yahaha! you found me!

“Eiland,” you whispered. “You don’t have to run. I’m not at risk of bleeding out.” 

“Hm? Oh! But Valen should see you right away…you know, even though the soil in Mistria is quite healthy compared to most places around Aldaria, it could still harbor unknown bacteria, and we don’t know what exactly you hit-–’”

“A rock, Eiland.” You sighed. His speculative nature was always cute, but you didn’t want him whipping himself up into a worried frenzy over this. “Let’s just rinse it off and see how it looks, alright?”

“Alright,” he replied, clearly skeptical. He slowed his pace and changed course. 

“Where are we going?”

“If you don’t want to see Valen yet, I’ll allow it, but I’m not going to toss you into your house to fend for yourself. We’re going to the manor.”

That made sense. It was closer anyway, having come from the Western Ruins into the center of town. You acquiesced and fell silent, snuggling closer into his chest for warmth. You could feel more than hear when he started humming—a soft, vaguely familiar melody. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You kept your eyes closed, content in Eiland’s arms, as he managed to get the front door open and enter the main hall. Someone was playing the piano. You only stirred and looked around when you felt him start to ascend the stairs. Interesting.

“Are we not going to your office? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Ah, it would, but far less comfortable!” Eiland announced cheerily and smiled down at you. Then, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I would prefer to have you in my bed.” The words sent a flash of heat through your body. He surely didn’t mean it like that. Sweet, bashful Eiland would never manage to sound so smooth if he intended to be flirtatious. He probably meant exactly what he said. He preferred to have you in his bed to recover because it would be more comfortable. That made sense, just like coming here in the first place made sense. 

Moments later, you melted into a pile of blankets that both looked and felt expensive. Eiland was an outdoorsy person, but in his home, he did enjoy the finer things. His bookshelves were covered in history texts and board games and relics, but the quality and cut of the wood was still obvious. His bed felt pleasantly lived-in, but it was sturdy in a way that cheap construction never was, and the sheets no doubt had a thread count the better part of a thousand. You bunched one of them in your hand. The feeling of these sheets against your skin was not entirely unfamiliar. You’d been here before, of course, just not for the purpose of receiving medical treatment.

You glanced at your arm. It was no longer actively bleeding. That gave you some relief—at least you wouldn’t ruin Eiland’s fancy bedding like you had probably ruined his clothing. He didn’t seem to pay that any mind. He’d thrown his elegant cloak on the floor and was fishing through a box of what looked like basic medical supplies. You sat up, feet hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“Aha!” he cried, lifting a roll of bandages and a bottle. He grabbed some fresh cloth and tipped out a bit of the bottle’s contents onto it. “Here, hold out your arm. This might sting a bit!” He wiped the cloth over your cut, causing you to wince and hiss. He winced back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I—”

“It’s fine, Eiland, really,” you said, laughing. “You did exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

“Did I, my dearest? I let this happen in the first place.” He looked morose as he finished cleaning you up. The scrape really didn’t look so bad afterwards. Eiland took the bandages, applied some ointment, and wrapped up your arm. “In any case, I think you were right; we probably don’t need to see Valen about your arm. Now, let’s have a look at that ankle. May I?” 

You nodded. Eiland sat down on the bed and unlaced your shoes, slid them off. Then, your socks. Finally, he raised the hem of your pant leg up as high as it would go to expose your injured ankle. His cool, slender fingers skimmed over your skin.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. He held your foot aloft, gingerly, as if inspecting a rare artifact.

“Eiland, can you actually tell what’s going on, or are you just preparing to guess?”

“It’s called a hypothesis when you have data.”

“Oh, forgive me, Professor Eiland,” you teased. He blushed. He ran his hand higher up your leg, onto your calf, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt at all, sweetheart?”

“No, not at all,” you replied. “It’s really just my ankle, and honestly, even that’s not so bad now that I’ve been off my feet for a bit.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so,” he murmured, moving closer. He slid his hand up even farther as he looked thoughtful. “Hmm…I’d call that anecdotal evidence. That’s when—”

“Eiland,” you said, laughing and giving him a playful shove. “I know what that is. I hear you talk about the most reliable methods of ‘understanding the people of the past’ every day!”

“I think you haven’t been paying attention to my lessons,” he replied. His indigo eyes scanned you up and down—or perhaps, studied would be a better word for the way he looked at you. Then, he hooked his arm under your knee and pulled you flat onto your back. Caught by surprise by his casual show of strength, you froze as he climbed into bed and leaned over you.

