some farmer

Ryis leans on the front desk with both hands flat against the top, and lets his head hang. I reach up and pat his back gently; he huffs out a sigh in response.

“It's okay,” I say. My voice is hoarse, dried out from hours of conversation and from the dust we kicked up as we travelled. I've been in one place for so long that I had genuinely forgotten what life on the road was like. I ache down to my bones, and that's after travelling all day in the wagon. I used to do this bullshit on foot!

“It's not that bad. There's a roof over our heads, the room has a tub – right?”

I look back at the innkeeper for confirmation. She nods.

“We'll wash off the day and get some rest. At least there is a bed!”

Ryis looks over at me, expression somewhat less miserable than it was before. I beam in response. Sure, maybe I'm a little disappointed I can't starfish out in a bed all to myself. Sure, for the last hour, all either of us had been able to talk about was stretching out on our respective beds and sleeping like the dead. But it's only for one night. I can manage sleeping on the floor. It's better than having to pitch a tent outside, after all.

I'm about to ask the woman at the desk if she has any spare bedrolls, or at least some extra pillows and blankets, but she cuts me off before I can speak.

“It's a very comfortable bed, I promise. I know it's smaller than you probably hoped, but I promise it's room enough.”

The woman smiles knowingly – too knowingly, I think, for someone who seems to have read the room all wrong – and reaches down, retrieving a room key and plunking it down in front of us. There's a twinkle in her eye.

“Look at it this way – it's the perfect opportunity to... cuddle. Not that a lovely young couple like you two need an excuse, I'm sure,” she finishes with a wink.

My eyes go wide, hand freezing halfway through handing the innkeeper our gold, and Ryis damn near chokes on air. I don't know if my cheeks have ever been so hot in my whole life. We both start to splutter, simultaneously stammering out an attempt at denial, but the innkeeper is speaking over us like she hasn't even noticed how flustered we've gotten.

“I'll tell you what. I'll send you two up a meal and a bottle of wine to share, free of charge, for being so understanding. That should help liven the mood, shouldn't it?”

Well, that shuts us both up. Sometimes you just have to play the hand you're dealt, right? I immediately wind my arm around Ryis's, squeezing his forearm in an effort to get him to play along. To my surprise, he doesn't seem to need the encouragement.

“That is... very kind of you,” he says. “We're grateful. It's been a long day. I'm sorry if I was being difficult.”

The woman waves her hand dismissively.

“Oh, no, honey. You weren't at all. Trust me, I get all sorts here. You two are very sweet, and I'm happy to help you. Honestly,” she says fondly, clasping her hands over her chest, “you both remind me so very much of my wife and I.”

My heart is doing the weirdest little dance in my chest, and I'm sure my cheeks are about to melt right off my face. The situation is not helped whatsoever by Ryis, who covers my hand on his arm with his own. Gods, he has nice hands. They're so wide and warm and they look so strong.

“That is, so, nice,” I manage to squeak. “Thank you. Hey... sweetheart, can you hand me my bag?”

He's smirking at me. My face is melting clean off and he's smirking. I glare a little and he acquiesces with a soft chuckle, relinquishing his hold on me. He hands me my bag and hoists his own over his shoulder, gesturing with his free arm.

“Lead the way, dear.”

Okay, the room is really nice. It's not the kind of room I could normally afford to rent on my own. This isn't the only reason I'm extra grateful I asked Ryis to come with me to the Capital, but it's certainly up there on the list. I toss my bag next to a dresser and plant my hands on my hips, humming thoughtfully to myself as I look around.

“See? Not so bad.”

I watch Ryis as he unpacks some of his things, stacking neatly folded clothes in his arms, clearly intending to make use of the room's dresser. It's surprisingly charming of him. I, on the other hand, was planning on rummaging around in my pack like a raccoon in a garbage can.

“Not so bad,” he agrees, opening the top drawer of the dresser. He immediately tilts his head, running a hand over the inside of it.

“Walnut. Nice,” he says softly to himself, before putting his stack of clothing on top of the dresser. With both hands free, he pulls the drawer out completely, turning it this way and that. Whatever he finds seems to make him happy.

“Dovetail joints! My favourite,” he rumbles, pleased. He holds it out so I can see, and I lean in, mirroring his eagerness as if I have a horse in this race. The happy look on his face is reward enough, even if I don't exactly share his passion for woodworking.

He points out the way the corners are joined, and admittedly, it is kind of pretty as far as drawer corners go; the way the two corner pieces are slotted together is neat and precise.

“Ohh, dovetail,” I murmur. “I see it. The way they're shaped, looks like...”

“A dove's tail,” Ryis finishes for me, a grin on his face. “Yeah. It's a really strong joint method, nice and tidy. It's a great piece.”

He balances the drawer on his hip and tucks his clothes into it before smoothly sliding the whole thing back in. He gives the face of it a little pat, no doubt admiring the decorative carvings, and I can't help but giggle.

“Are we done feeling up the furniture, or do you want to spend a little time with the coat rack?”

