TheFandom'sFervent

Things weren’t looking good. They haven’t for a few hours. An unexpected fight, was, well, expected at any point of their journey. But that didn’t make them any easier to deal with. The farther they get into the dungeon, the more bullshit that gets thrown at them. The fewer spots for reprieve. It was their fourth encounter in the span of a day. Marcille was low on mana, Izutsumi out of patience, and the rest of your party was low on stamina. But what was most worrying were your injuries. 

The first two fights were fine. Swarms of angry things, annoying yet manageable. But in the third they were stuck in a trapped room, Chilchuck needed to get a gate open that was their only way to avoid being crushed. The stress, the adrenaline running out, he made a mistake. Setting off some other trap. And you’d pushed him out the way. Taking the blow that was meant for him just to give him more time. The party barely made it by the skin of their teeth when the exit forced them into a water tunnel, one that was freezing and windy. Ice slurry and snow flowing along the stream next to them. It felt a lot like the 6th level which was off putting considering how deep they were. But there was no time to focus on that. Not when you fall into the water in exhaustion, blood starting to flow and stain a bright crimson that only darkened the longer it took for them to get to you. 

Marcille and Senshi form a human chain to get Laios down to grab you. When they finally have you back at the bank is when they get caught up in another fight. You were dead weight, consciousness barely hanging on. Spite moving you forward as everyone drew their weapons. Your arms were heavy. And the wind burned you. The tips of your ears, your nose, your fingers, were burning. You feel something coming towards you but can’t react before you’re knocked to the ground. A familiar metallic twinge coating your tongue, flooding your airways. This isn’t the worst way you’ve died, you think. It still sucks. But it isn’t the worst. 

You barely hear the shouting of your party members over the wind. Over the pounding in your ears. You make out your name once or twice before you’re out cold. 

You’re back. Everything was moving so fast. What was going on? 

There was shouting, the howling of wind at the cave’s mouth. A cave? The howling of something else too. An angry monster. It made you feel silly to think that. Like a small child afraid of the dark. You feel your body be moved and know it isn’t you moving it. Why can’t you move? 

And it was getting darker. Harder. To. Breathe. To think. Thoughts flowing in and out of your focus. Just as you made sense of one you’d lose it. Forget it. And start to follow another. 

Then a change. All your thoughts come to one point. 

Pain. 

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“You can’t be serious!” Chilchuck sputtered while he and Senshi dragged you into the center of the room. Marcille was busy starting a magic circle next to you. 

“It’s our best shot right now-” Was all Laios could say before he heard Izutsumi call out to them.

“A little help! What’s taking you guys so long?” Her annoyance was not unwarranted, considering the bind she was in. Despite her agility, she had to be exhausted too. Especially now that she was the only out there distracting that thing for them. The ground shook with the impact of it trying desperately to catch the artificial beast-man. “If I kill another thing all by myself again you guys OWE me!” A growl in her voice that could barely be heard over the wind. 

A slight yellow glow had started in the middle of the room. The hue catching on your wet hair, shifting and shimmering as you shiver. Senshi tries to lay you down gingerly while Marcille rushes to your side. Her words wobbly, “Oh no, this is bad.” 

“Can’t you just heal her?” The picklock doesn’t mean to sound angry. And he knows that no one holds it against him in these circumstances. Still, the twinge of guilt bites at the back of his tongue. He watches as Laios pulls out a bedroll and starts pulling blankets too. Confusion takes over the panic for a second before their leader speaks. 

“Hypothermia.” The tall man grabs another large bundle from one of their packs. Working the tanned fur hide of the shapeshifter work to cover the cave mouth just as they did in the sauna. “Cold-sickness. Laying in that water, and the air. Even after Marcille's healing magic, if we can’t heat up-”

Cries fill the air. A sound you know but can’t place. A burning in your abdomen, like a knife, like acid, like fire, like death. Your voice. Contorted and raspy. The feeling of your nerves coming back to life. The moving of flesh coming back together. Things gone flat, filling back with blood, with air, with energy. And the pain that follows. Air catching in your lungs, ice cold air that dries out every inch of your mouth. Trying to cough and feeling your throat get stuck on itself. Pain. Panic. Your heart beating impossibly fast. 

And then it slows again. So slow. You’re still desperate for more air that you can’t catch. Can’t hold onto.

Not when you’re so tired.  

“That’s why you need to do this.” Chilchuck doesn’t have time to argue. Everyone is moving in tandem, trying to move you into a bedroll, trying to disrobe you. Extra blankets fluttering open and being laid across the top of you. “I mean, half-foots are notoriously hot-blooded right? Skin to skin is the fastest way.”

