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Damissan’s brow, already furrowed, pinched a fraction further at the first words after the inquiry and permissions granted. Whatever he had expected, ‘please’ was not it. Words had been more than he expected, frankly, and both were promising. At, I’m not interested in continuing our discussion, however, the frustration knotted back up anew. He didn’t want to resolve anything. Of course he didn’t. Just speak softly enough that Damissan’s mood eased and—

What was he even apologizing for?

Granted, there were some things for which an apology may have been welcome. It did little good though if, as was clear in the next instant, Xilarn had no understanding of what had upset him in the first place—and thus no real concept of what he was apologizing for. He was asking, however, which was the best start Damis could possibly hope for, so:

“I don’t want or deserve an apology for how you reacted in the tent,” he said. Still quieter perhaps than usual, but a fraction more forthcoming than his first response at least. “I did think it would be better received, but I should have had your consent beforehand and it was a mistake.”

He debated how to tackle the rest of it. “We were doing alright at first,” he said. “You told me how you felt and what your concerns were, and it was some of the most useful conversation we have had to date. You explained, and I listened. My understanding then was that you did not want to become involved with me because I have not made a habit of committed relationships and that you were not interested in something fleeting. And I told you—”

When tension swept back into his chest and throat, Damis took pause, swallowing before making himself continue.

“I told you that I had feelings for you,” he said. “That they were different than any interest I had felt for anyone in the past. That they were not rooted in a random sexual whim but there because you had inspired them over the course of time we’ve spent together, and that I would be happy to proceed forward however you liked but that I wanted to see where pursuance took us.” Damissan hesitated. “I told you that I wanted a relationship, of whatever variety you felt comfortable with…and perhaps it seemed trivial or unimportant to you…but nothing I said to you then is anything I’ve said before to anyone. It is nothing I have opened myself to or been interested in pursuing before, and it was important to me. If it wasn’t, I would not have gone into your tent in the first place.”

Damissan studied the grass. “And it didn’t matter enough to you to even address what I had said and deny me properly…” He had been fine. The situation was calm. Xilarn was not agitating matters, and he ought to have remained fine—but the sharp ache to his throat and gut tightened at the last words, and he wasn’t finished. “I don’t give a damn about how generally awful you think the world is or whether or not you underestimated me or listened to my parents or took a word I said seriously initially…but you presented serious concerns to me, and I gave you serious answers in return, told you everything I felt and you—”

His teeth touched together.

“You never told me what you want,” he said, quietly, but steady at least. “And until you have decided, no.” He shook his head. “You are not allowed to touch me. You’ve touched me enough, I think, until you know what you want to do with your hands when they get there.”

Damissan expected denial at best, more floundering at worst. It was all par for the course, and even if it weren’t true it felt like denial and floundering was all the other man was willing to consistently give him. When he knelt, however, Damissan’s cheeks flushed with surprise, gaze flitting to Xilarn’s all but before it was asked of him.

I thought maybe we would innately, mutually come to some sort of understanding between then and now…

Damissan snorted softly. “In the time we have had so far I do not think we have once yet managed to come to any innate mutual understandings of one another…and there is significantly less time between here and Yera.” Xilarn had conceded it wasn’t likely, however, and Damissan’s tone was easy, an observation more than argument at this point. “And I don’t suppose I needed a full answer immediately, but telling me you would look for someone in Yera had nothing to do with it, and I—”

I don’t know if I believed you…

Damissan’s brow furrowed, studying the man with puzzled intent. Had he seemed insincere? He had, perhaps, been careful with his words, but only because it was new territory for him and he had been uncertain as to what — if anything — Xilarn would actually be looking for. Given his history, however, and his attitude towards most other things over the course of their trip, he supposed it wasn’t a completely ridiculous concern. Perhaps if he were forty and faced with the issue, he wouldn’t have taken himself seriously either.

In fact, with just a few of the facts tweaked in areas Xilarn was not privy to — such as Damissan’s personal headspace and mental state — it wasn’t unreasonable. It may have been more appropriate at the beginning of their trip when trust had not yet had a chance to form. But Damis couldn’t pinpoint anything in his demeanor that would have lead to a build-up of that variety of trust, and several aspects which would draw his sincerity into question.

So, when Xilarn apologized—again—abashed heat crept into Damissan’s face for having allowed himself to become as upset as he had, and he breathed out, layering his fingers over Xilarn’s and clasping lightly. He opened his mouth to say it was alright, he understood at least, and was prepared to accept the rejection for what it was, all he had wanted was a definitive answer…

Except that Xilarn apparently had more to say.