Ryis laughs, cheeks flushing, before pretending to appraise the aforementioned coat rack. He shrugs his lips downward, humming, “Mmm, I dunno. I mean, it is a pretty nice looking coat rack. I could show it a good time.”

He laughs even louder. I give his arm a shove before immediately dissolving into giggles myself.

The rest of the night passes easily. It's always easy, spending time with Ryis, even as tired as I know we both are. We take turns hogging the bathroom, scrubbing the dirt of the day from our skin. I almost fall asleep right there in the tub; it would be so easy to do. I somehow manage to drag myself out without drowning, just as our dinner is being delivered, and we sit on the floor together, sharing bites from each other's plates. The wine is nice, too, but neither of us seem to be up for much more than a glass apiece.

Shadows stretch through the room as the sun sets, and as the light leaves, my ability to remain upright goes with it. I sprawl face-down on the floor, stretching my arms and legs with a grunt. Ryis has disappeared behind the room divider to change, which is a situation that I'm determined to ignore.

“This isn't so bad,” I call out, rubbing a hand over the floor. “I mean. It might be good for my back, sleeping down here. My posture's been shit all day, sitting in the wagon. Maybe I can just lay a few towels down underneath me, or...”

“Come again?”

I look up as Ryis walks out from behind the divider, tugging his shirt down. I catch a glimpse of his stomach, a teasing stripe of firm skin, and thank my lucky stars that half of my suddenly very hot face is pressed against the cool wooden floor right now. Thankfully, he seems largely unaware of the fact that my skin is turning the shade of a newly boiled lobster.

“You can't actually think that I'm letting you sleep on the floor,” he continues, a brow raised. And he's right, I honestly don't know why I assumed he'd be okay with that. The man is polite to a fault, and a mother hen by his very nature.

I push myself up with a grunt, brushing off my legs as I stand.

“One of us has to,” I opine. “It's an either-or kind of situation tonight, my guy.”

I pad over to my bag, digging around for my night shirt. It's a button up, oversized and loose – I honestly don't think it was ever intended to be slept in, but it's long enough to cover all my bits without being heavy. I love the thing. I dip behind the divider, glad that the glow in my cheeks seems to have receded.

“I mean... is it?”

I pause, halfway through sliding off my pants, and tilt my head, peering at the shadowy outline of Ryis on the other side of the fabric divider. He continues before I can answer, with somewhat less of his usual calm confidence.

“It's not a single bed. Right? There's room for, for both of us. And, I mean... we're both adults. And friends.”

“Adult friends,” I echo, stupidly. The blush is back. I'm not wearing any pants.

“Yeah,” he laughs. He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, adult friends. That's us.”

“Just a couple of grown-up buds.”

“Really mature, the two of us.”

“And don't forget what great pals we are.”

There's a beat of silence before we both erupt into hysterical, borderline frantic giggles. I swear I can hear Ryis straight up snort.

“Okay, well, considering our obvious maturity,” I finally manage, shedding the rest of my clothing and pulling my night shirt over my head, “and the previously mentioned level of our friendship, we could probably handle sleeping in the same bed.”

I step out from behind the divider. It's surprisingly hard to look at Ryis right now; I'm feeling shy in a way I don't normally feel around him. I'm also acutely aware of the fact that while my choice of pyjamas is almost long enough to gently kiss my knees, I am still not, technically speaking, wearing any pants.

So that's... great, for everyone involved.

Well, no sense focusing on that. Ryis is fine, after all. He offered this as a solution. And sure, we're both feeling a little bit awkward about it, but we only have to feel awkward in that space between getting into bed and falling asleep. And given the way I've been close to nodding off at multiple points tonight, that won't be long at all.

I turn down the blanket as Ryis moves around the room, extinguishing lights. I get the distinct impression he's trying not to look at me right now. Which is fine, as I'm doing the same thing to him. He's way too easy on the eyes, too easy to get caught up admiring, especially in the mood lighting he's unintentionally creating. So instead, I keep fussing over the pillows and smoothing at the sheets as if I'm a member of the cleaning staff.

Eventually I get into the bed (no more delaying the inevitable), shifting around minutely before settling firmly on my side with my back to the other side of the bed. To his side of the bed. I tug the blanket up, nearly to my ears, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, determined to move as little as physically possible. If I could somehow tie myself down to the bed, I would.

Have I always been able to hear my own heart beating this loudly? Will he be able to hear how fast it's going? That's embarrassing.

I honestly didn't anticipate feeling this nervous, this strange. It all seems... silly. Truly so fucking silly, to be reacting like this. It's Ryis. He's my best friend – maybe the best friend I've ever had. Sharing a bed with him should be simple. A non-issue. It shouldn't be making me feel this way. My heart shouldn't be migrating up to live in my throat. My palms shouldn't be sweating. I feel like a sexually confused teenager at their first sleep-over. It's Ryis!

It's Ryis. It's Ryis.

