a local delicacy for everyone to try and sucking bone marrow off his fingers. Information, useful spells. Information, useful spells. Information, useful spells.
Fangs, poking past his mouth. Strong hands, keeping hold of Caleb's wrist as he went to walk somewhere he wasn't welcome. An overconfident twist of the lips that Caleb wasn't sure if he wanted to punch or kiss.
"I’d quite like you to suck my cock."
Good gods, he was wound tight, wasn't he, if something as simple as the idea—not the fully formed thought, even, or the dream, or the memory—the idea of Essik's war-strong fingers on his skin was enough to send him dizzy. Caleb had been stretched so thin for so many months now, running and running and running—from the Empire, from the Assembly, from the memory of a fallen friend—and he was nearly at a breaking point.
Reading wasn't enough anymore. He couldn't lose himself in books or scrolls or stories the way he once could, couldn't take his mind out of it and leave his body behind. It was like a steam engine was roaring in his ribcage, set to burst if he didn't do something.
The streets of Rosohna were busy, still, though by Caleb's internal clock it was nearing late evening. He supposed that did make sense—if the citizens didn't need to limit themselves to the movements of the sun, why should they?—but it was a little unsettling, all the same. He hurried past magic shops that didn't look like they were going to shut any time soon, past grocers that by all logic should've closed four hours ago, towards the residential district.
Earlier that day, the Shadowhand had shown them, in passing, his den's living quarters in the Lucid Bastion, and Caleb was fairly confident in his ability to relocate—ah, yes, here it was. A tall black-stone building, spiraling in a sort of cylindrical tower maybe four stories upwards, the home of Den Theylas was impressive in its imposition.
At the entryway, Caleb was stopped by a doorkeeper wearing the same dark armour as the guards at the Bright Queen's palace. He clutched tightly at the amulet-medal given by the Bright Queen, proclaiming the Nein as heroes of the dynasty, in the hopes that it might excuse him. They raised their eyebrows at him, not speaking, but suspicious.
"I am here to see Shadowhand Essik Theylas ," he said, swallowing, "my name is—"
"—Caleb Widogast! The wizard I was looking for!"
Caleb's head snapped towards the staircase in the interior of the ground floor, where the Shadowhand himself leaned against the railing. Instead of the functional armour he'd been wearing earlier that day, the mage was in what looked like long silk pants and a flowing robe, draped rather artfully over his body. It was stylish, certainly, but Caleb couldn't imagine that wearing such thin material on a chilly night like tonight would be comfortable. Essik wasn't standing quite naturally—the way his arms were folded, the tilt of his jawline, the almost-not-quite-teasing expression on his face, it was all a little off. Nothing about it was enough for Caleb to legitimately worry, but. It was something to think about.
" Hallo , Shadowhand." Caleb let himself smile, just the tiniest hint of a grin, at the way Essik had posed himself to best catch the rays of moonlight. He'd only known the Shadowhand for a few days but it was clear even now that he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to show off if his life depended on it.
Bizarrely, instead of grinning back the way Caleb had expected, Essik's cocked knee wobbled a little and his leg banged into the railing.
After regaining his composure, he nodded his head at the door guard, and said, in a rather affected voice, "Don't worry about this one, Beaj, he's with me."
The door guard—Beaj, apparently—nodded, and waved Caleb through to ascend the staircase. Just as he passed Essik, he felt a hand tight around his wrist, and looking down he saw the Shadowhand's long, deep purple fingers glinting in a trickle of moonlight where they dug into his skin.
Essik leaned closer to him, just enough so that when he spoke it tickled Caleb's ears. "There are people watching in the hallways," Essik whispered. "Magically, of course. So, you know, don’t cast anything.”
“Right. Thank you,” Caleb replied, following as the Shadowhand guided him up the stairs. The stairwell was contained in some kind of tunnel leading up, and up, and up, with only the an ever-growing hole in the roof above them to show that they were moving at all. Caleb could see the stars through it, and realised with a start that they were familiar. It made sense, when he thought about it, that the stars here would be the same ones he’d grown up with, but at the same time it was rather odd, after months looking up at the skies of the southern sea, or collapsing exhausted in the Tiny Hut, to see the same constellations— and yes, Nott, planets —as he’d see in the Empire.