“W-what do you mean, Eiland?” You peered up at him, feigning innocence. As if you hadn’t suspected his intentions the moment he first set foot up the stairs. “I’m always paying attention, if it’s you talking.”

“I—um,” he trailed off, blushing furiously. “Now, that’s not fair! You know my heart can’t take it when you say things like that without warning.”

“My sincerest apologies, Professor,” you purred. “Anecdotal evidence? You were saying?”

“Ahem, yes.” Eiland cleared his throat. He dipped his head, his mouth only inches from yours, but he did not let your lips meet.  “Anecdotal evidence, while valuable, is generally not considered the ‘most reliable’ source of information about our history.”

“I see. And what is?”

“Think for yourself,” he replied, and began kissing his way down your neck.

“It is…physical evidence?” His lips reached your chest.

“Very good.” He placed a gentle kiss on your stomach. “Hmm. I would be remiss to ignore such a perfect opportunity to model correct research techniques.” Spirits, he was such a nerd, but you loved him so much. Eiland unbuttoned your pants and drew them over your hips. You stopped thinking anything about him being a huge dork—you stopped thinking any thoughts at all—when he licked you right through your flimsy undergarments.

“Ah…ohhhh,” you moaned as you writhed under his attentions. You wrestled off the rest of your pants yourself—caution the farthest thing from your mind—as he lapped at you, wanting more freedom to move. It seemed Eiland had other plans for you. He took both hands and ripped your underwear out of his way and then used both hands again to push your thighs up against your chest.  Your ankles crossed behind his head. That put a little pressure on your sprain, but you hardly felt any pain with Eiland’s talented tongue on the most sensitive part of your body by far. You raked your fingers into his pretty pale hair and pulled. He looked up at you, eyes shining with lust and mischief, and then gave a particular hard suck that had you breaking eye contact to see stars instead. You couldn’t help but whine shamelessly. After a few more strokes that had your body arching off the bed and your heels digging into the back of his head, Eiland tore away, gasping.

“Ahh…as sweet as always,” he sighed and licked his lips, savoring the taste of you. “But you’re not being very well-behaved, are you, my dearest?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you shot back, totally out of breath. “I promise, I’m paying attention now.”

“Yes, I can tell. But you’re interfering with my lesson plan…and my treatment plan.” He pushed himself back, getting up. As he rose, he carefully separated your feet from tapping against each other with his every movement. “Oh well. I suppose I can indulge my favorite student.” He stood up. Before you could question or complain, he began stripping off his heavy winter clothing. You sat up and reached out to help with the lacing, but he stopped you. He took a moment to pull your hand closer and place a soft kiss on the inside of your bandaged wrist. So charmed were you by the tenderness that you hardly noticed when he shrugged off his shirt and stepped out of his trousers.

He pulled off your shirt next. “Hmm.” He raked his eyes over you. Your cheeks grew red. No matter how many times he assured you otherwise, you always worried that Eiland found your naked body disappointing. He stood there unclothed, looking like one of the beautiful stone statues he unearthed on occasion, but hard as a rock in a very different sense.

“Eiland…?”

He wordlessly bent down and grabbed something beside you. Ah. Your torn underwear. He held the scraps up on a finger, frowning.

“This isn’t one of the pieces I got for you.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, blushing harder. “Everything you gift me is so nice…I didn’t want to wear it out all day on a dig.” Not to mention that you hadn’t expected to wind up undressed in his bedroom quite so soon…today, at least.  

“We’ll make sure you’re attired appropriately next time,” he said, stroking your cheek.  

“Am I getting a dress code violation?” you teased. Your voice shook with arousal, though, and you knew he could tell. You pressed your thighs together. If he didn’t do something soon, you were going to lose all the momentum from earlier. May as well try to bait him a little. “Am I to be punished?”

“Quite the opposite.” He pulled you off the bed.

“H-hey, wait, my—”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Eiland cooed as he lifted you from the bed and manhandled you into an upright position. He held you in front of him with one arm around your ribcage and the other under your thigh; the leverage kept your injured foot completely off the ground. “See? Just trust me.”

