Chapter 117 The Infirmary Door

Lucien’s eyes darkened with something raw and hungry the moment the words left Elian’s mouth.

"You... will?" he repeated, voice husky, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it.

Elian nodded once, already regretting the impulsive decision even as his pulse raced. "Only sleep, Your Grace. Nothing more. Only because you haven’t slept properly for a while."

Lucien did not argue. He simply reached past Elian, opened the door to his own chamber, and waited. The soft click of the door closing behind them felt heavier than it should have.

’What am I even doing back in this room?!’ Elian gulped as he glanced around the room.

It was strange, and it felt different.

In the past, he only entered here when Lucien wanted to fuck him, but tonight, it was different.

He was officially going to share a bed with Lucien and nothing was going to happen between them. Even his mind did not believe that.

How can he simply stay calm when Lucien would be laying right beside him.

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp. Rain continued to lash against the windows, the storm outside matching the tension that thickened the air between them.

Lucien moved first, removing his outer coat and unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate calm. Elian watched, throat tight, as the fabric slid from Lucien’s shoulders, revealing the lean, powerful lines of his torso.

"You should change as well," Lucien said quietly, offering no further instruction.

Elian turned away and reluctantly began unbuttoning his own shirt with slightly unsteady fingers. He left his thin undershirt on, along with his trousers, drawing a clear line.

When he turned back, Lucien was already in bed, leaning against the headboard, bare-chested, watching him with open intensity.

’Heavens! He looks so sinfully inviting...’ Elian gulped and looked away.

Slowly, he dragged his feet over and climbed in carefully, keeping a careful distance.

"You... you stay over there. Alright?" Elian murmured, turning his back to Lucien.

The mattress suddenly dipped under Lucien’s weight as he gradually closed that distance.

"Can I?" He whispered.

Elian had his bottom lip between his teeth, heart thumping loudly.

"I’m going to hold you, El," Lucien murmured, and in the next second, one strong arm slid around Elian’s waist and pulled him firmly back against a warm, solid chest.

Their legs tangled, Lucien’s thigh sliding between Elian’s until their limbs were crossed in a way that felt far too intimate for "just sleep."

"Your Grace—" Elian began.

"Shh." Lucien’s voice was low against the back of his neck. "I know. Only sleep."

But the promise did not stop his actions. Lucien’s bare chest pressed fully against Elian’s back, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric of Elian’s undershirt. One hand rested low on Elian’s stomach while the other brushed long curls aside, exposing the side of his neck.

Then Lucien’s lips found the sensitive skin just below Elian’s ear.

Elian gasped, his eyes shutting tightly as he tried to stay calm.

He was doing exactly what he said he wouldn’t do.

Cassian would be so disappointed.

"Your Grace... I–"

"So damn much, Elian... I missed you so fucking much," Lucien whispered huskily, inhaling Elian’s hair and kissing his neck again.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly soft. Lucien lingered there, mouth warm and open, tasting the pulse that jumped wildly beneath Elian’s skin. A quiet, almost broken sound escaped him as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss higher, then lower, tracing the line of Elian’s neck with restrained hunger.

Elian’s fingers curled tightly into the sheets. His body arched the slightest bit before he could stop it, a soft, involuntary reaction that made Lucien’s arm tighten around his waist.

"Your Grace..." Elian’s voice came out breathier than he intended. "You said... only sleep."

Lucien’s lips stilled against his neck, but he did not pull away. Instead, he rested his forehead against the curve of Elian’s shoulder, breathing hard.

"I know," he murmured, the words vibrating against Elian’s skin. "I’m trying."

His hand on Elian’s stomach flexed once, possessive, before he forced it to still. Their legs remained tangled. Lucien’s bare chest rose and fell against Elian’s back in uneven rhythm. The air between them was thick with everything they were not doing — and everything both of them clearly wanted.

Elian closed his eyes, fighting the heat pooling low in his stomach.

"Goodnight, Your Grace... sleep." he whispered, though his own voice trembled.

Lucien pressed one last, lingering kiss to the side of his neck before finally settling more fully against him, arms still wrapped tightly around Elian’s waist as if afraid he might vanish the moment he loosened his hold.

"I’ll try," Lucien breathed against his skin.

Outside, the storm continued. Inside the dark chamber, two bodies remained pressed together in a bed that felt far too small for the tension crackling between them — clothes still mostly on, boundaries barely held, and the night only just beginning.

Neither of them fell asleep easily.

---

Meanwhile, in the servants’ quarters, Finn tried opening his door but couldn’t.

He was barely in his room, but that did not mean that it wasn’t his.

Who could have locked him out?

He wanted to try pushing the door again when he heard it... a woman’s soft moan and a man’s grunts.