Essik seemed to have noticed Caleb slowing down a little, because he turned his attention towards the wizard and asked, “Everything alright, Widogast?”
Caleb blinked and looked down. “Oh, ja , I was only—doesn’t matter.”
The Shadowhand didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go with a raised eyebrow. They walked for only a few moments more, anyway, before stopping at what seemed to be just another patch of dark stone. Essik murmured a soft, “ Otreiba ”, placing the hand not holding Caleb’s wrist against the wall, and with a split-second flash of bright white light, a doorway appeared.
“Impressive,” Caleb said, ignoring the self-satisfied look on Essik's face to push past him.
On the other side of the doorway was, surprisingly, an actual library. Clearly a private one—unless public libraries in Xhorhas also provided slippers and mugs of cold tea. It looked to be two connected rooms, each lined wall to wall with bookcases and glass cabinets that were filled with all manner of things Caleb couldn't see very clearly in the dark.
As he wandered further into the room, scanning the shelves to his right for any language he could read, the Shadowhand glided behind him and the doorway was suddenly closed again.
Caleb's eyes jumped towards Essik, and his brows narrowed. "Do you plan on keeping me captive?"
It must have been a trick of the moonlight, shining through the floor to ceiling window, but Caleb could've sworn that Essik's cheeks looked much more violet than before. He smacked the door again, and a doorknob appeared. "Apologies," he said, walking past Caleb to sit at the desk in front of the window, "I'm not used to entertaining guests that are not… fluent… in dunamancy."
"Well, perhaps one of these books will teach me a bit of your magic, and I'll be able to summon my own door handle," Caleb said, brushing his fingertips over the worn spines of the tomes in front of him. Many of them looked to be at least a hundred years old, some of them were probably closer to five hundred.
It felt like a switch had been flipped at the base of Caleb's skull, something burning and beating a tattoo into his mind, at all of the concentration of magical energy thrumming in every part of the room—though, to be fair, that could also have something to do with how Essik's gaze was absolutely blazing on the back of Caleb's neck.
"I'm sure one would," Essik replied, "but unless you speak High Drow then you might need some assistance." The smug look on the Shadowhand's face when Caleb spared a glance at him would've been irritating beyond belief coming from most other people, but it was strangely endearing on his pretty features.
It's because it's familiar, whispered a small, mean voice in the corners of Caleb's memory, it's because you used to sound like tha—
Rolling his eyes—and trying to shake off the voice—Caleb took out a pinch of soot, murmured a few arcane words, and suddenly the covers of the books in front of him were as legible as if they'd been written in Zemnian.
" The Twelve Umavi. Histories and Annals. Theylan Orations. I, Leylas. On The Principles of Dunamancy. Parallel Lives: A History of the Consecution. Accounts of—"
A very quiet sound, almost like a gulp, came from the desk.
Caleb fought back a grin and glanced back at Essik, who was looking rather less smug than he had been before. "Everything alright, Shadowhand?"
Essik coughed and—yes, his face was definitely a dark violet now, rather than its usual dusky indigo. "Yes, yes, of course. But," he cleared his throat again, looking away from Caleb to play with a pen on the desk, "It must be hard to concentrate on the text in such dark lighting."
The Shadowhand readjusted himself in the cushioned armchair at the desk, so that his long legs were spread wide. His pale yellow eyes nearly glowed, and his silk clothes looked like pure silver in the half light. Caleb felt his fingers twitch, wanting to touch them—to touch the mage under them—but at the same time, he didn’t want to give Essik everything he wanted right away. It was too much fun, Caleb thought, smiling. It was far too entertaining trying to get this great and esteemed prodigy of Den Theylas to break first.
“Oh, you would be surprised,” the wizard said, picking a book off the shelf at random and opening it to the introduction. “I’ve had to keep my concentration through, ah, harder situations.”
“Really, Widogast? Well then, let’s see how long you last.” There was a laugh in Essik’s voice that, somehow, did nothing to break the tension between them. If anything, the giddy lightness in Caleb’s lungs only spurred him on, making him want to push the Shadowhand even further.
