~

Occtis no longer sleeps, but his mind and body both still demand rest on a nightly basis. Vaelus taught him how to slip into a meditative trance focused on memory, to allow his subconscious to reorder itself so he doesn’t go mad. In the weeks since, though, he’s managed to experiment and make a few adjustments, allowing his rest to become something more like a state of heightened dreaming. He has so few pleasant memories, after all; better to be able to form images and scenarios that are more restful than his actual life was. Maybe in time, he’ll have memories to fall back on that aren’t closer to nightmares, but for now, this suits him best.

It doesn’t hurt that on occasion he has… help, that makes the dream state far more appealing.

It started with idle curiosity: Julien coming back from his watch to find Occtis in his trance state, and questioning him in the morning about what exactly it entails. His explanation hadn’t quite managed to encompass how he’s trained his mind to rest, but the knight seems far less interested in the specifics of the process, anyway. He’s more curious about what dreams the arcanist is creating, what thoughts are filtering through his unconscious mind.

Occtis manages to dodge the question for all of about five minutes before being forced to admit that much of the time, he’s dreaming about Julien.

However it is they’ve managed to go from enmity to… whatever they’re doing now, the physicality that’s developed between them grounds him, gives Occtis something far more pleasant to focus on than the rest of what their group is dealing with. And sensory memories are strong impressions, anyway, the easiest things to weave into his dreaming state to nudge it closer to a memory than a fantasy. (Julien is, of course, insufferable upon learning this, and Occtis hates that he almost finds his smug smirks and teasing comments charming.)

For a few more nights after that, Julien seems content just knowing he is the subject of Occtis’ dreams. Then he brings up a question, one Occtis can’t tell if he’s been dwelling on for days, or just popped into his head.

“What happens in those dreams if I were to touch you in reality?”

They’re both sprawled across a bed in a relatively ramshackle inn, Occtis tucked into the curve of Julien’s side, one broad arm around his waist keeping him securely held there. The knight’s words make him raise his head, brow furrowing slightly as he considers. “I have no idea,” he admits after a moment, giving an absent shrug that makes Julien grumble as a bony shoulder presses into his ribcage. “This isn’t really an established process, it’s all kind of… trial and error.”

There’s a faintly wicked glint in Julien’s eyes as he looks down at the arcanist. “Care to find out?”

Occtis absolutely does.

~

It is not the first time he’s teased the boy while he’s dreaming, drifting in that strange state between sleep and awareness that somehow keeps him tethered to his body. Julien has been given blanket permission to do as he will while Occtis is in his nightly trance, and while he does not always, tonight he does intend to take full advantage of that.

The arcanist is beautiful at rest, long limbs splayed across his bedroll, the tension he usually carries in every inch of him gone. His eyes are closed, dark lashes splayed against pale skin; even though he lacks a heartbeat and does not breathe, he still looks asleep, not dead, quiet and peaceful. Julien brushes an errant lock of hair off his face with a tenderness he would never show when the other is awake, fingertips brushing along the line of his cheek, his jaw.

When he’s in this state, there is no particularly dramatic response to any given touch, but Julien can tell when Occtis registers them in the dream by the slight shifts, the soft intakes of breath he does not need. He’s quieter like this than during their average entanglement, so the knight doesn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt doing this when their companions are in tents close by.

As if he would, anyway. Though he does get tired of Thimble bitching about being kept up all night by his ‘pervy antics’ with her best friend, so Julien usually tries for at least a little discretion.

He can do as he will now, though, and Occtis will not utter a sound louder than a breathy gasp. There’s something terribly appealing about being able to toy with him like this, about having him vulnerable like this. There is some dark part of Julien that revels in having a Tachonis subject to his whims, helpless, unable to defend himself.

But at times like tonight, he’s found he has stopped thinking of Occtis as a Tachonis at all.