The bed sways as Ryis climbs in, the mattress dipping with the weight of him, and for a blind, panicky moment I have to stop myself from bolting up and out of the room entirely. Instead, I hold my breath as he settles in. He pulls the covers up and I'm suddenly so aware of the warmth of his body mere inches from my own. The safety of my blanket cocoon has been breached.

I am a grown, adult-style person. I am in my mid twenties. I pay my taxes. This is ludicrous. I can, I will get it together immediately.

“Blow out the candle whenever you're ready, I'm good,” I say softly over my shoulder, while internally congratulating myself on how normal I sound. I feel him leaning over to blow it out, and the bed gives another small shake as he settles back in.

“G'night. Sleep well.”

“You too. 'Night, Ryis.”

I close my eyes, sighing softly to myself. I finally let my tense muscles relax, feeling for all the world like I might melt into the mattress, and I wait for the sleep that's been clawing at the edges of my brain for the last few hours to finally claim me. And thank gods, I can feel myself starting to drift. Ryis's breathing has gotten slow and rhythmic, his body stilling beside me.

A sudden, muffled bang has my eyes flying open. My whole body jolts with surprise, and Ryis does as well; though whether it's from the noise we just heard or the way my foot accidentally makes contact with the back of his calf, I can't be entirely sure.

“Wha' was...” is all I manage to get out before I'm interrupted by another bang. Followed by yet another. And then another one. A slow, rhythmic pounding noise echoes through our otherwise silent room, and I can't for the life of me figure out where it's coming from. I shift this way and that, staring up at the ceiling, trying to see through the darkness. Is it the pipes?

“Oh my god.”

I turn fully over to my other side so that I can better see Ryis, alarmed by the tone of his voice. He's on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, staring at the wall behind our headboard. I can barely see him, save for a sliver of moonlight illuminating his face, but he looks aghast, and I find myself staring at him incredulously.

“What? What's wrong?”

“I...”

The banging noise is getting louder, faster. I look at the wall, too – it's clearly coming from behind it. Whatever is happening is actually shaking the picture that's hanging above our bed. There are other noises, too, now that I'm listening more closely. The pounding seems punctuated by a creaking noise, and... muffled talking. And then a... a moan? What...

Oh. Oh.

My mouth drops open, stomach swooping, and I look back at Ryis. He looks at me, eyes just about as wide as mine feel. We're frozen like that, staring at each other in mirrored horror, as the dulcet tones of someone in the adjacent room getting folded in half like a lawn chair pin us in place. That is, until one of the participants lets out a particularly bawdy, downright theatrical moan. As if in sync, Ryis and I look back at the wall, and then once more at each other.

We break at the exact same time.

I clap my hand over my mouth immediately, trying in vain to muffle my high-pitched cackling. Ryis, on the other hand, slams his face into his pillow, shoulders (and bed) shaking violently with the force of his laughter. I clutch his arm for support, tears streaming down my face and chest burning as I try over and over again to stop myself absolutely losing it. Every time I think I'm managing to calm down, I hear another noise that sets me right off. Ryis isn't even making sound anymore. He's reached a pitch only dogs can hear. He's leaning his forehead on my shoulder, wheezing against me as we ride the moment out together.

Mercifully, it doesn't last long. Well, mercifully for us, anyways. There's a loud series of grunts from the other room followed by an erratic wall beating, Ryis makes a high-pitched choking noise as I keen out another pained laugh, and then there's blessed, blessed silence. The room is quiet once more, the night's sudden return to stillness punctuated only by us as we gasp, giggle, and hiccup our way back to normal.

“Oh gods,” Ryis moans against me, face still split in a wild grin. “That was...”

“Absurd,” I finish for him, releasing my hold on his arm so I can wipe at my wet cheeks. He glances down at his arm and then up at me, shaking his head.

“That took, what, a minute or two, start to finish? I mean,” he snorts, rearranging his pillow below him, “I feel bad for whoever was on the receiving end.”

“I dunno, didn't exactly sound like the other person was having a bad time,” I giggle. I don't bother to turn away from Ryis as I snuggle back down into the mattress; instead, I stretch out on my front and grin in his direction as he lets out an incredulous huff of air.

“I'm just saying. There are some things you can rush your way through, but not that.”

“Well, not everyone has your commitment to quality.”

I regret saying it the moment it leaves my mouth. It's not the words themselves that are the issue – it's the husky voice that says them, in a flirty, suggestive tone that barely even sounds like me. I don't know where that little spurt of confidence came from, but it darts away as quickly as it arrived, leaving my stomach tied in knots.

Ryis just looks at me in response - looks at me like he's suddenly searching for something - and silence creeps between us once more. The swath of moonlight that stretches over both of us is illuminating his face, and I can't help but let my eyes trace the lines of his jaw, his cheekbone, the gentle slope of his nose. Something in my chest tightens; he looks so soft like this, so beautiful. Borderline ethereal.