Clearing his throat, Caleb flicked through the first few pages of The Twelve Umavi until he found a passage that made his eyes widen. After fumbling for his clay ziggurat and casting a quick spell, he began, in High Drow:
“ Apart from her academic contributions to the study of material components, the fifth Umavi is perhaps best known for their wild, and expensive, sexual debauchery. Frequent orgies were held in the scholar’s tower in Rosohna, often involving not only her peers, but common shopkeepers, acolytes of the Luxon, even foreign dignitaries—a common contemporary witticism was that these nighttime gatherings were quite literally ‘come one, come all’. In one instan— ”
Still facing the bookshelves, Caleb heard first an intake of breath, and then slow, deliberate footsteps, as Essik left his armchair. He paused for a moment, listening to see if the Shadowhand would say anything, before continuing.
“ In one instance, the crown princess of the Julous Dominion was said to have fallen unconscious after being brought to— ”
More footsteps. Caleb still didn’t turn around, but glancing at the shadows that the moonlight cast on the stone floor, if Essik moved much closer he would be able to hear him breathing.
“ —after being brought to orgasm nine times, allegedly once for every time she had— ”
Essik’s breath was warm on the back of Caleb’s neck, and it really was taking every ounce of his concentration to keep his eyes on the page. Caleb suddenly became viscerally aware of all the blood in his body rushing to his cock as the anticipation of— something —felt like a vice over his skin, painfully, beautifully, constraining.
“—every time she had pleasured herself in the Umavi’s presence while in attendance at a public hearing. Though this particular account was once called into question on the basis of its sheer outlandishness, recently accounts have surfaced of even more sexually pr-provoc—ah”
Taking a final step forward and pressed his chest against Caleb’s back, Essik held his hips, ever so gently, against his own crotch. His long fingers, that Caleb had so admired on the stairwell, creeped slowly across to press over his trousers, into the soft skin between his hip bones and groin. The solid body behind him, holding him so tightly, made Caleb want to lean back and give in to whatever the Shadowhand was planning, but he wasn’t quite there yet—if Essik Theylas wanted a mind like Caleb’s to bend to his, he’d have to work a bit harder than this.
Seemingly picking up on Caleb’s pride, Essik pressed his face over one of Caleb’s shoulders and whispered, “Well? Go on—I want to hear more.”
He was not going to lose this—this game, this competition, whatever it was. He’d been able to keep his concentration up through being speared in the stomach, for gods’ sakes, he could handle reading an academic text aloud, even if there were hands—delicate, dangerous, wonderful hands—sliding ever closer to where his trousers felt uncomfortably tight.
“Well, don’t interrupt me, then,” Caleb coughed, moving the book so that Essik at least couldn’t see the effect he was having on Caleb’s body.
“As I was saying: Recent accounts have surfaced of even more sexually provocative encounters between the fifth Umavi and foreign dignitaries. Many of these are not worth elaborating in great detail—for example, even if the Umavi did once offend the Head Councillor of Draconia by, to quote the biographer Suinoteus, “fucking herself on a platinum replica of his husband’s cock,” it is highly unlikely that they would have done so in public— ah, gods —”
“—oh, Caleb , what do we have here?”
While Essik’s right hand stayed rubbing circles over the inner flesh of his hips, his left had suddenly cupped Caleb’s crotch and, clearly, well—
“Are you getting off on this?” Essik asked, and Caleb knew—he knew —that the Shadowhand would have the most horrific shit-eating grin on his face, and that knowledge was almost as irritating as the fact that he was completely right. “Is this what does it for you? History lessons?”
Caleb didn’t reply, forcing his breath to steady and his voice not to crack when he continued reading. The burning feeling that had rested on the back of his neck before had spread, and between the hands on his body and the solid muscle at his back—and, of course, the smirk pressed into the nape of his neck—Caleb felt like every nerve in his body was alight.
“ Nor is it likely, despite being represented in several rather detailed contemporary illustrations (see below), that the Umavi was routinely serviced orally during royal banquets, or that they once brought the Dynasty to the point of civil war by engaging in sexual relations with two members of rival Dens on the night before their wedding.