Julien’s hand slides down the line of the other’s neck, over the flat planes of his narrow chest. His thumb brushes the metallic seam of his scar, but he does not linger, not wishing to invoke any unpleasant memories. Instead, he shifts his attention lower, drawing absent whorls and spirals over Occtis’ hipbones, hooking fingertips into the waistband of the soft trousers the other typically sleeps in. He smirks as he tugs the fabric slowly down and sees that the arcanist is already halfway to an erection; perhaps he was having a pleasant dream even before Julien decided to take it into his own hands.

He slides down the length of the other’s body, palms smoothing along the muscle of his thighs, and has his mouth around that half-hard cock in a span of heartbeats. Occtis lets out a breathy little murmur of a sound, long fingers twitching where they lay against the blankets, but nothing more. Still, Julien can feel him growing to full hardness under his lips and tongue, slowly but steadily. The boy’s undead body might be a bit more sluggish to react to stimulus than it was when he was alive, but Julien has always enjoyed taking his time.

Occtis is a pleasant mouthful even when soft, and as Julien works him up, he takes the other to the back of his throat with a little effort, swallowing around the heavy length of him. One hand absently slips between his thighs, caressing his balls, and another faint sound of pleasure answers the touch. Julien grins, dragging his tongue along the underside of the arcanist’s cock as he slowly pulls off him, then shifts to prop his cheek against one lean thigh.

He wraps a hand around the other and begins to slowly stroke him, murmuring mixture of curses, endearments, and filthy suggestions in Sylvan as he does. His eyes are on Occtis’ face, though; he takes note of every breath the boy draws, every tiny noise, every slight flutter of his eyelids or twitch of his fingertips. Julien is fixed on every slight expression of pleasure, drinking them in like fine wine.

He draws it out for a long while, altering his approach every time Occtis seems to be nearing his peak, pulling back to indulge in teasing touches that map out every currently accessible inch of the other’s flesh. Julien’s own need for sleep seems irrelevant at the moment, his continued exploration of the trance-bound arcanist far more compelling. He’s half-drunk on the power of being allowed to do this at all, on the knowledge that his every touch is likely impacting Occtis’ dream state. It’s an intoxication that he will carefully ignore acknowledging when the other is awake, or that he will write off as a mere perverse thrill. Julien knows it’s more than that, though. In these moments, asleep and vulnerable and trusting, Occtis is his, and he likes the thought of that more than he will ever admit.

When he finally decides to let the other come, Julien swallows him down, a hand shoved down into his own trousers to roughly jerk himself off at the same time.

~

Julien seems like he’s been deliberately trying to get on Occtis’ last nerve all day.

He’s frequently a pain in the ass. He’s catty, argumentative, and stubborn in the extreme. Occtis is used to that. What he’s not used to is having orders snapped at him on the battlefield, as if he’s some kind of idiot who can’t fend for himself. He doesn’t mind when Julien gets bossy sometimes, but the middle of a fight is not the appropriate moment.

The last straw is when the knight once again takes it upon himself to bodily pick Occtis up and haul him out of danger.

There’s nothing he can do about it in the moment, save for focusing his anger into obliterating their enemies with a few particularly vicious spells. He doesn’t comment as they patch up their various party members and make for an abandoned farmstead to rest for the night. But the moment the two of them are alone, he whirls on Julien, fury blazing in his eyes.

“What have I said about pulling shit like that?” They absolutely have had more than one heated discussion on the topic, though Julien has never actually agreed that he wouldn’t just toss Occtis over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes if he saw the need. “I was fine. I didn’t need you to undermine me—“

“Undermine?” The knight’s retort is sharp, lips curled in a sneer. “I was getting you to safety, since you were too slow to do so yourself.”

“I was fine,” Occtis snarls, annoyed to have to repeat himself. “I didn’t need—“

“You weren’t even aware of half the battle, you—“

“Enough.” Occtis’ voice lashes like a whip, and he flings out a hand, shaping a sharp somatic in the air. He’s done arguing with Julien; he’s tired, still achy and drained from their earlier fight, but he has enough magic left to deal with this. The spell coalesces as an invisible net, threads wrapping around Julien and drawing taut. For a moment, he struggles against them, but Occtis sees the moment he gives in and the spell takes hold, keeping him immobile, and more importantly, silent.

