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It had been some time since Damis felt he had missed anyone—things, perhaps, in passing: his bed; meals that arrived fully prepared, in bulk, and in great variety; being clean all the time. But not people. His parents were the closest figures in his life and although he was physically distant from them, he did not feel distinctly more separate from them than he had at home. They had not, so far as he could see, been in effective communication and understanding with each other in years. And he was not especially eager to return to them and be physically nearer, while all other distance between them remained the same. Something had to change beforehand.

His numerous connections in Oba of less nearness than his parents were of even less concern since much of it was what he wanted most to distance himself from, and though he had enjoyed his travels thus far — for the most part considering them beneficial even if not always comfortable — he had not met anyone who he spent enough time with to form any connection enough to miss.

Except for Xilarn.

He had predicted feeling the pull of his absence. They had been partners in contact for months, even if Xilarn had maintained more distance through all the beginning portions, and he had become a part of Damissan’s patterns in that period—his primary contact, even if his message had been intended for all the world at large aside from him. But he had not anticipated quite what he got.

The first week was easy enough, restless but full of an anticipative energy. In the second, opportunity presented itself to revert in Xilarn’s absence to a quicker solution for arms about him at least briefly, but he found the concept at the time not even ‘temptation’ so much as it was actively unappealing for once. Because it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be what he wanted, and even if nothing with the man he was waiting for became what either of them might hope for along the way, he knew with certainty then that he wanted to begin properly.

Surely both of them deserved that.

He had gone to sleep that night with an easier feeling in his chest, as though some unresolved question of his own had found its answer much as he’d hoped. There was a certain relief that came with knowing the process, at least at the moment, would not involve ‘resisting’ anything, for he wasn’t interested.

From there out, however — despite Xilarn’s letter of warning that he would be ‘late,’ despite Damissan’s prior expectations that he would be ‘late’ to begin with as compared to the single week he thought he would make it in, despite all that he knew of the man’s capacity to handle himself under any variety of circumstances — he had little left to do but wait, and wonder, and want, and miss.

And worry.

It crept in gradually, as unanticipated as the shift from a pull of want to a subtle and patient ache of something absent that oughtn’t be. Concern, like a vine, braided itself into the outer edges of ‘missing’ Xilarn, and surely it would be at least a full turn of the moon before he returned. Without Gadot he would travel slowly, on foot, so Damis knew he shouldn’t rationally spend time on worry until it passed such time.

But he had said it would be three hundred miles of flight, far more by land. It wasn’t easy or short, and the only reason he needed to make the trip was because some noblewoman’s brat had decided he needed to travel all the way to Tale—

It was a lot of walking.

So, Damis resigned himself to whatever extent he could to a span of surely at least thirty days wait, and by the third week, despite all efforts to think to the contrary, he was falling to sleep consistently with the thought that if anything occurred to Xilarn in his trek — alone, over hundreds of miles of wild terrain, minimally equipped and without company or guard of any variety including his animal — it would be his fault. In his scattered dreams insects or alkidike or wild tusked beasts would ravage Xilarn’s camp along the way, and again, and again, and again he would fight off whatever came. But each encounter took its toll, and by the time Xilarn made it to him—the dreams admittedly at that point tended to become vaguer on the details of whatever injuries had felt dangerous at the time, shifting mental focus instead to more hopeful and exciting aspects of what might occur.

The convolution of messages made for restless mornings.

Or, as the case would have it…

Damissan stirred, shivering at slow climb of Xilarn’s touches, and he shifted in his sleep. “Xilarn…we need…” ‘…to get you medical attention? To find paths through Tale and Sauti with less rampant danger? To…?’ Even the beginning of his sentence seemed less easy to recall by the moment as he pulled closer to consciousness, and his lashes fluttered upwards. He felt Xilarn before he saw him, aware in that split second of real presence, whose scent and familiarity dispelled any reactive fear that might have come with someone in his bed at—

He shook his head, blinking groggily and bringing the man better into focus as he twisted, fingers reaching instinctively to touch whatever they first came into contact with. It was, at least, Xilarn. “What…time alive are you?”

No. Damissan frowned. That couldn’t be right.