“I-indeed, ah—” Essik pressed down on Caleb’s clothed cock and slowly began to brush over it, all the while humming for Caleb to continue speaking, “— indeed, the only—t-the— fuck —the only reasonable explanation for many o-of these fan-fanta— oh, for gods’ sake, Essik—”
Holding the book in one hand, Caleb knocked Essik’s fingers out of the way and fumbled with the lacing of his new breeches— idiotic, impractical, why the fuck did he buy these —until some of the building pressure on his groin was released.
Gods, this is what he’d needed for so long, this adrenaline without fear, this single minded desire to feel good . Caleb had to order his knees to lock and his spine to stay straight for fear of falling back against the Shadowhand, whose— fuck —whose fingers were now playing with the waistband of Caleb’s breeches.
“May I?” Essik whispered, practically mouthing at the skin below Caleb’s ear. He heard the small pop of a bottle being uncorked, and the hand on his waist disappear behind his back, where presumably Essik was slicking up his own fingers.
Caleb huffed out a laugh and said, rather heatedly, “I shall be extremely put out if you don’t, Herr Theylas, an— oh. ”
Rough, calloused, oiled fingers pushed the front lacing of his breeches open and pulled his cock out into the cold night air. He was already leaking pre-cum, harder than he’d been in months if not years, and Caleb couldn’t have suppressed a groan if his life had depended on it.
Essik laughed. “That’s pretty, Widogast. Do it again?”
“Go fuck yourself, Shadowhand.” Caleb gave in a little further and leaned back just enough to press his ass against Essik’s— hypocrite , Caleb thought—clothed erection.
“Ah, but what would you do then?” asked Essik, beginning to stroke the length of his cock, though still criminally slow, occasionally circling his thumb over the head. “Why don’t you keep reading, Caleb, I want to hear more about our dear fifth Umavi.”
What a horrible man. “Fine.”
He was starting to unravel, faster, and faster, and faster. Caleb knew he wouldn’t last long once Essik decided to stop teasing him, but he could—he refused to—spit it out and tell the other mage how close he was. It was pride, sure, the desire to keep some kind of dignity in the face of someone so cocky and sure of his own attractiveness. But another part of it—a slightly more animal part that Caleb didn’t particularly like thinking about—felt like once he came, the lightness in his chest and on his shoulders would vanish, and the brilliantly liquid heat in the pit of his stomach would harden again, and go back to weighing him down.
For just a little longer, just a few more minutes, Caleb wanted to stay out of his own head, and if that meant playing the Shadowhand’s game, that’s what he would do. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Caleb scanned the page and began speaking again, desperately trying not to let Essik know how close he was to dropping the book and rutting into the other man’s hand.
“ The only reasonable explanation for many of these fantasies is a general tendency among contemporary historians to—t-to prioritise the outlandish and the obscene over the mundane and—”
Essik’s fingers twisted around the shaft of Caleb’s cock, the other hand digging into his hips, so hard it was definitely going to bruise, before scraping down his inner thigh. Out of pure reflex, Caleb, closing his eyes, arched his hips backwards. He ground into Essik’s own length, causing him to— fucking finally —break, just a little, and moan high and thin into Caleb’s ear.
“ The Luxon’s blessed ballsack, Caleb—!”
“—Essik, move , please, please, bitte —”
For once, he did as Caleb asked him to and moved . Knocking the book from Caleb’s hand, Essik pressed him against the bookcase, so hard that some of the stone trinkets were in danger of falling off, and bit down on the wizard’s shoulder while he started stroking him roughly. Giving up all pretense of aloofness, Caleb jerked into his hand, clutching onto the shaking shelves in front of him.
“Go on,” Essik gasped, and far from the snarl Caleb had expected, the Shadowhand’s voice was gentle, nearly pleading. “Go on, Caleb, Caleb , come for me—”
The hand that had been scraping Caleb’s thigh ran up the length of his body to rest at the base of his throat. The sudden pressure, gentle though it was, was enough to snap his eyes open.
And the unravelling that had begun earlier that day, the disintegration of that tightly wound coil around his spine, holding him in place, stopping him from collapse, melted away at the image of the bruises already forming on his thighs.