He sheathed himself inside of you in one movement. It knocked the breath from your lungs. Eiland was usually so gentle, so moderate. He moaned appreciatively, nuzzling his nose into your hair, and began to roll his hips into you from behind. He set languid but controlled pace. It seemed he was in a hurry to get inside of you, but he intended to take his time with you now that he had you. You pushed your free foot against the floor, causing you to tense and rise against his hips; this earned you a muffled groan. You didn’t have much room to maneuver with Eiland’s arms so firmly wrapped around you, but you tried to reach behind and grab at his hair, or even just his shoulder—anything to regain some sense of control as he bounced your helpless body with each thrust.

“Ah, ah,” he chided you. “We’ve had enough insolence for today. This is for your own good.” He adjusted his grip around your chest so that your upper arms were pinned. His hands caressed your chest. You noted that he didn’t take the easier option of just grabbing and holding your wrists. Thoughtful, even in the throes of passion. With your motion completely restricted, you could do nothing but take it as he gradually increased the speed and depth of his strokes. The way he was lightly rolling your nipples in his work-hardened fingers as he fucked you nearly sent you into overstimulation. Eiland’s breath tickled your ear as it grew ragged. You could feel his lungs rising and falling against your back, faster and faster in time with the pace of his hips. Then he unexpectedly…slowed. Stopped.

“Huh?” was all you could manage to say. Your brain was fuzzy from pleasure.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he whispered right against the shell of your ear. “You do deserve a little punishment.”

“W-why?!” What could you possibly have done wrong? Eiland slid out of you and half carried you a few steps until you were pushed down onto the bed face-first.  Was he going to drop you off and leave you hanging? Was that the reprimand of his choosing? That would be so uncharacteristically mean. But Eiland was never mean. You were reminded of that when he mercifully pushed himself back into you. He took hold of your hip with one calloused hand and pushed down between your shoulder blades with the other. The pressure was not hard enough to risk hurting, but it was enough to keep you pinned in place against the sheets as he slowly drew away…and then slammed home. He held still, his member deep inside of you but maddeningly motionless.

“Why, you ask?” He rubbed his palm in a circle on your back, which both felt nice and kept you from rocking back to try and fuck yourself on him. You hissed in frustration. He shifted to holding you down by the neck. “Because I’m taking such good care of you, and I haven’t heard you cry my name even once.”

He didn’t bother with keeping his rhythm controlled this time. Eiland pounded into you as a stream of constant praise fell from his lips. He sang your praises as your walls fluttered around his length, moaning and keening about how you felt like heaven itself.

“Ah—whuh—Eiland, it’s too much, please,” you babbled.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he rasped, breathless. “Louder, please.” He cocked your hip up, creating a new angle that had your vision going blurry.  The hand on your neck disappeared and suddenly his fingers slid around your front, working on you while he increased the intensity of his movements more than you imagined possible. 

“Eiland!!” you cried. You chanted his name over and over. “Eiland, Eiland, please, I’m so close.”

“V-very…very good,” he groaned. “That’s good…ah, sweetheart, so good…”

He pitched forward and wrapped both arms around your waist, scooping up your middle and putting so much pressure on just the perfect spot on your lower belly that your orgasm hit you like a thunderclap. You spasmed and twitched in Eiland’s arms, screaming his name. He held you and gently ground his hips into you until the last aftershock passed and you went limp. Then he dropped you onto the mattress and snapped his hips hard. It only took a few seconds of that to have him following you over the edge. He finished inside of you, wailing your name.  

You panted as you rolled over. You stared at the ceiling, trying to steady your rapid breathing and your spinning head. Eiland flopped down beside you, equally boneless.

“How does your ankle feel?” he mumbled into the pillow. “Should we go to see the good doctor after all?” The only thing your body felt like right now was jelly. · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Oh, no, I don’t feel like going anywhere at present,” you said lazily. You drew little shapes on his back with your nails. “And it already feels much better.”

“That is wonderful news, my love.” Eiland yawned and propped himself up.  “I don’t suppose I could convince you to at least venture as far as my bath, then?”

“For you, my prince, I believe I can manage that. A hot soak sounds perfect.”

“Prince? What happened to Professor?”

You laughed and kissed his shoulder. You leaned on him as he walked you over to his elaborate, claw-footed bathtub.  Eiland massaged the tension out of your neck while you sat together, waiting for the bath to fill with steaming water, and he even kept at it once you were both blissfully submerged. He rambled happily about what excursions you could embark on once you were back on your feet, what books you might find interesting, what you should have for dinner.