Chapter 371: Thank You.

Chapter 371: Chapter 371: Thank You.

Ugh, where to even start. She was a real old bag, always flicking his nose for talking back, and clipping him around the ears when he got in trouble –not for getting in trouble, but for getting caught, obviously, because she’d taught him better than that.

She taught him how to ride, and dance, and the best ways to prank the soldiers, and sometimes when he was supposed to be in bed she’d sneak him out and they would climb the towers or leave the castle together.

Because sometimes when the wild came calling, there was nothing for it but to let it take you away.

​"She sounds fun," Khobi chuckles, and there goes that strange feeling again; that strange little flutter that’s started to happen sometimes when Khobi looks at him a certain way.

" You sound like you were a handful," he adds, and seems surprised when Loac doesn’t bump him with his elbow for teasing.

​"...I think you’d like her," Loac finds himself saying, although even as he says it he realises that it’s not quite what he actually wants to say.

​I think she’d like you .

​(He’s not ready to say that. Not yet. Maybe never.)

​"I think so," Khobi admits with a grin, before pushing one further, "...And...what about your old man?"

​Abruptly, Loac’s mood sours.

​"What about him?" he mutters, flicking a stone with one of his index fingers.

​"What’d he do?" Khobi doesn’t elaborate any further, and Loac doesn’t bother asking what he means by that.

It’s no secret that his feelings towards his father border on openly contemptful, and there’s a short answer and a long one as to why, because really, his old man didn’t do anything.

And he could always not answer, because not answering is always so much easier, but there’s something about that earnest, serious expression that Khobi’s wearing right now that makes it feel like maybe it might be okay if he did.

​"...He wasn’t round much when I was a kid," he says flatly.

That’s the short answer; the answer he’s always given, even to Xena.

​"I figured."

​He could leave it there. Khobi said he didn’t have to tell him anything, and he seems to accept that as a good enough answer, but there’s something –that same little something that compelled him to sneak him down to the tavern, and ask about Scargga, and urged him to take him to the mountains –that compels him to speak now.

​"...He used to come by every summer," Loac continues, tone growing cold and his eyes narrowing as he casts them down towards his hands, "But after ma died, he stopped coming." That’s enough; surely it’s enough --Khobi doesn’t need to know any more than that because no one else knows any more than that, and saying it out loud has always felt like it would make it real --but the words are out before he stop them, raw and honest in a way he’s never been about this sort of thing.

​"I figured he was only comin’ for her, and that he never really gave a shit about me."

​...

​Khobi has never seen Loac look like this before.

​So... sad .

​Not just sad.

​Hurt . And for whatever reason seeing him like that makes Khobi boil with rage for a man he’s never met, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s reaching out for Loac and throwing both arms around him.

Pulled flush against his body, with Khobi’s face pressing into the hollow of his neck, Loac immediately stiffens, because for all the nights they’ve spent in each other’s embrace, this is new.

​"...I’m sorry," Khobi murmurs. He’s not sure what else to say; not sure there’s anything he can say when someone says something like that and makes the kind of face Loac made.

​"Why?" Loac mutters, "...It’s not your fault."

​"It’s just what people say, idiot," he grumbles back, tightening his grip on him even though it’s kind of weird since Loac’s not hugging him back.

It doesn’t matter that he’s not, though; something about seeing him like that had just made his body move all on its own. "For what it’s worth...it sounds like your ma loved you a lot."

​Loac makes a small choked noise at that, and since he hasn’t thrown him off yet Khobi takes that as a sign he doesn’t hate it;

tightening his arms around him and burying his face into his neck.

​They stay there like that for a long moment, and Loac finds himself increasingly distracted by the warmth of Khobi’s breath on his neck; on the tight grip holding him firm and close.

One by one, his hands slowly rise to the small of his back, lightly pressing in before tentatively curling into the loose fabric of his shirt.

He’s not sure what possesses him to do it other than the fact that Khobi did it first, and dimly, he has to wonder if it’s fine for them to be like this, but when he pulls Khobi in close against his body and lets his familiar warmth wash over him, he doesn’t pull away.

​"...Thanks," he mumbles into his hair, not even sure exactly what he’s thanking him for.

But for all the words had almost choked him for how long he’d kept them in, he feels better for having finally said them. And having Khobi’s arms around him like this for once doesn’t feel too bad.

It kinda feels like something he could get used to, even.

​One of his hands slowly starts to climb its way up the length of Khobi’s back until his fingers find purchase in his hair. He’s grown so used to grabbing and tugging at it that just trailing his fingers through it, brushing lightly against Khobi’s scalp, feels foreign; like something he’s not meant to be doing.

From the soft little sound of surprise Khobi makes into his neck, he wasn’t expecting it either, but it seems more like a sound of pleasure than one of complaint that he decides it’s okay for now.

​It’s impossible to tell how long they linger like that, only that when Khobi finally lifts his head to meet his gaze the sky’s more red than blue and night’s begun to fall.

And it’s crazy that even with the setting sun and the first stars winking into life above them, in that moment; the vibrant red of Khobi’s eyes feels like the brightest thing in the world.

​And Loac really, really wants to kiss him.

More than he’s ever wanted to kiss anyone.

​And maybe Khobi wants to kiss him too, because even as Loac reaches between them to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes he’s already leaning in; chin dipping to meet him halfway.

​Loac’s kissed a lot of people, and this one is so light it’s barely even a kiss; just his lips brushing against Khobi’s, and Khobi’s brushing against his.

​So why is his breath shaking?

​For all the times their lips have met, this one feels different .

The press of Loac’s mouth on Khobi’s is slow and unhurried, and the hands that reach up to cup his face and jaw, then work into his hair are soft and more tender than Khobi could have ever imagined.

He’s no stranger to the taste of Loac’s tongue, but when it slips past his lips there’s a tentativeness to the way it brushes against his, and none of the greed he’s used to.

A soft gasp escapes him as his arms curl tight around Loac’s body and Khobi kisses him back just as slow, until his heart is racing up in his throat leaving his chest weightless.

​He’s never been kissed like this before --by anyone --and it leaves him absolutely breathless .

​Loac breaks first for breath; eyes dipped low, and Khobi’s lips chase him and catch on his jaw, silently pleading for more.

But instead he just reaches up and brushes a hand through the short strands overhanging Khobi’s brow, fingers tracing the shape of his face and slipping to his cheek, and his breath catches in his throat as he peers up through his eyelashes into Loac’s face; his lips damp and the familiar blue of his eyes charged and magnetic and seemingly endless.

​" Later ," he promises, his voice pitched husky and low, and as Khobi’s hands drop away from his body, he abruptly realises that night’s fallen.

​When did that happen?

But like he can’t help himself, Loac leans back in to kiss him again; just briefly and just once, but for some reason it makes every inch of Khobi’s skin prickle.

...

​(They’re just climbing back in through the window when Khobi sees Montrel standing in the doorway looking pained.

​"Where have you two – no, no, actually, I don’t want to know ," Montrel declares, changing course partway through his sentence, "You know what? I’m gonna go back outside, and I’m gonna pretend you were in here the whole time, okay?")