This is what he needed: the release, the relief, the reprieve of deep purple fingers—delicate and battle-calloused and shining with precum—twisting around the length of his own flushed red cock, just on the right side of too much-not enough.
Caleb came into Essik’s hand with a choked off “ M— ” and collapsed against the shelves, barely even registering the sound of decorative ceramic smashing on stone tiles.
Essik’s right hand snaked around Caleb’s waist to stop him from falling to the ground completely, and his left was still cupping Caleb’s rather oversensitive cock, though thankfully he wasn’t stroking any longer. A heavy jelly-like feeling had settled deep in his bones, and finally— finally, finally, finally —his mind was a bit less loud. Not quiet, exactly, it was never truly quiet, but the coil of stress at the pit of his stomach had vanished in the floating, liquid post-orgasm high.
Resting his forehead to rest on the shelf and pulling Essik’s cum soaked hand off of him, Caleb braced himself on the shelf and took a few deep breaths. He could hear the Shadowhand behind him, panting, and more than that he could feel him—still hard, still blazingly hot and pressed against his backside.
Turning, Caleb leaned back against the wall, and even in his hazy state couldn’t miss how Essik’s eyes tracked the line of his throat when he tipped his head back. The mage’s light yellow irises were thin circles around his blown pupils, and there was a gorgeous dark, reddish flush across his cheekbones, flowing down his neck.
Without really thinking about what he was doing, Caleb tilted forwards and pressed his lips against the junction of Essik’s neck and shoulder, mouthing at the skin there though not quite biting down. The other man shuddered against him, gripping at his waist with his clean hand and pushing Caleb even closer to the bookshelf.
“O- okay , Caleb?” Essik murmured, half-laughing, half-gasping.
Caleb hummed, starting to nibble at the Shadowhand’s skin, worrying and sucking the flesh there between his teeth, not painfully hard, but enough to keep Essik keening. He moaned again, high and wanton, and Caleb could feel the stuttering rise and fall of his chest still pressing them both against the wall. His concentration was gone , the only thing he could think of was the involuntary flex of Essik’s fingers on his waist, and the soft sob against his ear when Caleb bit down hard on the mage’s soft throat.
Long gone was the Caleb Widogast who played with his food before eating it—the only thing he cared about now was chasing the feeling of absolute satisfaction that was thrumming through every nerve in his body.
"Hmmm, ja ." He pawed at the side fastening of Essik's flimsy robe and shoving it off his shoulders.
"That was, ah, mmmm ," he mumbled, losing his train of thought in between the sensation of smooth silk and smoother skin on his fingers, and, once he pulled back, the sight of slowly reddening marks on the Shadowhand's neck. "I liked that."
Essik laughed again, though his face and chest were flushed so much he looked almost violet. "Well, you're welcome, I never would've guessed." He smiled, and gulped as Caleb started to absentmindedly drag his fingernails over Essik's exposed chest, "but, um, would you mind returning the favour?"
Caleb pulled away and looked at the mage's face—actually, properly, through the fog of touchskinmorefeelfuck colouring every part of his mind, looked at him. Essik was shaking, just the tiniest bit, but coming from someone as composed and self-assured as the Shadowhand, even that was a victory. He was bracing himself against the bookshelf with the arm not wrapped around Caleb's waist, and the hair that had been elegantly smoothed back twenty minutes ago was messy and sweat-damp. The smugness had been very nearly knocked off Essik's face, replaced by a kind of earnest, genuine want that Caleb found stupidly charming—gods, he really had come hard, if he was feeling this soft over the Shadowhand, of all people.
"Of course," Caleb murmured, a little dazed still, leaning in again and closing his eyes as he dragged his mouth down Essik's exposed chest. "Yes, of course, I—hmm mm ."
Sinking to his knees, Caleb took a moment to breathe in deeply before he looked up at Essik's open, keening expression, and reached for the waistband of his silk trousers
—
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, Essik thought, watching Caleb, feeling the wizard drag that wonderful red mouth over his skin. Oh, good gods, this was going to be embarrassingly short.