“You’re alive,” he tried again. “What times is it? Are you alright? You’re—” Here, now. “—early, didn’t you have to walk hundreds of—? Did anything…?” Damissan found his fingers were more eager than his this mind to ask and answer if anything drastic had happened, skimming up what of Xilarn he could reach as he pushed up from his lay, as if by touch alone, he could discern if the man had been hurt along the way despite the fact that he could barely tell which of his own fingers was which. “What happened? I missed you…”

“Mm…” Damissan shifted as Xilarn settled onto the mattress, smiling without much thinking about it and pressing towards the initial touches. “Boring…and quiet,” he repeated. His lashes flit shut, chin tipping to meet Xil’s kiss and a pleasant tremor of warmth stirring under his skin as he was looped in close. He tucked forward, and layered an arm over the other man’s waist. “I’m glad I didn’t miss anything exciting, at least…”

Xilarn’s head to his shoulder—and then grin, to the skin of his throat—helped to dispel much of any lingering grogginess, rousing his attention in more ways than one. The thought, though, hooked on his mind: it was quite a distance. They had both been expecting Gadot, and as his mind woke and counted—Xilarn had made truly impressively good time for one man on foot. And, given the time of his arrival — it must have been several hours past midnight and into morning — there was little else to conclude but that he had pushed himself this last day of travel to arrive before morning.

To be here. With him.

Flushing, Damissan let his fingers curl in lightly, fingertips tracing up the small of the man’s back and then holding. “If I were there with you, you wouldn’t have needed to press so quickly forward to begin with. I think whatever detriment I am in speed is more than made up by the value of my pleasant company besides…I do regret to inform you that I haven’t created any special rebellious excitement here for you in the form of mobs or otherwise. I’ve been uncharacteristically well behaved.”

He shifted, head notching to the side just enough that Xilarn’s lips grazed where they were on his neck. “But I hope you didn’t exhaust yourself pressing so long into the night, just the same…I could show you some appreciation for your timeliness and hard…” He rocked his hips to slide against Xil’s and cleared his throat, “…work…”

In retrospect, he couldn’t have said why it occurred to him precisely then, or what inspired him to think it needed to be voiced that moment. But, as the situation stood, the words left his mouth as they came to his mind, “Oh, and my parents fired you.” After, he frowned. “That is…I do not figure it especially matters at this point…since you are no longer doing what they hired you to do, but…” His finger traced a small circle on the skin of Xilarn’s back. “I thought you should know. Part of your payment came with the missive while you were absent. Their letter says that they will forfeit the remainder…ah…” He breathed out, “…when you deliver me to Sulburi.” When Damissan opened his eyes, they fixed on a visible stream of moonlight spilling into the room from the window. “Which they hope you will do, immediately upon receipt of their message.”

As was often the case in retrospect, Damissan knew the moment he had said something that either didn’t need saying quite in the manner he had, or at the time he had, or both. To be fair, he’d been suspicious of himself the moment the admission had begun rolling off his tongue, but it had been too late to stop by then.

Xilarn had been relaxed. Though with a softness to his repeated admittance that lead Damissan to wonder, just for a moment then, if he should have pursued it. It was a topic he wanted more on-

But, he had spoken too quickly, and at the man’s immediate recoil, he flushed.

Why?

“Because it has been longer than they intended me to be out. They’ve lost patience with my endeavors and want me home. It arrived—or rather, I went to the mail office the day after you departed, and it was there for me, addressed to us both. I have been keeping them up to date on my progress as we’ve gone, and I’ve told them that I had no intention of returning early, but they no longer seem to care on that part and see it as high time I returned regardless of my preferences. They said they had intended to employ you only for a limited period to satisfy my curiosity until it was sated, but given my unanticipated persistence, they want my immediate return regardless. I thought…”

Damissan hesitated, glancing away.

“I ought to have saved it, perhaps, ‘til morning. But, if…” His chest tightened, and he breathed. “If your decision to continue traveling with me and bedding me was in any way contingent upon continuing to receive a wage for your services…I am in no position to compensate you myself, personally, without their aid. And…now seemed the time to inform you. I did write them back, to say that it was still my intention to progress forward and that, though you were not with me at the time, it was my understanding that you would now be working beyond the bounds of their agreement with you, having fulfilled its original terms of seeing to my safety for a month.”