…whatever you will give me for whatever time we have together…

Damissan blinked, and stared as Xilarn finished. Because that distinctly sounded like an answer. Just not the one that, after all the kerfuffle in between, he had anticipated. But there Xilarn was just the same, kneeling before him, saying what he’d said, and there was no un-hearing it. A nervous stutter hummed through his pulse, hopeful giddiness restrained only by how many misunderstandings there had been thus far, and he didn’t want to misinterpret—

“No one in Yera,” he said, shaking his head with attention fixed on Xilarn, as though his eyes alone could confirm or deny. “We are not taking anyone on to replace you in Yera. You’re staying with me?”

He meant to say it evenly, not assume, not jump to conclusions, but if some degree of the stupidly hopeful bubble of rebounding positivity in his mood manage to bleed into his tone, there was nothing to be done about it. The next moment, his lips curved of their own regard. He bit at the bottom one briefly, as though to tame the expression before it got out of hand — but to no avail — and a second later he was grinning in spite of himself.

“I heated breakfast,” he said. “I don’t think I burned any of it. I didn’t actually…” He flushed a touch at the thought, because for all the time he’d had… “I didn’t actually eat, myself,” he admitted. “I wasn’t hungry. But—” As if specifically to mock him, his stomach chose that moment to rumble audibly, and the heat already in his cheeks climbed to his ears. He cleared his throat, grin almost sheepish. “I think my appetite has returned. We could eat?”

“One day,” Damissan agreed, a sliver of amusement edging into his tone because so far as he was concerned, it was a very possible thing—if Xilarn ever relaxed—and ‘one day’ seemed to suggest there would be a number of opportunities for this mystical meeting of minds to occur in the future.

Both favorable, from his perspective, and when Xilarn pulled, Damis blinked but cooperated, allowing himself to be tucked in against Xilarn’s hold. When Xilarn spoke, heat dusted his ear—more thanks to the proximity than the words spoken—but he relaxed nonetheless, shutting his eyes and savoring the moment until Xil withdrew to rest their foreheads together, at which point his lashes flit back open—and his gaze darted, in spite of himself, to Xilarn’s lips.

“You make complication where there is none sometimes,” Damis said. And Xilarn had said—he had said—that he wanted whatever Damis would give in whatever time they had, and after having told the man but a handful of minutes ago that he wasn’t ‘allowed’ to so much as touch him, setting the stage for his understanding of what they had just agreed to seemed appropriate. So, Damis leaned, dipping to touch his smile to the other man’s lips and kiss, lightly. “I will endeavor not to anger you so often,” he promised. “And I am flattered, all else aside, to know you dream about me…”

It occurred to him very fleetingly that he could have pushed for more—experimented with the scope and seen where it would get him for the moment.

But the morning had already had so much excitement of varying forms that Damis felt no personal need to do so. He had his answers, finally — good answers, far better than anticipated — he already felt infinitely better than he had for the bulk of the morning, and the tent was already packed besides. They would be in Yera soon enough, which had beds (as well as baths, and likely places to eat that would cook the food for you), and all of that seemed worth waiting for. It had been this long already, and there was business to tend to. Surely, with personal issues resolved to a comfortable resting point, he could wait until things fell naturally into place in that regard.

So, he moved to the fire, fiddling with the two bowls left out and filling one as his mind wandered. “Is the lake far?” His gaze flit, squinting, to the sun—solidly above the horizon now and on its way up. There must have been a lake, since Xilarn returned damp and smelling of a recent wash, but if the amount of time he’d spent out was any indication, it might not have been as near as the other man originally guessed. “I may postpone my wash until Yera unless it is especially near…and not especially deep.”

Another thought, though, more serious, occurred to him as he began to eat, and he spared Xilarn another glance. “You said that my parents told you it would be a month…”

He didn’t know much of Xilarn’s life situation, since the man had been so persistent in his privacy and prickly with regard to inquiries into it, but he knew the man had a son younger than himself, that he hadn’t been in Oba in the long term when they met, and that regardless of who specifically was being referred to, most people generally were not well-positioned to sporadically and completely clear an indefinite portion of their life schedule free of complications. And it had by now most definitely exceeded the scope of the ‘one month’ Xilarn had apparently planned for.

“Do you need to…” He made a vague hand gesture, “…handle anything? It was my intent to continue traveling for quite some time. But if there was anyone or anywhere you needed to be in contact with, Yera would be a convenient place to resupply and take pause if need be.”