He'd imagined this—of course he'd imagined it, he'd told Caleb about what he wanted in the middle of a public street, for fuck's sake. But never in his fantasies, in the dream he'd had last night, had Caleb looked quite this fucking good on his knees, mouthing through the silk fabric of Essik's pyjamas.
The only reason he'd worn these flimsy things was to get the wizard's attention in the first place, but now, looking at the wet patch of saliva Caleb was leaving over his hard-on, and the stain where he'd wiped Caleb's cum off, Essik couldn't ever imagine wearing them again.
"Gods, Caleb, don't be such a tease," Essik half-growled, grinding his teeth as Caleb's pale fingers ghosted over his hips.
Caleb looked up at him and—fuck, Essik really wasn't going to last. It had to be illegal, didn't it, to have eyes like those? So ice-blue and piercing that even glazed over and tear stained, Caleb looked a little bit fey.
They were staying up at him, questioning, as his fingers just dipped below the line of Essik's waistband and slowly— horrifically slowly—pulled down on the silk. Caleb's eyes never left Essik's, and his mouth—his wonderfully swollen, human-pink, slicked mouth—dragged against the fabric until—
" Good Lord, Caleb, C-Caleb, I swear to god," Essik moaned, bracing himself fully on the bookshelf. Caleb's lips were now sliding down his cock, exposed in the cold air. Not sucking, or licking, or even kissing, but just—teasing. This is what Caleb did, apparently—he hinted and teased and didn't say what he wanted, what he was trying to do.
It made Essik feel all the more greedy, all the more desperate, to have to close his eyes and say aloud, "Caleb, I-I—I need more, please, come on."
Caleb didn't smile, exactly, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he stared up at him through long lashes, directly at Essik's flushed, panting face, before pressing a kiss to the head of Essik's leaking cock. And another, and another, and Essik was half a second away from sobbing when finally—finally, finally, finally—he felt a heated wet warmth envelope him.
Essik didn't look, knowing it would be too much to see the hero of a dynasty on his knees, sucking his long with what certainly felt like a need. He focused on the feeling, on keeping his knees steady and stopping his back from trembling as Caleb swallowed him down. It took a minute or so of muffled mmms and ahhhs and these little wet choking sounds that were absolutely going to play at the back of Essik's mind for the rest of his life, but eventually he felt Caleb nose at his groin.
Eyes blinking open involuntarily, and— oh , Caleb looked content. His eyes were shut now, brow furrowed as he took Essik to the hilt, that gorgeous, sharp mouth working the length of his cock like his life was on the line. His expression was remarkably similar to the one he wore when they were studying together, except now instead of mutterings about components and little hums of concentration, Essik heard— felt , on the head and underside of his cock, on the nerves of every part of his body, he felt— those hums and groans.
When Essik found his voice, it was as hoarse and strained as if he'd been the one on his knees. "Oh, fuck , Caleb, you really are meant for this, aren't you?"
Caleb whined, and the sensation made Essik's knees damn near buckle. His hands, still hot on Essik's hips, clenched, and fuck he hoped that Caleb would leave bruises.
"You're doing so well, you're so good at this," Essik breathed, feeling a sob work its way into his voice as Caleb sucked hard on the ridge just under the head of his cock. "You're perfect, you're perfect, gods, I should keep you like this all day, shouldn't I? Keep you on your knees like those servants to the Umavi, keep you between my legs while— shit —" Essik's whole body was trembling as he felt his length hit the back of Caleb's throat, "—while I'm writing, at meetings, whatever, you'd be such a good cockwarmer, wouldn't you? You'd love it, right? You'd— Caleb —"
The wizard had grabbed at one of Essik's arms, tugging his hand to hold the back of his head, and Essik would've had to have been a genuine idiot not to understand what he wanted.
He asked anyway, but gripped Caleb's hair tight as he said it. "You want me to fuck your face, Caleb? How are you going to cast your pretty spells if you can't talk properly? Oh, but I forgot—" he thrusted, irregular and a little mean, not too hard but certainly not gentle, into Caleb's mouth, "—that's the point, isn't it? That you'd do anything if it meant feeling good, if it's what you wanted, what you're good at. And you're very, very, good at this, my f-friend, my wizard, my—"
There was just the barest edge of teeth when Essik pushed into Caleb's mouth, hard and quick and still drunk on the idea of such a powerful magic user at his feet, and between that, and the whining sob of pleasure Caleb let out listening to Essik talk—the Shadowhand was gone .