I feel delirious. Dizzy. Maybe it's the exhaustion. Maybe my poor, overworked mind is finally snapping like a dried-out rope pulled too tight. I half hope that he'll turn away any second now, mutter a goodnight and fall asleep before I can embarrass myself further. But he isn't, and I'm finding it much too difficult to look him in the eye.

Then his thumb brushes against my mouth, so light that if my eyes were closed, I might have thought I imagined it. My lips part in response and I finally meet his eyes. My stomach swoops immediately like I've missed a step going down the stairs, and the whole world tilts as Ryis's gaze pins me in place. I'm frozen as his thumb moves from where it's been resting on my bottom lip. It travels over my cheek, across the bridge of my nose. The rest of his hand follows the path he traced, fingers skirting my skin more gently than I'd have even thought possible (he's good with his hands he's good with his hands). I'm reminded if the way he ran his hand over the dresser earlier as he appreciated its fine craftsmanship, and I suddenly feel so precious. Well made. I tilt my head up just slightly, giving his hand room to trace, to learn my lines, to figure me out.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he opens his mouth as if to speak. Nothing comes out, but I've never been one to miss an opportunity when it's been handed to me, so I lean in and press my mouth to his. It's more hesitant than I intended, experimental where I meant it to be decisive, but it makes Ryis gasp softly all the same. I kiss him again. It's chaste, it's cautious, it's so new; I'm briefly tempted to pull back and apologize profusely until, thank the gods, Ryis finally responds in kind.

He shifts closer to me as he kisses me back, and my mouth opens without hesitation. He doesn't squander opportunities either, it would seem, and his tongue traces into my mouth once, then again. I moan quietly against his lips, my voice shaking, and it seems to spur him into action like nothing else yet. The hand that had been on my face threads into my hair, and he pushes himself up until he's half-hovering over me.

We stare at each other for only a moment more before I can't stand it, can't stand the stillness, have to move my body against his, have to keep tasting him. I'm not tired anymore. My hands are shaking as I pull him back into me, and this time I kiss him as deeply as he'll let me. It's his turn to moan against my mouth and I thank the gods and anyone who's listening when he tightens the hand in my hair and starts kissing down my newly-arched neck.

“Ryis,” I whimper, and it sounds so loud in the midnight-quiet room. He pulls back immediately, searching out my gaze, his own hazy but sharpening with sudden concern.

“Is this, okay? Are you...”

As it turns out, I'm in a real 'show don't tell' kind of mood, so I give him a dizzy grin and move my hips fully under him until he's centred on top of me. I bring my knees up, my thighs bracing him on either side, and our cores slot together. Fuck, that new pressure, the heat of him; it's intoxicating, and we aren't even moving yet.

A thrill that turns into a pleasurable little shiver courses through me as I realize that I definitely don't need to spend any time wondering if he's enjoying this as much as I am. I roll my hips slowly and purposefully against his hardness, and he hisses sharply, head dropping to the crook of my neck. A chuckle bubbles up from my chest, and I run my hands underneath his shirt and skim across the flat plane of his stomach.

“You okay too?”

I feel him nod against me, feel a huff of hot air against my skin. And then, oh then, his hand finds my bare skin. His touch is fucking electric, sparking and sizzling as he traces the outside of my thigh, as far as he can reach, and then back up again. He touches me like he's trying to memorize the feel of me, his fingers skimming over every inch of me that's within reach. I start pushing his shirt up in earnest, my hands still shaking. He takes mercy on me and sits up, straddling me, and pulls his shirt off himself. My breath catches in my throat as I run my hands up and over his bare chest.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Ryis.”

My voice feels raw, my heart feels raw - swollen, cracked open. His head dips and his cheeks bloom with a deep blush, and I'm shocked to feel tears forming in my eyes. I don't know what's happening to me in this moment but I don't care. I don't want to be in my own head about this. Not when Ryis is sitting on top of me, framed by moonlight. All I want is to have this image seared into my brain forever.

I take Ryis' hand and bring it back to me, up and under my shirt. He groans softly as I help his hand find my breast; he kneads it in earnest, rubbing his thumb in slow, sure circles over my nipple. Sensitive skin pebbles under his touch and I keen, rocking my hips up with more force and purpose than before. This time, though, he's rocking against me too, rolling his hips to meet mine. Our movements are becoming graceless and needy, and I hear him curse softly as he starts to undo the buttons of my sleep shirt.

“Were you trying to kill me with this, by the way?”

I can only manage a confused grunt in response to his question. His voice is a low growl, and the sound of it shoots through me so hard and fast that I downright throb in response. Fuck, I'm practically dripping by this point; my underwear is probably soaked right through.

Ryis gestures at me, at what he's doing.

“This, this shirt. I was supposed try to sleep next to you all night, when all I could think about was the fact that you were beside me half-naked...”

“It covers my ass,” I squeak. He snorts, undoing the last button and throwing the whole thing open with a flourish that makes me laugh. The giggle swiftly turns into a moan when he leans down and presses his lips to my freshly bared skin.