Parading your butt around, sleeping nude, always with the cocky attitude.

It was difficult not to smile, and under the circumstances Damissan did not bother trying. Xilarn’s hand on him — while necessarily brief as he passed by — was incredibly welcome affirmation: this was alright. ‘Where’ they were exactly was still less clear metaphorically than literally, but it no longer felt like thin, uneven ground, precarious and falling apart beneath them with every step. So Damissan took great solace in that and hummed as Xilarn came to settle with him.

“If I ‘took’ Gadot on my own,” he said, “I think I might faint. I’m worse with heights than I, apparently, am with blood.” It was still something of a mystery to him, honestly, that he had lost consciousness in that encounter. He wasn’t completely unfamiliar with injuries, though he had been unversed in any variety of ‘real’ life or death situation. He supposed that may have added to it. But he knew he was uncomfortable with heights. And so did Xilarn, of course. It was hard not to when they had spent various days in villages comprised completely of structures in trees which were not low to the ground. “Perhaps not faint,” he amended, “if my body had any sense of self preservation. But scream, almost definitely. At least I wouldn’t drown.”

His gaze flit, briefly, to observe Xilarn’s lounging as his bottom lip pursed up at the words. ‘Stinking like anguish.’

“Do I smell?” He probably did. He had wanted and tried to wash in the jungle and sometimes it had rained, but generally speaking it all felt mostly useless at the time, as though the very air clung to everything it touched and there was no escaping it. He did desperately look forward to a proper bath, and the thought that he might have smelled noticeably foul at the outset of the morning (though Xilarn had not yet at that point bathed any more recently than he had) was enough to put a dash of heat in his cheeks.

Better next time, he promised himself.

He did not miss, though, the way his company’s interest in the morning meal diminished after the mention of potential lingering obligations. It wasn’t, he decided, his business to pry, and frankly he had no interest in doing so either. They had a generally positive air between them again, more open than it had been yet — literally and otherwise, he noted as he glanced skyward to the open stretch of it — and if Xilarn wanted to speak more of it he could, but Damissan was content simply to leave the thought out there for Xilarn to do with it what he would.

So, he nodded. “Mm. As long as you need.” After finishing with his food, he set the bowl aside to be addressed with the last remaining things out only for the purposes of the meal, and his eyes moved for the horizon. “I, though, am ready to arrive. There will baths and beds, and I don’t think I’ve ever looked more forward to such a simple prospect.”

At, Do you think he’d let you fall? Damissan glanced towards the beast in question. He was no animal expert — or even enthusiast, generally — but was familiar enough with Gadot’s temperament and mannerisms by now to know that something was amiss with the raptrix’s mood. Something had been amiss with everyone’s mood earlier, however, so he supposed it wasn’t entirely surprising seeing his master distressed would off-put him.

“Perhaps not…” Damissan admitted.

It would be useful. It was hard to argue with that, and admittedly, the concept wasn’t quite as petrifying as it once was—the prospect of riding Gadot while grounded, at least, was no longer much of an issue. He still appreciated the raptrix’s size, particularly when it was upon him suddenly, but even then it was true: he was no longer afraid of Gadot, and had not been for some time. It was the prospect of being so high, suspended so far over ground with nothing beneath him—

His stomach gave a small twist at the thought, and he flushed when Gadot looked to him, tail wagging as though to assure that he couldn’t possibly be in more disarming, capable hands—or paws and feathers, as the situation would have it.

“I suppose I could bury my face against his neck to mute any sounds I might make if they’d startle him,” he said. But the suggestion of ‘lessons’ wasn’t all bad. Better than a crash course to an unknown lake, surely. Particularly if Xilarn was going to involve himself. Riding Gadot together had gone so well last time. “It would,” he added at length. “Make it easier to begin that is. It is a good idea, and I think…with some gradual lead in…I could manage tolerance and competence.”

Hopefully.

It couldn’t be impossible.

When Xilarn rose and packed away their dishes, Damis followed suit, standing and stretching. At the closing commentary, he shot the man a glance and snorted, though his smile was cocked with amusement, and a moment later it was with a soft, easy laugh that he shook his head. “Your tolerance of me is all-enduring and bordering saintly, Xilarn. Thank you.”

Dog tongue was not under any circumstances what Damissan distinctly wanted on his face. But he had little opportunity to do anything more than realize what was going to occur a fraction of an instant before he did, and his face scrunched in defense of itself. But there were worse things.

