Chapter 107 - 106: Dirty Mind.

Chapter 107: Chapter 106: Dirty Mind.

It looks bad even through the armour.

"Relax," Drogger says quietly, noticing Rogard’s queasy expression as he extracts himself from his armour as best he can with an only partial mobile arm. In the end, Rogard has to help him out of most of it. "It looks worse than it is."

"Really?" Rogard grimaces, eyeing the steadily spreading bloodstain on his chest with a degree of distaste. "...Because it looks pretty bad."

" Relax ," he says again, firmer this time, and with a look that somehow seems to reassure Rogard more than any words ever could. Which makes Rogard feel like a child, because Drogger is the one who probably has a great gaping hole in his chest, why on earth is he the one telling him that everything’s going to be fine? "Ynoro’s overreacting again."

"That doesn’t sound like Ynoro," Rogard jokes weakly, gathering up a wet cloth and a fresh bucket of water so he can clean himself up.

Drogger--grumpy, frowny Drogger Noog --actually fucking chuckles at that, and heavens forbid if that sound doesn’t make Rogard’s heart skip a damn beat.

He’s glad that the lighting in here is terrible. He’s not sure if he’s blushing, but he’s also not sure that he’s not , so if he is, then he definitely doesn’t want Drogger to see it. Not that he’s looking at him at the moment, he’s too busy inspecting his wound through the nasty looking rip in his shirt.

Then gives up, and takes the whole thing off.

Which Rogard is apparently not equipped to deal with right now.

His shoulder must be stiff from the blow, because once he gets the buttons undone it takes him a moment to shrug out of it, and honestly, it feels a little indecent to be watching.

And yet, he’s watching. With decidedly more anticipation than is strictly necessary. Or appropriate, for that matter. This is his Captain.

His Captain, who just so happens to be stacked .

Like, seriously .

And as his shirt slips off, inch by inch, Rogard is grateful once more for the dim lighting, because now, not only is his face burning, but he licks his damn lips.

"Doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches," Drogger decides, like he’d known that the whole time, and takes the cloth from Rogard’s limp hand to start cleaning away some of the blood, blissfully and thankfully unaware of Rogard’s wandering eyes. Their fingers brush, and Rogard prays to any god out there that his skin isn’t as hot to the touch as it feels right now.

Then he prays again --this time for forgiveness --for wondering, even briefly, what Drogger’s fingers might feel like on his skin.

He feels a brief flash of panic when Drogger looks at him strangely, terrified that his thoughts are written all over his face, but as it turns out he’s just, in his stupor, not relinquished his grip on the cloth he’s offered him.

"I uhh..." Rogard stammers, swallowing thickly, "I...let me. You uh, shouldn’t move too much."

He’s never wanted so desperately, for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Since when did he sound so lame ?

"...Whatever you say," Drogger replies after a beat of awkward silence, and Rogard takes that as permission to continue.

It’s a pity he hasn’t actually thought this far ahead.

Mouth dry, he stoops forward, and Drogger, perched on the edge of the bed, shifts to give him better access.

Distantly, he realises that he’s right. The wound isn’t altogether that bad, just a small puncture and some long, ugly scrapes from where the busted armour has broken the skin. The bruising is going to be grotesque, but the blood’s already starting to dry. Truthfully, Drogger could’ve probably done this himself, but since Rogard’s gone and dug himself the grave,he might as well get comfortable in it. So he gets to work at meticulously cleaning the wound, and tries his utmost to focus on what he’s doing, not the heat of the skin beneath it.

Once or twice --not often enough that Drogger would question it, but enough to satisfy his own swelling curiosity --he drags the cloth away from his shoulder,down over the taut planes of his chest.

There’s no blood there, but Rogard’s feeling daring, and a little greedy.

The muscles twitch under his touch, and each time, he has to swallow down a shaky breath. He wonders what they might feel like under his naked fingertips, what the hard dips and curves of Drogger’s abdomen might feel like pressed against his skin.

The thought heats his blood and makes his pulse race, and by the time his work is done, Rogard’s heart is pounding so loudly he’s amazed Drogger can’t hear it.

Then, fuck, Drogger looks up at him, and it just stops .

"D-Does it hurt, master?" Rogard manages to fumble out, looking away, because the steel grey of his eyes are too sharp he’s worried they’re going to see right through him and into his thoughts.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s worried Drogger will see, but he’s not taking any chances.

"No," Drogger says quietly, slowly glancing down at his injured shoulder. And consequently, at Rogard’s hand, which is still sitting on his chest, for some reason. "...It doesn’t."

"Ah~" Rogard chirps breathily, staring at his hand too, like he’s only just realised he has one. He has to wet his lips before he can speak again. Drogger hasn’t moved an inch, but he suddenly seems very close. "That’s good."

He doesn’t know what else to say.

He knows, suddenly, what he wants to do, though.

He wonders if Drogger would let him.

Unfortunately, this isn’t his chance to find out.

" --Hey, Rogard, you in here?" someone hollers, obnoxiously loud for this time of evening, "Ynoro said tha --ah--" Khobi freezes in the doorway, midway through bursting into the barracks, and appears to make a wildly incorrect assessment of the scene before him. "...Oh shit. Sorry. I uh, didn’t..."