“I can't believe I'm... that we're here,” Ryis murmurs reverently, his breathless words punctuated by kisses and by his hand's steady massage of the soft flesh of my breasts. “I can't believe I'm finally touching you, kissing you. This better not be another dream.”

“Fuck, Ryis.”

There it is again – the urge to cry, welling up, tightening my throat. The tenderness of his words cuts right through to the core of me, to a place that's deeper down than the heat threatening to burn through my body.

He's been dreaming of me.

I cup his face with my hands, turn it towards mine so I can look him properly. His deep brown eyes are so stunning, so full of feeling, so soft and so warm; and the adoring look he's giving me is genuine and complete and for a moment I can't seem to breathe. So instead, I kiss him, and wind my arm around the back of his neck as my other hand reaches down to greedily palm at the solid length of him over his sleep pants.

“H-ahh, ha!” he groans, voice choked yet tinged with delighted laughter as he pushes his hips harder against my hand. “Can't be a dream. S'better.”

He leans back again, tugging at the band of my underwear; he pauses, looking up at me questioningly, hesitating. I simply nod and lift my hips to help the process along, and he quickly tosses my underwear off into the darkness. I'm bared before him; the cool night air against my soaked pussy is making me shiver. But it's not a feeling I'm going to suffer for long. Not if I can help it.

I lift my chin, looking up at Ryis through my eyelashes, panting all the while. He's panting too, chest heaving like he's been running a marathon, running his hands up and down my thighs lightly.

“Admiring your handiwork?”

His dark gaze flits up, our eyes meeting, and his mouth drops ever so slightly open. I continue, emboldened by the stricken look on his face, rolling my hips showily so he can see just how wet he's made me.

“That's all you. You did this to me. I want you, Ryis, I want you so much,” I moan, my voice lilting up to a tremulous whimper as my confident tone cants sharply into begging. “Please, please touch me, please just--”

Ryis dives, mouth crashing against mine in the neediest, hungriest kiss I've ever received. I gasp against it, clutch both his biceps to brace myself as I try to meet it, to keep up. It's a good thing I'm holding on to him, too, as the first firm press of his fingertips running along the slick folds of my cunt might have knocked me right off the bed.

I cry out, and he curses under his breath.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he murmurs. He looks down between my legs, seemingly spellbound, watching as his fingers effortlessly glide against me. His thumb joins the rhythm he's created; every time his fingers trace up to my apex, he rubs it in firm circles around my clit. I can feel his eyes on me again, no doubt watching to see how I react.

And gods, react I do. I've been touched here before, by partners with a wide variety of experience, but it has never felt this electric before. Ryis's touch is so sure, as if he's somehow already mapped me out without ever having had me beneath him like this. Every press, every flick and drag, threatens to break off another fragile piece my sanity. I push my hips up and into his hand, over and over, as his attention eventually focuses on my clit alone. It's perfect, gods is it ever perfect, but soon it isn't enough. I need more, the pressure building up inside of me needs more.

“Ryis, Ryis please, I need, I need,” I babble frantically. “Need more, need you, please--”

I thank my lucky stars that he's able to figure out whatever the fuck it is that I mean. He's managed to break my brain, I'm not making sense in any way shape or form. It would be a hit to my ego if I could bring myself to care about anything outside of this moment and his hand on my pussy. Oh, correction, in. He's now knuckle deep inside me, had slid a finger in as I babbled away, his thumb continuing its dutiful attention all the while.

I keen, hips bucking as I ride his hand shamelessly. My nails are digging into his skin where I'm clutching at his arms, I'm babbling again – repeating his name over and over, pleading, moaning. My neck arcs back, eyes closed and head pressed into my pillow, as pleasure coils and uncoils within me. The building pressure is threatening to spill over any moment now, and I try to tell him. It comes out strangled, thick.

“I'm close, I-- ah, fuck, I'm gonna--”

“Look at me.”

With an almighty effort, I wrench open my eyes and look at Ryis. He's watching me with such intense focus that for a second, the rest of the world bleeds away. It's just us, surrounded by nothing but haze and static. Everywhere we're touching, every point of contact, is like a lit match on my skin.

Another finger joins the one inside of me, and that's it. I careen off the edge. My whole body rolls up and into his, the walls of my cunt clenching and spasming as I cry out his name, again and again. On pure instinct I rock myself harder against his hand and he doubles his efforts, heel of his palm now pressing firmly against my clit as he thrusts his fingers into me. His other hand is on my hip, holding me tight as I ride the wave out. I know he's talking to me – I see my name on his lips – but I can't hear it around the deafening crash of pleasure.

I look at him the whole time, just like he asked me to. I'd do anything he asked, anything.

Eventually the crashing wave becomes a gentle ebb. My tensed, tight muscles all seem to go slack at once, and I fall back against the mattress like my strings have been cut. Ryis's hand on my hip smooths over my stomach, my chest, back down to my hip – stroking gentle, soothing circles. I can finally make out what he's saying to me.