“Not notoriously…” There wasn’t much he could say to get out of this situation. He knew things were only going to get worse. You were getting paler by the second, lips unnaturally colored. And then Izutsumi calls out again. 

Voice haggard, exhaustion starting to get to her too. “Can someone get out here already!” And then another yell. Senshi runs out of the cave at the sound, knife and pot in tow. Marcille is still fussing with your clothes by the magic circle to dry them out. 

“It’s gotta be you Chil, you’ve got the best chances of doing it quickly.” Laios is readying his sword when Marcille stands. She has her staff at the ready, still nervously glancing at your still body. She puts the foot of it by the magic circle, imbuing it with more heat before Laios stops her. “Not too fast. It could make things worse.” She pulls back just as quickly as she starts before another slam shakes the cave. It forces the pelt to move just enough that a gust of cold air gets in. “We’ve got to lead it away from here if we can, go, help the others.” The caster joins the fray. 

It’s rare moments like this where Laios earns the respect of his party. It’s rare moments like this where everyone listens. So Chilchuck finds it hard to say no again. Especially when Laios looks at him that way. Like he knows that this is the best option. The only option. Like he knows that he can trust the pick lock to do the right thing. And then he’s gone too. Chil stares at the pelt as it falls back into place, and then to you.

And he curses the air. Anger and embarrassment and shame all swirling in familiar uncomfortability in his stomach. Of course he’d do it. He has to. But he hates it. Hates this. This is how parties break apart. Crossing lines in the name of it ‘being the only choice’. Healers dealt with it the most. Got away with it the most. And then the guilt gains its own voice as he stares at your almost lifeless form. “You die without this. Without him.” 

He strips. Hating every second of it. Even with the magic circle working to heat the space the air was still frigid. The cowl comes off first, then boots, and the rest of his layers follow. The cave floor was like ice. He keeps his underwear on. No amount of coaxing from Laios was going to make him do full skin-to-skin. Chil gets closer to you and can see the discomfort on your face. It pulls your brows together, lines that can’t fully form as you get closer and closer to sleep. When he pulls the blankets back he tries not to look directly at you. Instead focusing on how he doesn’t even have to touch you to feel the coolness of your skin. He hears the party grow more and more distant.

He looks at the makeshift door as he climbs behind you. His thoughts can't focus. Not flinching away from every point of contact, or, deciding on the likelihood your party wipes here. What are the odds that this cave belongs to that creature out there. Dying next to you, with you both in your-

Oh.

Oh No.

Marcille had truly removed everything. Out of what he assumed was an abundance of caution. You had to have been drenched in that water. Soaked to the bone. You were freezing. On the off they chance you both were revived he'd never live it down.

You felt like a corpse. Now was not the time. Your skin was cold. It took everything in him to not wince immediately, having to give up on the idea the flusher he pressed himself against you. Your fingers were coldest. Held in his hand like icicles, stiff and unmoving. A clamminess starting to form. You stirred, hissing from the touch. It must have felt like he was burning. He thinks of the oil that splashed on him when Senshi had him use the fire trap oil. Or the feeling of steam coming from a boiling kettle. He feels you try to move away, but the ache of the cold keeps you there.  

It makes him want to apologize, but he knows that you need this. He’s the warmest member of the party, he’s the only one here, and you are not going to last otherwise. He tries not to jostle you too much, just trying to get you on your side, have you face the fire. He braces himself and gently starts to lift you. One hand slinking beneath your mid-back, and one on your shoulder to try and pivot you. He has to use his knee to push on your hip. You let out a hoarse groan at the repositioning, and he lets out a curse at how cold your back is on his chest.

It forces a breath out of him that moves some of your damp hair onto his face. He brushes it out of the way before moving his hands to your shoulders. And then your face. Your nose burned against his palm. Cheeks slightly warmer before your ears burned the same way. He could feel you breathing. Slowly. But steadier than before.

"Are you there?" Nothing. Chilchuck moves his hands to your side, trying to find a place to rest them that was appropriate yet still gave you as much warmth as possible. "Do you…" Oh he was going to curse Laios out in so many languages. "Do you want me to hold you?" The words get quieter the longer the sentence goes. Ridiculous. This was so fucking stupid. He puts his hands to your hips. Ignoring the tenderness of the flesh. Ignoring the way goosebumps build just below his fingertips. Ofcourse you have goosebumps. You're freezing to death.

He can hear your heartbeat slowing. Hyperaware of every movement you make. Or aren't making. The hoarseness of every shallow breath.

