#raycationtime

Cyrus’ response was even less coherent - an exhale, slow and rough along the edges. He curved closer, chasing the warmth that forever hovered over Darren’s skin. Chuckling, Darren used his arm to scoop the man over. It was a thing they had grown used to, with the promise of winter drawing closer each night. There was no protest; just a hand, sliding up Darren’s chest, gentle against skin. It stopped as Cyrus settled himself anew, fingers loose and heavy, curling at the crook of Darren’s neck. It was so easy, just to lie there. So easy to let the day drift past, as soft as the flutter of wings outside the window.

Eyes still closed, Darren raised his free arm, the sheets thick and warm against his skin. His fingers began at Cyrus’ bent elbow, tracing to his wrist, then back down again, coaxing a breath from the Orlesian that merged half-way with a yawn. Darren felt him tense, shiver, fall loose, and wished nothing more than to feel that simple, silent pleasure every morning. Until his hair turned from blond to grey. Until he returned to the Maker. 

Cyrus’ curls tickled his chest, then his neck, then his cheek. Even with his eyes shut, Darren could practically see those dark locks, tousled into comfortable disarray. They were as soft as the lips that pressed to his, barely moving, perfectly content. Darren hummed softly, leaning into the kiss, his arm bracing Cyrus’ back, keeping the man from rolling to the side. Cyrus’ hand was still warm against his shoulder, and Darren found it with his own, twining their fingers as each languid kiss melted into the next. 

But the birds were calling, and the sun would not wait.

“We... should get up...” 

Cyrus made a noise of disapproval, low at the back of his throat. “Nnnh... still dark...”

Another press, more insistent than the others. The sheets rustled, soft as autumn leaves, and Darren’s lips curved against Cyrus’. The man was simply impossible to deny. 

But not to tease. 

“... Not if you open your eyes.”

The suggestion went about as well as Darren had expected. Cyrus drew back slightly, wrinkled his nose, then collapsed against him like a sack of grain. From beneath Cyrus’ obstinate dead-weight, Darren laughed softly, tilting his head to press a few more kisses into those dark curls. He supposed it was still early enough. They wouldn’t be missed for a half-hour, at least.

“Alright, alright, you win... five more minutes.”

Cyrus huffed, but gave no further protest. It was always Darren’s compromise. Every morning. Just five more minutes, then it was time to go.

Breathing deep, chest and lover rising then sinking back down, Darren let the plan for the day slowly unfurl at the back of his mind. It had become something of a ritual, after they began sharing a bed. A time for Darren to trace mindless patterns against Cyrus’ skin. Sort out his thoughts. Organise his day. 

Like a hollow stump, Adiran just stood there, for once unable to find any words to tip the situation in his favour. After a moment, sensing Adiran would be lost for a while, Riin grunted and hauled himself to his feet. As was custom after a fall, he began to dust the sand from his hair, his clothes, from his skin. Adiran watched as those hands, so at home holding a weapon, ghosted gently over his shoulders. Followed the tattooed lines that ran like rivers down his arms, thick and dark until they branched into a delicate delta, reaching towards his fingertips...

Adiran returned to himself with a sharp clear of the throat, eyes quickly seeking interest somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Yeah, well, you never actually taught me that, so...” His gaze found purchase on a nearby pillar, as though the pale stone was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the whole damn kingdom. “It doesn’t count.”

And that was when Riin laughed. Despite just being knocked down - despite the long day in the heat running endless drills at Adiran’s request - the sound was warm and fond and...

Focus on the pillar, idiot. You’re just tired.

“Some people learn better with gentle praise. You are rarely one of them, Adiran.” Kind enough not to call attention to Adiran’s strange behaviour, the Kyriin set about retrieving his sword before squinting up to consider the position of the sun. After a moment, he nodded to himself, silently declaring the session over as he rolled his shoulders and headed towards the storeroom. Not in the mood to argue, Adiran patted down his own breeches, then used his teeth to find the edge of the cloth wrapping his hands.

But one thing still bothered him. “Fine. I’ll bite.” ADiran forced his gaze away from the pillar as Riin approached. “How do I learn. According to you.”

Riin paused and regarded him for a while, his tall frame statue-like against the glare of the sun. At first, it seemed like he wasn’t planning to answer at all. Adiran was about to stalk off when Riin finally reached out and rested a firm hand on Adiran’s shoulder.