It didn’t occur to him immediately, but as an afterthought—given their proximity, Xilarn’s general concerns, and the fact that he knew his parents would likely care if they knew.

“I’ve told them nothing of what we’ve done personally, if that’s a concern. Only that you’ve performed admirably and that they ought to be grateful for your continued patience with me…and be relaxed knowing that I am safe where I go with you.”

Damissan watched, not immediately responding to the first question. Admittedly, there was a thread of anxiety there — as easily as it could all go well, he couldn’t deny there were strong arguments to the contrary. And most people gave his parents what they wanted, particularly when coin was involved.

Xilarn was not most people, however, and as the man continued on, Damis released a slow breath he hadn’t intended to hold. He took a moment to consider his words, but when he spoke, it was with cautiously budding excitement.

“I think we are well positioned to,” he said. “They paid you a portion with the missive—and we still have a good portion left of what was to keep us going prior.”

The stay without Xilarn had been by far the most costly occasion of anything they’d done yet. But, because they hadn’t spent overly much prior, and his parents were likely over-cautious when it came to their expectations of the cost of his maintenance, they were not penniless by any stretch. And he knew that their progression could cost near nothing if need be, given that they already had supplies on hand, and food and living space could be free if they forewent beds.

“I am not ready to return yet. I didn’t intend to before and that hasn’t changed because they continue to disapprove. The only important variable in the equation is you…so far as I am concerned.” He considered his company. “You may not believe in my…god,” he said, “but my faith, in whatever form it takes, that I can be something better than the person I was when I was left in Orrod is still present, and I don’t think there’s anything good for me at ‘home.’ Not now. Not yet…”

He shifted nearer, bridging back some of the distance inspired by the initial admission. Xilarn’s final concession, Damis knew, was a concession—Xilarn hadn’t seemed to especially want anyone knowing of whatever was ‘personal’ between them as of the last time they’d spoken on it. So, he took it for what it was and tipped to kiss, lightly.

“I don’t ‘deem it necessary’ to inform them of anything more than I have, for the time being. I see no need to give them information they can do nothing with, and nothing about…and whether or not they would ‘approve’, I don’t think it any of their concern. Until it is. But…” He eyed the other man. “I assume that time will make itself known when it does, if it does. And by that point I would hope it isn't cause for much embarrassment on your part.”

When Xilarn sighed, Damis relaxed, lashes flitting up at the touch which skimmed his throat and rested at his cheek. “I do,” he said. “But I believe I’ve progress left to make.” He adjusted as Xilarn shifted in, a smile edging at his lips, and he shut his eyes at the kiss to his collar. “I think,” he said, “the hope was to grow to something a bit more than that…I would at least hope your interests lie more in aspiring young men than excitable teenage boys.”

When Xilarn grunted the question, Would it offend you if I was embarrassed? Damis hummed, fingers threading loosely into the man’s hair. At the latter portion, though, It’s not you I’d be embarrassed about… he frowned.

“I thought your factor of embarrassment was my age,” he said. “What, besides that difference, would you be abashed about? And…I suppose it wouldn’t offend me deeply yet, but if we continue to be…exclusive, and our travels progress well, and we continue to take more positively to each others’ company…I would hope that you wouldn’t be embarrassed about either of us and be content with both our choices, regardless of precisely what others might assume when they see us.”

Damissan considered the thought, what precisely about Xilarn might his parents take heaviest issue with, and it was not — despite what he had said — his age. In truth, he imagined they would care less about him entertaining a casual and temporary sexual interest in his guardsman than a more serious one, not because the man was older, but because both of them — but his mother in particular — hoped that he would marry noble. His sexual exploits had never been especially tasteful before, but they had at least been brief.

If he had been seriously taken with a thirty-year-old wealthy noblewoman, he imagined they’d have been thrilled.