“Maybe I need to remind you again that I am the son of a Sundered House, and I am getting tired of your blatant disrespect.” Julien’s eyes flash, but Occtis notices with surprise that it’s not temper he spies in them. There’s a heat, certainly, but it isn’t the heat of anger.

Understanding hits him all at once, and he’s not sure whether he should be even more angry, or let it slide. “… you’re pissing me off on purpose, aren’t you?” Julien can’t move or speak, still stuck within the Hold Person spell, but Occtis already knows he’s right. “You wanted me to get angry. To put you in your place.” There’s a conflicted bubble of annoyance and something like heated curiosity rising in his chest, and Occtis isn’t quite sure what to do about it.

Fuck it. He leans into the heat, the sharpness, the means to vent his frustrations that he had not previously considered. Usually, he lets Julien take the lead, since Occtis is still new to quite a few things. Now, though…

He releases the spell with a flick of his fingers, but raises his voice when Julien opens his mouth to speak. “Not a word.” For once, the knight shuts up, and Occtis considers his options.

He shapes another somatic, and a mage hand presses down on Julien’s shoulder, making the knight startle for a moment before he recognizes the intention. He goes to one knee, and Occtis glares down at him. “You owe me an apology. For your disrespect, and so many other things. But I’m not even sure you’re capable of offering a sincere one.” There is a note of condescension in his voice that Occtis isn’t sure he’s ever heard before, and he notices how Julien tenses, pupils dilating, taking a slow breath as if he needs it to steady himself.

The mage hand fists in Julien’s hair, tugging his head back, forcing his gaze up to meet Occtis’. He folds his own hands primly behind his back, as if touching the other is beneath him. That part is mere playacting, but he finds it surprisingly compelling to withhold that familiar contact from Julien.

“Since you can’t be trusted to speak politely, I don’t see why you should speak at all.” A thrill goes down Occtis’ spine as he realizes he’s actually enjoying this; all the true anger has bled away, focused instead into something different and more appealing. “You can apologize instead by doing one of the only things you’re good at.” Julien’s eyes flick from Occtis’ face to his crotch, and the now rather obvious tent beginning to form in the front of his trousers. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Occtis knows he’s enjoying this too, that this is in many ways exactly what he was hoping would happen.

It’s still frustrating that he’s been such a deliberate pain instead of just asking, but… they’ll talk about that later.

Maybe.

For now, he releases the grip of his mage hand and lets Julien all but dive forward, nuzzling his cheek against Occtis’ cock through the fabric. Deft hands get his trousers undone swiftly, and then Julien is swallowing him down like he’s starving, taking Occtis to the root, the head of his cock lodged deep in the knight’s throat. It takes every bit of self control the arcanist possesses not to bury his hands in Julien’s hair and fuck into that hot mouth, to continue playing at aloof disregard or angry disdain. It’s sort of impossible to be angry at Julien when he’s proving just how damn good he is at this.

Occtis closes his eyes, seeing splintering, kaleidoscopic fragments of color and light as Julien sucks him off. He manages to keep his hands tucked into the small of his back until he’s right on the edge; only then does he grab for the knight, pulling him back with one hand as he wraps the other around his cock. He jerks himself off as Julien pants in quiet desperation in front of him, and he comes with a strangled moan, painting the knight’s face in messy drips and ribbons. Julien groans low in his throat, but doesn’t move, eyes trained on Occtis, still not speaking.

His head is spinning, and it takes a few long moments to come down, to untangle his hand from Julien’s hair. He considers using Prestidigitation to clean the other up, but instead finds himself dragging his thumb through a smear of cum at the corner of Julien’s mouth and letting the knight lick it clean. When he finally can speak, there’s a note of fond exasperation that has replaced all of the real annoyance from earlier. “You are… an absolute menace.”

Julien grins, tongue flicking over the pad of his thumb again. “You like it.”

“Not when we’re in an actual fight situation.” The knight raises a brow, then shrugs one shoulder in silent acquiescence or apology. “Next time, just ask.”