“-- so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. Look at you. Gods, you're perfect,” he breathes, voice rough and raw. I let out a breathless laugh, raising a shaking hand to my forehead and looking up at him blearily.

“I'm perfect? Ryis,” I manage, “it took you all of ten minutes to wreck me.”

He grins wickedly, as I take yet another moment to marvel at all the fun new sides I'm seeing of him tonight. He slides his fingers out of me slowly – fuck, I didn't even realize he was still inside of me – and I shudder, letting out a hoarse little moan.

“Imagine what I could do with twenty.”

Ryis holds my gaze, both of us panting into the silence of the room, before raising the fingers that were just inside of me. They glisten wetly in the low light. I can barely register what he's doing before he's licking a long, slow stripe up them both, making a show out of cleaning them of the slick I so thoroughly coated them with. I swear I can feel my brain leaking out of my ears as I watch him, mouth open.

I move quicker than I'd have thought my exhausted muscles were capable of, flipping us over so Ryis is the one on his back. It startles a laughing gasp out of him, and his hands go first to the bed to brace his turn, and then up to my hips as I loom over him. I kiss him, wet and wanton and graceless as he moans into my mouth and thrusts his hips up against mine, desperate for friction.

“My turn,” I murmur, planting another quick, sloppy kiss to his lips before I turn my attention to more pressing matters.

I straddle his thighs and run both my hands reverently over his chest. I can feel how needy he is beneath me, and he's been so patient. So can I, even if all I want to do right now is spend my time mapping every angle and plane and dip of his body with my hands. I trail kisses down, down to the teasing line of dark hair that dips below the waistband of his sleep pants. He's so hard, cock obviously straining against the fabric.

A quick glance up to make sure he's still with me, and my stomach immediately swoops at the look on his face. He's propped up on his elbows and biting his lip, eyes dark and glittering in the moonlight, face flushed and beaded with sweat.

“Look at you,” I breathe, awed. “You're unreal. You're so, so beautiful, Ryis I can't handle it. I don't know what I've done to deserve you. Deserve this.”

His brow knits, eyes shimmering, his expression more vulnerable than any I've seen on him tonight. I take his hand and kiss his knuckles and then his palm, ever so softly, because he deserves to be wooed, to be adored. He deserves to feel as precious as he's made me feel tonight.

With that, I slide his sleep pants down, freeing the full length of him. My breath leaves me in a shuddering gasp – the sight of his cock, heavy and leaking against his stomach, is making me feel feral. Crazed. I desperately want to taste him, to wind his hand into my hair and encourage him to use my mouth however he wants, but the exhaustion creeping back up on me seems to be in direct conflict with what I want.

Gods willing, we'll have time for all of that later.

“You're perfect,” I moan instead, making sure he's looking me right in the eyes as I praise him. I need him to understand. I need him to see I that I mean it from the bottom of my soul. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, chest rising and falling rapidly. I swear I can hear him whimper. “So perfect for me.”

I reach between my own legs, covering my palm in the slippery wetness still lingering there, and take him in hand. Ryis hisses immediately, writhing in place at the contact. He feels so good, so hot and solid in my grip. I begin to pump up and down, slicking him in my own fluids, pausing at the head of his dick to smear his precum with my thumb.

His whole body is rocking into my touch now, and I marvel at the sight. I reach out with my other hand, running it up and down the inside of his trembling thigh. Ryis has his arms raised, both hands twisted into the pillow above his head, and his face is pressed against his bicep, open-mouthed and panting.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, my brain chants, with every firm slide of my hand.

“Not gonna... fuck, I'm not gonna—ah, ah—last long,” Ryis manages to choke out. I hum in wanton appreciation, my free hand now resting on the jumping, tensing muscles of his stomach. A bead of sweat collecting on his brow escapes and trickles down to his jaw. I want to lick it.

“Good,” I respond emphatically, punctuating my words with gentle squeezes on the down stroke. His hip buck in response, lifting clear of the bed as he fucks into my fist with abandon. He's grunting with every stroke. My cunt throbs with every single noise that leaves his mouth.

I lean in, bracing myself with my free hand flat on the mattress beside his shoulder so that I can hover closer. We kiss gracelessly - our teeth clink together, we're panting hot into each others mouths; it's messy, raw, wet. I press my forehead against his before pulling back, impatient to watch him come undone beneath me. He moans my name, hazy eyes roving over my face like he's searching for something.

“Let go,” I whimper, soft as a whisper. “Let go for me, baby.”

Ryis comes with a shout, his body first bending and then bowing back. His dick twitches in my hand; I can feel it coating both our stomachs and my hand with thick spurts of cum. I stroke him through it, ride the wave beside him, until he softens and his body relaxes beneath me. I whisper praise to him through it all.

“So good, you did so good. You're gorgeous. You don't even know, you can't see, but you're so amazing, Ryis.”