" Khobs !" Kise exclaims, wide eyed and praying that neither Khobi nor Drogger notice his voice pitching unnaturally high. " What are you doing here ?"

His prayers go unanswered, Khobi definitely noticed, if the eyebrow Rogard gets cocked at him is anything to go by.

"What are you doing here?" he shoots back, glancing meaningfully from Rogard’s face, to the traitorous hand still pressed against Drogger’s chest. Rogard quickly snatches his hand back, but the damage is already done, and all he succeeds at is making himself look even guiltier.

"Nothing," he snaps, too quickly, and then backpedals, because he’s here for a perfectly legitimate reason, thank you very much, "I stay late sometimes. To train."

"Right."

"...To beat you."

Too much.

"Right," Khobs says again, and Rogard feels like an idiot. "You, uh, do that?" He jerks his chin at the marks on Drogger’s shoulder,ugly and vivid in the moonlight he’s brought streaming in with him.

"Ynoro got a clean shot in," Drogger assures him, clearly irritated at being talked around. "He got worried that he’d done some damage."

"It’s um, it looks better now," Rogard manages to squeeze out, backing away as Drogger starts gathering up his discarded armour. Maybe he’s not as perceptive as he’d always thought, because he doesn’t seem at all aware that Khobi has completely misunderstood the situation. "But you should uh, probably get someone at the infirmary to dress it properly."

"Thanks," Drogger says, and there’s a strange inflection to his voice that does very bad things to Rogard’s sanity. And body. He gets the sinking feeling that Khobi can tell. "I think I will." The wounds have already started closing up, but it’s obvious that he’s taken Ynoro’s curt reminder to heart, and Khobs obligingly steps aside to clear the doorway for him.

"Good evening, Khobi," he says stonily, nodding in both greeting, and farewell as he glances at them in turn. "Rogard. You two get some rest. I gather you’ve both had a long day."

"Night, master," Kise says, a little less flamboyantly than he usually might have, "See you, uh, see you tomorrow."

"...Don’t be late."

"I won’t," he promises, and hopes Drogger can tell that he means it.

He also hopes that Khobs isn’t going to ask questions.

But , it turns out that Khobi is mean.

"Um," Khobs coughs dramatically, laying a protective arm across the doorway before Rogard can excuse himself with literally whatever comes to mind first. "What the fuck was that?"

There’s nothing to tell, so innocence is what Rogard decides to go with.

"What was what," he asks, all wide eyes and polite confusion. Even without much time to prepare, he nails it. And Khobs still doesn’t buy it.

" That ," he repeats, gaze flickering to the space on the bed Drogger had filled only moments ago.

" Nothing ," Rogard assures him, like he’s made some sort of outrageous accusation. Which he kind of has. Khobi does not look convinced.

"Didn’t look like nothing," he deadpans, folding his arms across his chest,eyes narrowed.

"...Well it was," he sniffs flippantly, "Nothing, that is. I came by on my way to my room, and when master got chucked off his horse Ynoro sent me to check up on him." Even the goddamned truth doesn’t sway him.

" Right ."

"Tsk, don’t say it like that ," he scoffs, batting him aside so he can leave, and hopefully distracting him from the fact that there’s nothing he can do about the telling flush that’s risen high and bright up into his cheeks.

"Like what?" Khobi snorts, and makes no further attempt to stop him.

"...Like you don’t believe me."

"Well, I don’t believe you."

Rogard flings him a glare, and stalks off ahead of him. Drogger’s nowhere in sight, and Ynoro seems to have vanished with him. The servants are even in the process of extinguishing the torches they’d been using for light.

"Nothing happened," he shoots back over his shoulder, only to find that Khobs, curse him, has managed to keep up with ease. It comes off as childish, and too much like he’s trying to hide the fact that something had happened.

"Tsk, whatever you say, Rogard," Khobi shrugs dismissively, and tucks his hands into his pockets as they split off to go their separate ways. But he looks back before he disappears off into the depths of the castle, and Rogard doesn’t much care for the serious expression he’s wearing. Like he thinks he knows something. "...But if you ask me, it kinda looked like you wanted it to."

Rogard gapes at him. And continues to gape, long after Khobi’s disappeared into the dark depths of the castle.

He’s honestly speechless .

What an absurd thing to say. What a dangerous thing to say. He’d heard of people getting whipped for saying things like that to the wrong people.

The worst part isn’t even that it’s Khobi , of all people, accusing him of something so ludicrous.

It’s that he’s fucking right .

Rogard isn’t sure if the revelation makes him want to tear out his hair or rip off his skin. Either way, he’s on the edge of a crisis because fuck , he wanted that to be something. There’s just something about Drogger that’s got him snared, everything about the man is distracting in all the best ways. His hair. His voice. The intensity and depths of his eyes.

His body.

His skin under Rogard’s fingers.

In the darkness, for a few, fleeting moments, he’d wondered, briefly --dangerously --what it would be like to rake his nails down his chest.