He attempts to turn you. Because you need to get fire evenly from all sides. Feel him on all sides. The half-foot grinds his teeth. Vile. He is being vile. Still. You almost end up on your back again, but he pulls you closer, just a bit tougher. Just to keep you from falling. Just to have your back heated by the fire. But then he was face to face with you. With frost nipped cheeks and wet lashes. Closed eyes. Calm and trusting. Lips full, cracked yet so full.

No amount of logical thinking is going to help him. Your body may not be warm, but when was the last time he had laid with someone. Dire circumstances or not. Your chest is to his, your pliant arms and-

The guilt coursing through him had to be helping somewhat. Even if his consciousness grappled to be useful, the warmth of his shame had to be doing something for you. For your plight. Even if it was tauntingly serving as fuel for his own. He shifts to face away. The picklock lifts your arms around under his, grabbing you by the wrists and settling them in front. Trying to get your hands to warm up on his chest. Linking his fingers with yours.

And you finally come to. All the moving, the shifting, the pins and needles in your hands. Your feet. A whine behind his ear. He stiffens.

"It hurts. It… tickles? I," You gasp and twitch. "I can't." He can feel your hands try to move on their own. But they don't. Locked on themselves, too cold to move, too overwhelmed to pick a direction. He tries to focus on helping you. Instead of imaging your words in any other context than the one reality was based in. He presses his thumb into the meat of your palm. Pushing and rubbing it towards the center. Then taking his whole hand and trapping your four fingers into his, trying desperatley to massage them. Stretching his body to catch your cold feet with his calves. It forced your legs up, as if you were spooning him. You both hiss at the contact. At the change.

Your thighs. Your stomach. Your legs. Your chest. Every part of you touching him. His hands were holding yours as you shook and pressed your face into the crook of his shoulder.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry." Mortification seemed to rouse you further from your sleep. "How did-"

"You were freezing to death. After almost bleeding to death." He isn't sure what else to say. He's not ever sure that was the answer to your question. But you don't say anything. Instead he feels you trying to flex your hands. The slow strain as you try to unfurl your fingers, it shakes your arm just barely. "Don't push yourself." He presses your hand to his chest. "You're not nearly warm enough yet."

"I'm sorry Chil. To put you in this position. I know that…" What word do you even use here. He sits in silence with your pause. He'd go with any answer. If it meant not feeling the reverberation of your voice in his spine. The puffs of air as you speak and shiver into the nape of his neck. "that you're not. You don't approve? Of inter-party relationships. I promise, I won't read into this." He can't judge you for thinking that way. He knows exactly why. How many minutes - no - hours has he spent lecturing the party on unnecessary intimacy. On keeping calm. On understanding boundaries.

Yet.

All of that high and mighty attitude was about to crumble. If you dared to move your hands down. If you got remotely close to his stomach. You'd feel it. The extra heat. The stiffness that strained against what was left of his modesty. So he holds your hands close to his chest, and hopes that your hands were just numb enough to ignore the pounding in his chest. A feeling not at all echoed in the pulsing beneath his boxers. The blood rushing in his ears.

"Don't worry about that right now." He hopes you mistake the strain in his voice for disdain. Anything to prevent his internal struggle from being allowed to permeate his thoughts a second longer.

There’s this moment that happens in everyone’s life, where they have to make a choice. Do your principles matter?

And he has to decide. To live by his code or follow the curve of your body with his own. It’s awful. It’s stupid. It makes his cheeks heat, makes his heart race, makes him want to yell in frustration. Because in all his time, how was he supposed to be faced with his own lack of conviction, now, here. With so much else on the line? 

"Chil?" He snaps back to you. Your hands pulling from his and settling into the curls of his chest hair. Finally flexible enough to splay across the surface seeking warmth. Seeking him. "Where is the rest of the party. There was that trap and then-"

"And then you risked your life. And we got thrown into a blizzard. And you fell into water. Managed to get hit again. And now the Laios and the others are trying to kill the damn thing while you take a nap." He lets frustration color his voice. Willing it to manifest as the reason for the gruffness he can hear.

You try to pull at a hair in annoyance. "Oh that's such a kind thank you. You're so welcome." Chilchuck swats at your offending hand before whirling around (as best as one can in a shared bedroll) and pushing your wrists to your shoulders.

"You should be the one thanking me. I could have just as easily let you freeze to death. The only reason I'm even doing this is because they left before I could tell them to buzz off." Liar. But you don't need to know. He's certain you don't believe him anyway, he just needs it to be any other reason the one that keeps his hips from pressing into your front. He lets you go. "I should just get up now."