He didn't let go of Caleb's hair when he came, just holding him there against the shelves, letting the wizard choke a little as cum filled his mouth.
This was power—not the kind that coursed through his veins on the battlefield, or that tingled at the back of his neck when his research paid off. It was a power he felt in his ribs, in his spine, in every bone in his body, a power of giving and receiving and being given what he'd asked for.
It was the power of having a beautiful man on his knees, of being allowed to see vulnerability in someone so guarded—and it was brilliant beyond words.
When he was spent, Essik completely gave up the pretense of standing upright and collapsed on the cold floor next to Caleb, who leant back against the shelves, panting like he'd just won a battle.
The moonlight was still shining on both of them, and Essik could see every growing bruise, every patch of flushed red skin on the slivers of exposed skin on Caleb's lean body. His trousers were still undone around his thighs, shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, and just faintly around his neck were a few burgundy thumbprints that caught Essik's complete attention.
I did that, he thought. I did that to a hero of the dynasty.
Absentmindedly, he reached forwards and traced his fingers over the bruises. Caleb, who'd been panting rather beautifully, jolted at the sensation and choked, a little bit of unswallowed cum dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
" Essik ," he said, and—and— fuck . Essik didn't have the words to describe how good Caleb's voice sounded, fucked out and raw and gravelly like that. It sent shivers down his spine, it made him want to curl up next to the wizard and kiss him breathless, and it—it was dangerous, maybe, to feel so strongly about the way a turncoat foreign wizard said his name.
Forcing down those feelings, Essik moved to slump next to him against the books. They sat there for a few minutes, pretending not to notice as they leaned into and onto each other.
Eventually Caleb nudged him and said, in that horrifically husky voice, "I didn't—um." He swallowed. "I did actually want to look at your books, sometime. This wasn't just about, you know, I…" Caleb trailed off, tilting his head to meet Essik's gaze.
"Well," Essik began, slowly, "if you wanted you could, um, sleep here, and have a look in a few hours?"
He 's going to know, Essik thought, kicking himself. He's going to realise you're going soft on him.
And maybe Caleb did notice, maybe he'd worked out by now that the Shadowhand of Den Theylas probably wouldn't open his personal library to someone he didn't genuinely like. Maybe he did realise that if he wanted to, if he pushed a little further, he could have quite a tight hold on Essik's heart.
But instead of pushing, or prying, the wizard only leaned in and pressed a closed-lipped kiss to Essik's mouth. He tasted rather unpleasant, like sweat and cum and burnt wood.
And to Essik's extreme disappointment, he felt his breath catch, as he realised he'd rather like to kiss Caleb again.
"I'd like that," Caleb said, setting off a warm burn on Essik's cheeks when he smiled. "But could we perhaps, ah, sleep somewhere a little warmer?"
Essik didn't know what to do with the smile he felt spreading across his face, so he rolled his eyes and stood, knees still a little wobbly. "Ask and you shall receive, my friend," he replied offering Caleb his hand.
The wizard took it, and kept a hold on Essik as he led them through the maze of bookshelves, to a simple single bed next to another window. Collapsing on the bed, neither of them bothered to do much except strip their shoes and trousers off, before pressing as close together as they could in the chilly ever-night air.
Essik didn't want to get used to this, to lying wrapped around Caleb, feeling his breath on his collarbones and the wizard's hands around his waist. To knowing after a few hours of peaceful, nightmare-free dreams, they would both still be there, safe and warm in the light of the moon.
No, that was a lie—he wanted to, really quite a lot, but he knew he shouldn't. Interesting and intelligent and handsome as he was, Caleb was an untrustable foreign agent. He was a threat, and the soft feeling at the back of Essik's throat that had started to appear whenever Caleb spoke could be deadly, one day.
Essik tried very hard not to think about that, as he drifted off to sleep, unaware that the wizard in his bed was also trying, and failing, not to smile.