He frowned.

Who dared to enter his room without his consent?

"Hey, open up!" He banged his hand on the door, anger settling deep in his chest.

The only response he got was the loud moans from the unknown woman.

He banged his hand on the door, glaring at it as if he could already see the person violating his room.

He was about to bang on the door again when it was pulled open by a tall guard.

The guard was sweating in the cold weather, his buckles undone as his bald head shone from the lamps in the hallway.

"Richard?" Finn frowned. "This is unacceptable–"

"And what are you going to do about it? Cry to His Grace as his special guard?" He smirked, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Finn forced himself to remain calm. "I need you to leave. Now." He commanded.

Richard only smiled. "Oh? But you know she gets what she wants from me... it’s all night long." He tried to touch Finn’s chin but Finn moved away, staring at him in disgust.

Richard only chuckled. "Go stand at the Duke’s door, Finn. That’s your place," he slammed the door on Finn.

Finn blinked in disbelief, fists balled beside him.

He gritted his teeth and turned away.

What was he going to do? Lucien had clearly asked him to leave; going back would be blatant disobedience.

His clothes were already a little damp from the little walk to the servants’ quarters; going back out there would just get him wet.

But he had no choice.

He turned and walked away. Once outside the servants’ quarters, he lowered his head as he ran through the pouring rain and onto the manor’s veranda.

"Shit..." he murmured to himself as he shuddered from the cold, biting wind.

He was going to make sure Richard was duly punished. How dare they violate his room?

He suddenly sneezed, biting down on his lip as he wrung the water out of his shirt.

He was about to drag his wet, dripping self into the grand hall when a door opened behind him.

It was the infirmary, and Soren was standing in front of the door, looking all calm and unbothered by the weather... and dry.

"Are you going to come in here, or do you prefer the rain?" Soren asked quietly.

Finn hesitated on the threshold of the infirmary, rainwater dripping steadily from his hair and clothes onto the wooden floor. The cold had already seeped into his bones, and the wind outside continued to howl, but stepping inside felt strangely more exposing.

He thought of Soren — always composed, always watching with those calm grey eyes — and felt a flicker of reluctance. Still, he had nowhere else to go.

"I... apologise for the inconvenience, Doctor," Finn said quietly, remaining just inside the doorway. Water pooled at his feet. "My room is... occupied. I did not mean to disturb you."

Soren studied him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he stepped aside, gesturing for Finn to come fully in.

"Close the door," he said simply.

Finn obeyed. The moment the door shut, the sound of the storm softened, leaving only the quiet crackle of the fire and the soft drip of water from his clothes.

Soren walked back toward his desk without another word. On the surface of the desk lay a neatly folded set of dry clothes — a simple white shirt and dark trousers.

"Undress," Soren said, not looking at him. "Wear those."

Finn blinked. "I... what?"

Soren finally glanced up, grey eyes steady and unbothered. "You’re soaked. You’ll catch a fever if you stay like that. Undress and put those on. I’ll continue my work."

There was no mockery in his tone, no teasing. Just calm practicality. Yet the order hung in the air between them with unexpected weight.

Finn’s ears burned. He glanced at the closed door, then at Soren, who had already returned his attention to the papers on his desk, quill in hand as if this were the most ordinary request in the world.

Awkward silence stretched.

Slowly, Finn’s fingers moved to the buttons of his wet shirt. The fabric clung stubbornly to his skin. He peeled it off with difficulty, the sound of wet cloth unusually loud in the quiet room. His undershirt followed, then his trousers, until he stood in only his damp undergarments, skin marked with cold and rain.

Soren did not look up.

Finn reached for the dry clothes. The shirt was soft and faintly scented with clean herbs — Soren’s scent. He pulled it on quickly, then the trousers, acutely aware of every movement under the doctor’s quiet presence.

When he finished dressing, he cleared his throat.

"I’m... finished."

Soren still did not look at him immediately. He finished the sentence he was writing, set the quill down with deliberate care, and only then raised his eyes.

His gaze moved over Finn once — briefly, thoroughly — before returning to his face.

"There’s a blanket on the chair," Soren said. "Sit by the fire. You’ll warm faster."

Finn nodded, still feeling strangely exposed even though he was fully dressed again. He moved to the chair near the hearth, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. The heat of the fire slowly began to chase away the chill, but the tension in the room remained.

Soren returned to his work as if nothing unusual had occurred. The soft scratch of his quill filled the silence.

Finn sat quietly, watching the flames, hyper-aware of the man only a few feet away. The infirmary suddenly felt smaller than it ever had before.

Outside, the storm continued.

Inside, something quieter — and far more charged — had begun to settle between them.