"Wait!" You tense. "Please, not yet. You're so warm." Your cheeks get redder, face flushing. "I'm sorry, please, don't go." The words come out shakily, hushed. You're shivering harder just at the thought of him, his warmth, leaving you.

Torture. This had to be torture. You sounded pathetic. Sad and hurt like a lost dog. And he has to concede to his morals. He was not someone who could truly forgive himself for committing acts on base desires. Not with you. Who was so careful to maintain every boundary he has set. Who was there for every member of the party as best you could be. You who he learned to begrudgingly respect out of the bumbling fools he found himself surrounded with. So Chilchuck doesn't say anything.

He wills his muscles to stop tensing. Tries to lay down next to you and be… calm about it. When you realize he's not going anywhere you press into him. If you felt anything you don't say. He wonders if your limbs are still too numb to notice. Or if his guilt-driven reality check killed the evidence. A few minutes pass of silence. The whistle of the cold wind sneaking through the make-shift door the only real noise. Not even the party could be heard.

It makes him hyper aware of your every sound. Of his. And he can't stand it. But you beat him to breaking the silence.

"I am sorry you know. I didn't mean for this to happen, and-"

He can't stand the wobble in your voice. "You don't need to be sorry. It was my ass on the line earlier. You wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had just done my damn job." He feels you shift.

"One mistake or two the whole time I've known you. Pretty good track record in my book."

He wants to smile at that. Instead, he does nothing, you continue. "Compared to you lot, I'm a whole lot less driven." More feelings he doesn't know what to do with. Thoughts and learnings he doesn't want to get caught up on. Yet you keep talking.

"You all have goals, dreams. And I only came to this dungeon because I needed something to do." You laugh. It's small and turns into a cough that presses your chest to his with every staggered breath.

When you still he speaks.

"You're… a valuable member of this party…" His words are quiet. And he wonders if he is really saying any of this out loud. "Don't be jealous of us. Your life is your own. I just happen to be stupid enough to rent mine for hire."

You laugh again, more life behind it this time. "You know, I've seen that bill. Might be getting a pretty good deal." He hums in response. Choosing to be grateful for the normalcy you both were attempting to maintain.

And it goes like for a bit. Silence, shifting to keep your blood circulating, then tidbits of a conversation before slipping into silence again.

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"You miss the snow?"

"Silly isn't it." Neither of you have to say yes. Not when you were still struggling to open and close your fist half and hour ago. "But I do. I miss getting to play in it, and have the choice to come inside after."

That pulls a laugh from him, and you continue. "Warm blankets, a fire that smelled like fire. Sounded like fire. Don't get me wrong, Marcille's magic is great but-"

"What?" He can't help the interruption. "Being magic takes the magic out of it?"

"I guess I'm not making a lot of sense." Embarrassment obvious in your voice.

"No you are. It just makes you sound like Senshi." You try to give a feeble smack at his side. And it has more force to it than either of you thought. He lets out a strained laugh as the air is forced out of him. If he was honest, he likely could pull away and you be fine now. And if was being more honest, he knew he didn't want to.

Not when you laid there curled into him. Hands starting to absentmindedly play with his chest hair. Your head tucked into the crook of his neck, leg hooked over his. He can't remember the last time he just -is cuddled even the right word- had someone hold him. Chil wants to run far away from here and never move again at the same time.

And you don't seem to be moving any time soon either. But it does have to come to and end. The party approaches, their after battle banter starting to carry over the wind. You can't hear it like he can, so he tries to absorb every last minute. Catalogue the way your fingernails lightly scratch his chest. The way your breathing has evened out with spirit behind it. How in this small amount of time he has learned more about you, shared more with you, than he ever would have otherwise.

Yet the inevitable still arrives, the subtle shifts you both take, the silence of him removing himself. The shuffle of clothes returning to bodies as Laios and the others get closer. Their leader enters first, exhaustion not hiding the excitement of eating this new monster. Izutsumi is complaining about the fight. Senshi is prepping their meal.

He could pretend like things were normal. He could pretend that he wouldn't think of this for many nights to come. He could lose himself to the routine.

He could hope you do the same.

Marcille enters next, immediately rushing to your side, hand on your forehead. Chilchuck rolls his eyes at her fussing. It's a practiced motion, but can't stop the way he observes now. The way you flush when you make eye contact with him. The fact that he can still feel your touch like a whisper on his skin.

He could hope all he wanted.

But he knows where this goes.

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And if I said I wanted to write him as a pathetic mean pervert instead what would we say.... any yays in the crowd orrrr.... :D