Chapter 500 - 501: Don’t Care If They Know.

Chapter 500: Chapter 501: Don’t Care If They Know.

It’s that time of night again; the time of an evening well spent where the city lights grow dim and the drunk have put themselves or been put to bed and the hearths of the taverns in the streets burn low and throw long shadows. At some point in the night Binny had made friends with one of the bards –or at least given him enough gold to earn his favour –and the few tables still occupied let out an easy round of applause as the pair of them finish up a final duet. Most of the songs Binny knows have been the usual crowd-pleasing rude and lively, but this was a soft, charming tune about the idle days of youth in spring.

It’s the perfect close, really.

"Thank you~" Binny calls airily, offering up as deep of a bow as he can manage slung back in his chair as he is. Perched on the table amidst an array of unfinished final drinks, the bard tips his hat to the last remaining occupants of the tavern.

" – Okay, that’s it ," Gandy slurs as the last of the notes fades away, stretching his hands out high above his head. The sudden movement has him swaying dangerously and Mural obligingly reaches out to keep him propped mostly upright, "It’s officially bedtime."

That it is. Their mugs have been empty for quite some time now, and not very many of them have made it to this point –Rogard, for all his declarations that he would be the last man standing –has already long since been escorted back home by a long-suffering Drogger. Montrel rubs his eyes with a yawn as he leans back in his chair, nodding along with Gandy’s declaration in reluctant agreement.

"Yeah, I think I’m gonna turn in," he groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he grins around the table, "Not gonna lie, I think I might die tomorrow." No one tells him it’ll serve him right, because saying that will force them to admit that it serves them right too, when they inevitably suffer the same fate. Instead they all laugh, in solidarity.

Khobi laughs along with them. That is, until he feels Loac’s shape loom up behind him.

" Hey ," Loac whispers, voice pitched low as his lips dusting against his ear and he dangles a key on the tip of one finger just on the edges of Khobi’s peripheral vision. "...I got us a room."

The implication has anticipation pooling dark and fathomless at the base of Khobi’s spine.

"...You did, huh?" he hums innocently, sending him a furtive smirk and getting a sly one back, "What’d you go doin’ that for?"

When Loac leans in to kiss him once on the throat, his eyes are starlit, twilight blue, but as he pulls away, lacing their fingers together so he can drag him out of his seat, Khobi is greeted by inky, pitch black midnight. And while he can’t see the stars, he knows they’re out there, deep in the unexplored unknown; waiting for him.

So he lets himself be led.

"We’re gonna head off now," Khobi states to the table, not wanting to let the truth of that statement sink in. "...It’s been nice knowing you," he finds himself adding, because even if they don’t take him seriously –despite their protests they always drink to excess and always make it out of training –at least this way he gets to say it.

"Sleep tight," Montrel waves dismissively, expression growing pained as he jerks his head in Loac’s direction, "Don’t let him keep you up too late, yeah?"

Loac’s grin stretches wide and positively lecherous as he flashes him a wink.

" No promises ."

The soldiers all boo accordingly, and thoughtlessly wave them off. Because to them, tonight is no different from any other night, and who really cares about stray goodnights when there are many more to come?

...

The door has just barely swung shut behind them and Loac is on him; mouth hot and insistent on Khobi’s own and his hands already caught up in unbuttoning his shirt. An agonised groan works its way free of the confines of Khobi’s throat as he sets to work mapping out the canvas of his back. There’s been heat building between them throughout the night; stoked by sultry looks, lingering touches and kisses holding the promise of more, but later. And now that later has finally come around, Khobi’s impatient to get to the more.

"Yes," he whispers, throwing his head back against the wall so that Loac can suck fresh marks into all his favourite spots down his throat. The old ones are fading, and he’s been aching to have Loac’s mouth on him again. "Don’t make me wait, Trent --ah." Loac’s teeth sink into his skin; a heady growl pressing into the skin there, and Khobi doesn’t bother holding back his voice as he circles his hips against the thigh pressed between his legs so that there’s no mistaking what exactly he’s been waiting for.

Finally .

...

Usually when Khobi’s at his most desperate is when Loac most likes to some time teasing him; working him to pieces until he’s writhing and quaking with unmet need, but not tonight. No, tonight they make out against the wall only until their shirts come loose, at which point Khobi decides that he can wait no longer and shoves him towards the bed. The floor creaks underfoot but they don’t hear. Down the hall, there are other doors rattling in their hinges as they swing closed, but they don’t hear. There’s a tempest of heat rising in this room with them; thunder booming in their chests and lightning jumping between them.

Moonlight trickles in through the open shutters as they stumble their way across the room. Loac hits the bed first, stretching out in the pale beams to show off the rich topography of his defined chest; muscle trained raw and thick over the months. The bed dips as Khobi sinks a knee into the mattress, folding down over his body, lips starting at his navel and making the leisurely journey up his torso; teeth nipping at his own heavy lines, mouthing at the light scars dappled here and there –some that he’s left himself; others older, before him –fingers dancing, palms dragging up the hot expanses of Loac’s gorgeous skin.

Under his lips, under his fingertips, Loac’s pulse races.