Xilarn…

He huffed, lightly. “I don’t know what else there would be to be abashed about. You don’t have some shameful secret tarnishment on your family name, do you? A history of murder, treason…I took you for coming from…if not noble class, than still a family of repute to some degree, though admittedly the surname wasn’t familiar to me. Regardless, I don’t especially care if you’ve nothing but your clothes and your son to your name. My parents almost certainly would, more, but they should be grateful I’m chasing an upright and serious Oban man instead of—”

‘My boyfriend was half-Alkidike…’

He flushed.

“Well, suffice to say I am sure there are ‘worse’ options in their eyes at least, and in mine…I’ve never taken anyone seriously before. I’m quite pleased with my first choice for attempting it with so far…”

It occurred to Damissan to say that he hadn’t, actually, spent any of the time in Xilarn’s absence spreading his faith. Certainly not by name, in any case. He had interacted with the people, but absent any religious discussion. When Xilarn yawned, though, he opted to let the topic drop for the moment. Xilarn would go forward with him, and that was what mattered.

My friends will think it absurd to have you around…

Damissan eyed the man’s face as he spoke, his expressions making what he didn’t say as meaningful as what he did. He supposed it wasn’t difficult to understand. It might be odd initially, but he had difficulty believing the oddity would persist so long as he could find any common ground with Xilarn’s ‘friends.’

“Assuming your friends are to at least some degree friendlier and more sociable than you, as I would imagine most people are, I don’t think it will be as lasting an ‘absurdity’ as you seem to think. Besides, you needn’t tell them exactly how old I am. I am taller than you, and we’ve been mistaken for a couple before—I don’t think it looks as strange as you think. Most people, I think, would think me older than I am standing beside you, and if you’re concerned you can leave it unsaid unless asked.”

It was as evident as ever that Xilarn wanted little to nothing to do with his related family, aside from his son. But perhaps in context, it was clearer now why. He didn’t imagine most Oban families of any repute would have taken well to a purported coupling with any variety of outsider, let alone a hybrid—with alkidike blood no less, during a time of war. And there might have been more to it, but Damissan opted not to press. Whatever the circumstances, they still caused the man lasting displeasure, and it seemed enough for him to know simply that that wasn’t any portion of family Xilarn was interested in him making connection with. Until he did, Damis didn’t think it his business to push.

Instead, he smiled at the last utterance, breathing out and letting his eyes shut. “I would hope not,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve done anything deserving recently…”

Akiyal included.

Damis glanced. It oughtn’t have been surprising — and wasn’t, really — Xilarn’ wasn’t the most vertically blessed of men. But still, the moment he said it, Damissan wanted to know: how tall was Akiyal? And by virtue, more importantly, was he taller. He had just begun to open his mouth on that question when Xilarn kissed him. Shutting his eyes, Damis decided he could find out the specifics later.

At the latter murmur of instruction not to wake him, the corner of Damis’ lip edged up.

“Mm…I will try to contain myself for your sake.”

It was, for the moment at least, a simple enough venture. Xilarn was present, safe, and set to be about for a significant and undefined duration going forward. The various tensions of the weeks apart were past and less important by the moment. Everything yet to be done could be handled in the morning, and with this in mind, Damissan slept where he was, more at rest than he had been since Xilarn’s departure.

When Damissan woke, it was early morning. Quiet, with soft blue-grey light filtering in through the window. As the summation of events preceding settled in with the process of waking, he smiled, stretching as carefully as he could manage in place so as not to disturb the other man and eyeing him. Being that he’d been specifically instructed not to wake him — and that he undeniably needed his rest — Damissan concluded his options amounted to: remaining in bed and sleeping further, or edging out as unobtrusively as possible and tending to his various morning rituals before seeing if by then, Xilarn had recovered enough from his extensive travel and late night to rise.

He dallied with the first option for a handful of minutes before opting for the second, and slipping as quietly as he could manage from bed. He dressed lightly, made his way outside, and took up his by-now familiar route. By the time he returned, morning was a warm yellow, and washing was a brief task. Refreshed, clean, and fully awake, he eyed the bed.

It surely wouldn’t be problematic just to climb back in just for a moment, since there was little else to do immediately, so long as he behaved himself. So, he did. The rest of the morning could wait until Xilarn was ready for it.