Such as the fact that apparently even Xilarn’s own son had not successfully ridden him. His eyes snapped open at the comment, expression turning into a suspicious squint in the man’s direction, though his fingers had already perched to stroke (since Gadot’s face was in his face, petting was at least convenient) and he saw no reason to stop entirely. It was, though, with a more ginger nature that he did so, eyeing Gadot after Xil and grunting to himself.

Maybe he’ll have more tolerance with you.

Why Xilarn thought an un-saddle-trained, fully grown raptrix who apparently had little patience for other riders was ‘best suited’ to his skill level — that being none whatsoever — was a mystery to him. But privately, he wasn’t as concerned as perhaps he ought to have been. The information that Gadot had been uncooperative with others was new to him, and though he had been hesitant around the beast at first, he had never actually gotten the impression that Gadot had any issues with him—quite the opposite in fact, even in the face of his initially lukewarm reception.

And perhaps he was only flattering himself. But he certainly felt more ready to attempt flying Gadot than any other beast, and were it any other beast he wasn’t certain he would have been so willing to attempt at all. He suspected he wouldn’t have.

So he left that as it was, and when they headed out it was possibly the most pleasant span of the trip yet. It was neither blazingly hot nor grossly humid, the sun was out, the terrain was manageable, and above all the rest of it, the air between them was easy. Xilarn did not retreat to Gadot, and with casual conversation scattered along the way the walk felt to Damis even less time consuming than it was—though by the end his eagerness to arrive did give rise to giddy impatience even with a relatively short time frame to go.

Somehow, arrival did not alleviate his eagerness or impatience.

It was, though, a glorious feeling to be back in the presence of civilization, and he glanced to Xilarn at the commentary. Mention of ‘the’ room — singular, he hadn’t imagined that — answered one question on his mind at least, and made clear why the eager buzz of energy beneath his skin had not waned. He reminded himself he didn’t know yet exactly what Xilarn’s intent was or how ‘quickly’ he wanted to progress with anything. But he decided it wasn’t a concern of his at the moment. All signs were positive thus far and he would know the details soon enough. For now, dinner took priority.

So he nodded, leaving Xilarn with his half of the settling process and setting out to find something which looked appetizing. Fortunately, so far as he could tell, Xilarn was among the least picky eaters imaginable, and so it was only his own more limited palette (though now forcibly expanded out of necessity) left to cater to. And even more fortunately it seemed that Tale residents had a far more approachable diet than the jungle natives.

After weeks of traveling food and the scent of insect innards, a great variety of Tale’s offerings actually smelled incredibly appetizing, and he perused the market area where street food was being touted with interest. After striking a conversation with one of the merchant girls behind a stall, she happily offered her recommendation on the matter and even, when asked, pointed him in the direction of the local fowler and adjacent trade office, which handled letters among other forms of delivery. He had not written his parents in some time and if they had truly expected him back within the month, it was time he made some things more clear between them.

But, that was information for later and could wait. For now, he collected ‘dinner.’ Initially, he intended to return with one thing—simple, efficient. But there were so many options, Yera being the largest of Tale’s settlements and street food often being an art in sampling besides. So he settled instead for a small variety: a bag of assorted fruits and berries, flat bread and an accompanying packet of spices which the vendor insisted ought to be sprinkled atop for flavor, and two fried wraps of some variety of meat (which he had been assured was aldabuk) dressed with enough sauce and tossed condiments that most of the individual ingredients were indistinguishable.

Then, before he became more burdened than his hands could handle (or lost, for that matter), he made his way back.

As Obans in Tale, they stood out enough that the innkeeper was able to point him to the room ‘the other Oban’ had reserved without issue, and it was unlocked on arrival, which he took to mean — proven correct a moment later — that Xilarn had made it up to the room.

“Almost everything looked edible,” he said, only half over the threshold when he began talking, and the door hung half open in his wake. “No fish, no insects—or none that weren’t so slathered in something else that they were unrecognizable—and a great many other things, though admittedly I steered clear of those that looked least recognizable. But the options are such we could eat something different every day without ever having to scoop it from the inside of a husk.” He made his way to the center of the room, setting the bulk of what he had out on the small table beside the bed before plucking up a berry, popping it into his mouth, and dropping to a perched sit at the edge of the mattress as his gaze flit Xilarn’s way. “There is also a fowler, and a post station-” He gestured vaguely, “-not far past the market district, which…” He trailed off for a moment. “Well, you may already know that—have you been to Yera before?”