He lets out a strangled noise, one that's sitting somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. He rubs his face with both hands, and I wait until he drops them to his side to lift my hand to my mouth – the one still covered in his spend – and lick it clean. One good turn deserves another, I think. Ryis lets out another punched-out groan of a laugh and pushes himself into a sitting position. He tugs me close, so I'm sitting in his lap, and I wind my arms loosely over his shoulders.

He seems like he wants to say something to me. I feel like I want to say something to him, too. Instead, we kiss, draped against each other like we are. It feels so loose and relaxed, so easy. All of this has felt so easy, and so right. Being in his arms, just like this, feels more like home than any home I've had so far.

Something in my heart shifts and slots perfectly into place.

I sniffle, and Ryis immediately pulls back, body tensing against mine. He cups my face with his hands, concerned, eyes searching out mine.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I manage, voice hoarse. I rub his arm reassuringly, not wanting him to think that anything is wrong. Quite the contrary. “Yeah. Just... happy. Overwhelmed.” I laugh, rubbing at my cheek. “Exhausted.”

He visibly relaxes, an equally tired smile on his face.

“Gods, you said it. Here, hold on.”

Ryis looks around for a minute, before making a small victorious noise as he finds and snatches up his discarded t-shirt. He uses it to gently clean me, and then himself, before tossing it off to where most of our other clothing has ended up tonight – the dark void of the room, well beyond the bed. I laugh again.

“Hope you didn't like that shirt.”

“Oh yeah, it's done for. C'mere.”

Then he's tugging me back against the bed, down into his arms. I settle right up against him, wind my arm around his waist as he tugs the covers around us both. We sigh almost in tandem as we settle in; I feel myself starting to drift as Ryis presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“See you in the morning,” I murmur softly, nuzzling against him. For just a breath – a suspended, dreamy second, between wakefulness and sleep – I let myself love him. Because I do, don't I? It's especially clear to me in this perfect, brief little stretch of time, where nothing exists outside of his arms. I love him.

“That's a promise,” he responds sleepily, completely unaware of the way my heart is burning for him. I look up at him, at the outline of his beautiful face, growing slack with sleep.

At least, he thinks it doesn’t. They never really… talk, all that much. Eiland was worried at first, that it was because of something he did. He knows he comes on a little strong. He’s been told. But it’s been a couple months now, so surely the farmer would have told him him if they found his company that unpleasant.

“Note first, the style of filigree at the rim! Much less intricate, with a more geometric pattern. It’s more in keeping with what was typical of Aldarian design from this time period. Now, usually, the metalwork of the handles would—”

“Lord Eiland?”

He blinks them back into view, slightly startled by the sudden sound of their voice. They’re staring up at him, their eyes uncharacteristically locked on his. The back of his neck suddenly feels clammy.

“Oh! Sorry! I tend to go on. You know, you don’t have to call me th—”

“Do you always stand this close?”

Eiland blinks again. Oh. He’s… standing very close to the farmer right now. Leaning right into their personal space, actually. His entire face goes bright red, his cheeks prickling with heat. He can practically hear the reprimand from his old etiquette tutor. Eiland is always finding himself in violation of court etiquette, even now as a grown man. As a child, it had seemed to him that it must be part of his very nature, to constantly be in direct opposition of expectation.

Maybe that’s not something you ever grow out of.

“I apologize,” he says immediately, taking an almost comically large step backwards, dipping his head in a penitent bow. “Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly enthusiastic about a subject I’m passionate about, I tend to lose the run of myself.”

Eiland thinks it’s a pretty smooth apology, all things considered. Maybe a bit stilted. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat. The pottery he and the farmer excavated suddenly feels very heavy in his gloved hands.

The farmer just blinks, tilting their head, and lets the silence stretch between them until Eiland wants to fidget with discomfort. He nearly has to bite his own tongue to keep himself from babbling out another apology; instead, he clears his throat.

“I’ve probably taken up enough of you day, I should—”

“Keep going, my lord.”

Now it’s Eiland’s turn to stare. He hitches the artifact in his arms so he has a better hold on it, mouth opening and closing. The farmer gestures at it.

“You were talking about the handles. Right?

Eiland looks down at the pottery, then back up at the farmer. The confusion has, at the very least, done wonders to temper his embarrassment; a hesitant, sheepish smile crawls across his face.

“I… I was! Yes. Ah, I was… the metalwork. Right!”

He clears his throat again. Well, if they’re sure, who is Eiland to protest? His stomach squirms with delight at their clearly focused attention. The way they’re looking at him - right at him, this time, studying him, looking for all the world like they’re about to brush him off and uncover all the hidden parts of him…

“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning back to the anvil with a scowl on his face. And then, a little louder, “Just keep quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“You got it, boss!”

March catches Ari saluting him out of the corner of his eye, and actually has to force down a stupid little grin at the sight. She’s so fucking ridiculous.