He knew Xilarn had fairly extensive experience traveling and had been through Jauhar, Tale, and Sauti at different points, but he was not clear on the specifics, and it was at least possible that he was quite familiar with the city already.

“Mmm—frugal?” Damissan blinked, adjusting his position further onto the mattress and tearing off a piece of bread. “It’s just food.” He hadn’t said it argumentatively—quite the opposite, it rolled off the tongue almost before he thought about it, casual and near-flippant. When he opened his mouth for the follow up, though, ‘Food doesn’t cost anything, we can afford it’ he paused, second-guessing the words in light of his company.

Food didn’t feel like it costed much of anything, comparatively, and until leaving Oba he had never given cost thought. On the occasions when he had purchased anything (and that was rare, most significant purchases being made for him), it was separate from the paying process. He chose what he wanted, it was packaged and delivered to the estate, and his parents handled the billing. Anything smaller than that was change.

But he was no longer in Oba. Nor was he under the direct care of his parents any longer. They had provided him with initial funding for his travels, but — as Xilarn had very recently addressed — they had not expected him to remain out longer than a month, and while he hadn’t given much thought to it before, it was entirely possible their patience and similarly their wallet for him would dry if his persistence began to bother them. And if he ran out of coin…

Well, Xilarn could hunt, but he felt a serious and immediate aversion to the concept of being dependant on the man in that way. His family had money, there was no reason for him to be a financial burden on anyone but the ones who’d made him. He fiddled with the edge of his bread. It was all a more serious train of thought than he’d initially been prepared for, but Xilarn didn’t seem intent on doing any more than making him aware, so he hummed, pushing most of it off to the side for later.

“You’re right, though. I have a poor habit of not thinking on it much, and I will next time but—” He dropped back to brace one hand behind him on the bed, leaning and tossing his company a grin, “—we haven’t spent coin or had food to spend coin on in weeks. It’s our first night in civilization, and it wasn’t overly much I promise. Besides…” His eyes studied Xilarn, and his tone when he spoke again had softened, a fraction more serious, “…I think we have reason to celebrate.”

Xilarn, apparently, agreed.

When the man leaned, reaching over the edge of the bed, Damissan’s interest immediately peaked — he did love surprises — and his mouth made a small, “Ohhh…” of curious pleasure on spotting it, body tipping in to better see as he reached. Taking it to him, his eyes skimmed the bottle. He wasn’t familiar with Tale wine — or a connoisseur of wines in general — so it wasn’t as though he could judge anything, but Xilarn had gone out of his way to purchase it, for them, and that in itself was enough to make his eyes bright. He almost bounced on the bed’s edge in his excitement—before noting such behavior might be deemed childish, and that was not the vibe he wanted the other man to be getting.

So instead, he grinned, set it back carefully, and toed his boots off before climbing more fully onto to the bed to perch over Xilarn. “I do like wine,” he said, and dipped to kiss. While it wasn’t the impassioned and adrenaline-driven rush of their first, nor was it so brief or light as their second. He had time. He had permission. He had Xilarn, on a bed, in a room — the bed, in their room — and his pulse was tripping lightly in his throat, potently aware of how much of this was not his norm—and how he wouldn’t have changed any of it even if he could. But, there were things of import which remained to be done, so, with some reluctance, he made himself pull back. “Since I still ‘stink of anguish’, though, I will spare you my scent for the moment…” Pushing up, he extricated himself from Xilarn and the bed, hopped off the side of the mattress, and strode to the door, shutting it fully and throwing the latch before moving to investigate the washroom.

It wasn’t a porcelain tub designed to fit five nobles and a fountain. In fact, the ‘tub’ — a slightly elongated metal basin braced against the wall and fitted under a crude faucet — looked like it would be hard pressed to fit two children and certainly only one adult. It was, however, a bath. And it did have running water. And to Damissan in that moment, it was perfect. He moved to rustle about their things, gathering up bathing supplies when he found them, and sparing Xilarn an over the shoulder glance when he made it back to the washroom threshold.

“I am going to bathe. I would invite you to join me, but the facilities do not look up to accommodating us both and you already have, so…” His gaze flit down Xilarn. “I won’t be long. But you needn’t wait on me to eat unless you prefer to.”

And with that, he slipped inside, pulling the door mostly shut behind him but not bothering with the lock. The bed would suit any potential sexual pursuit far better than the minimalistic wash tub, but there was no reason to lock the man out if he happened to need his attention for some reason in the time between.