He’s making hinges today. It’s a boring job, sure (better than the thousands of nails he’s been churning out lately). Even still, it’s a job that requires his dedicated focus and attention. There’s a flow state he gets into, where he swears his heart and his hammer are beating in sync, where his tools are just an extension of his body, and it doesn’t fucking matter anymore whether it’s a sword on the anvil or a stupid hinge. That’s his work, his. It’s a part of him - every nail, every door handle, every bolt, every piece of rebar in town.

March has hammered himself into the very foundations of Mistria, and he’s goddamn proud of that.

This is why having Ari behind him, staring holes into the back of his head, is pissing him off so intensely. It’s impossible to get lost in his work when he can feel her scrutinizing every move he makes. He knows she’s just trying to get under his skin; she’s been pretty dedicated to that cause lately. And he’s trying to be the bigger person here. He’s actually been trying, especially since the farmer up and asked him to watch the Shooting Star Festival with her a couple weeks ago.

It was… it was a good night. Good enough that March would have thought it had bought him a little bit of good will, here.

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck as he remembers the grin that split her face as she pressed the brooch into his hand.

Everyone has a breaking point. March doesn’t have Ryis’s boundless patience, after all. Sometimes he wishes he did. Wishes it even now, as he slams his hammer down and turns to face the farmer.

“Look, can you just - ”

Whatever he was trying to say dies in his throat. His eyes go wide - Ari is just… sitting there, chin in her hand and elbow resting on her knee, watching him with an expression he can’t remember ever seeing on her face. No, if he saw her looking that way at him before (or at anyone else, maybe especially anyone else, fuck), he would have remembered it.

Her eyes are dark, face flushed all over. He thinks even the tips of her ears are red, he can see them poking out from behind a curtain of hair (oh no that’s so cute). Her lips are curved upward, and the way she’s looking at March is making him feel naked. The forge is suddenly too hot, way too hot, his skin is prickling -

He turns back to face the anvil so fast it nearly throws him off balance. He accidentally knocks his hammer clean off, and it crashes to the ground with a wince-inducing clang. And fuck her, because he can hear her softly giggling (the sound sends a shiver right through his stupid traitor of a body) from behind him.

Fuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck…

March’s knuckles are white as he grips the edges of the anvil. He closes his eyes, trying to breathe. His skin feels too tight for his body, like a sweater that shrunk on the line.

“Do you…”

His voice is hoarse, and that’s embarrassing in ways he can’t even begin to explain to himself. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Do you even realize how you’re looking at me right now?”

There’s a beat of silence before Ari answers.

“Oh yes.”

March nearly jumps ten feet straight up into the air at how close her voice suddenly sounds. He hadn’t even heard her creeping over, but when he spins in place, heart banging around in his chest like a caged animal, she’s right there.

The forge has nothing on the heat radiating off her body. He feels downright feverish as he takes a step back, hands flying behind him to brace against the anvil.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious, actually,” Ari purrs. Her voice is all velvet and oh gods, March wants to wrap himself up in it, and then she’s moving closer, pressing him up tighter against the anvil, and he doesn’t know whether to panic or press right back.

She reaches out, bracing her own hands on either side of him against the anvil, trapping him there between her arms. March looks at her, and she looks at him.

“Guh,” is the only thing March manages to say.

Mortifying.

He’s starting to feel very, very stupid, and what’s worse - what’s even worse than that - is that he’s finding he just doesn’t care. He can be stupid if it means more of that wicked heat pressing against him, if it means she keeps purring more words at him, any words at all really…

“I’m gonna go now,” Ari says. Matter-of-fact, like she’s reporting on the weather.

March’s eyes go wide, he splutters indignantly, and the farmer laughs again. He glares at her, face burning.

“Now?!”

And wow, if that’s not the whiniest his voice has ever sounded. March is finding new and exciting ways to make a fool of himself today. He almost fucking apologizes for it - until the farmer rolls her hips deliciously slowly against his, and he sees stars.

“Ohhhhwhatthefuck,” tumbles out of his mouth in a whispered rush. She smiles wide, with all her teeth - a predator delighting over their trapped prey, March is her prey, fuck that’s hot - and leans in, lip pressed to his ear, her raspy voice making him shudder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you’re done.”

With that Ari is pulling away from him, cool air rushing between them as she backs up. March hates it, has to keep clutching painfully at the anvil so he doesn’t reach out on pure instinct to grab her hips and pull her right back in.

She just watches him keenly as he fights with himself, her head tilted. Then she reaches down to where she’d dropped her pack when she first arrived, and hoists it over her shoulder.

“Don’t move my stool.”

If March’s blood was getting anywhere near his brain, he’d probably have a smarter response to that. Something sarcastic. Yeah, he’s usually good at that.

Instead he just… nods, dumbly. Stands there like some kind of silent, horny jackass, watching Ari’s hips sway as she walks away from him, wishing she would double back and pin him against the anvil, hitch that leg of hers up and grind down against him right out here in public where anyone could walk by and see…

March watches her in a stupor until she disappears from his sight. Then he looks back at the anvil, at his hammer on the ground, and at the stupid half-finished hinge still sitting there waiting like a silent witness.