Closed More Than Strangers

[Noven]

A greeting was halfway out of Noven's mouth when the Initiate placed his arms around the Scar and drew him into the room, pulling him away from the door with naught but soft footsteps and an even softer kiss.

Nov lost his chain of thought as he yielded to the unannounced, gentle display of affection. Being so close almost made the horrors of his day seem obsolete. There was a dizzying comfort to be found, the coolness of Keene's skin against his a welcome sensation after his single-minded rush back to the Quarters. And the light in other man's gaze when their lips parted...that nearly erased the terrible inevitability of their situation altogether. The details of how or why his presence could bring about this spark remained an utter mystery to Noven, but he was glad something good came of it, for once, however short lived that goodness would be.

For a moment, he lingered on the borders of forgetfulness. But then he got a good look at his companion's ragged state, scrapes and all, and reality came rolling back in its typical, tactless fashion.

Eyeing the rather painful looking scrape on Keene's shin before glancing back up, Nov answered worriedly, "And you look like my troubles found you and gave you a proper beating for two or three bells." He tugged at the edge of a sleeve to inspect one of the Initiate's arms. There were cuts, several of them. Clean, at least, but no less concerning.

Was it coincidence, then, that Keene looked as much like shyke as he felt, Nov mused. For one to be battered physically and the other mentally? The merc assumed they would never know. There were countless times they'd found themselves eerily aligned, even if that alignment often occurred on polar ends. And while he'd never been much of a believer in fate, grounded as he was in the belief that all living things reaped only what they and their fellow mortals sowed, there had been enough flukes to make even an ornery soul like himself question.

A cool, tender hand upon his cheek interrupted his thoughts. Noven leaned into the touch, releasing a pent up knot of breath that had been trapped in his chest since the moment he'd set foot in the Dungeons. He hadn't even realized how tired he was until found himself under such benevolent care, the sentiment behind Keene's actions little more than a glimmer in the candle light, yet undoubtedly present all the same.

"You can," Nov murmured, raising a tentative hand to envelope the pale fingers that brushed along his face. He was still wearing his leather gloves, having covered his crimson mark as soon as he had left those wretched cells, and hoped his touch would not bring the Initiate any further pain.

"But first, I need to know what the hell got you looking like you've been cage fighting all day." He led his companion over to the mats and gently guided Keene to sit beside him, noting the winces of pain along the way.

Setting his coat--and the half finished bottle of wine wrapped inside of it--onto the cold stones with a muted clink, Noven stared at the large scrape on Keene's knee again before adding, "Maybe it's me who should be asking what I can do for you. That Nuit spa almost sounds worth the walk, what with how banged up you look."

With careful, steady movements, Nov placed his fingers beneath the other man's calf and tilted it slightly toward him so he could see the wound better. "Does it hurt? We should clean it, if you haven't already."

For a tick, he wondered if pain was just a relative term for Keene. If, given his condition, the mage's whole life wasn't just one series of agony after another. Perhaps that was why he appeared so numbed to most. Or perhaps there was a completely different reason for that, and Noven merely grasping at straws. Either way, there were injuries to see to of the physical sort. His own burdens could wait.

[Keene Ward]

Noven's concern sent a small ripple of warmth through his chest. While his mind calmly found Noven's words to be little more than an equivalent - though embellished - return of an observation, his heart pined for the worry, for the care. It was a strange disconnect of mind and soul, one that Keene didn't know what to do with like so many other things Noven sparked within and around him. His voice was soothing, far more than any cool water or herbal remedy, again a peculiarity that Keene preferred to simply accept rather than to analyze. He would have time to do so once Noven was gone - years and years of time. That time would come, but in the present he allowed himself greed that he usually did not feel compelled to succumb to. Noven's hand, safely gloved, reached up to wrap gingerly about Keene's, pulling the fingers from his face to settle snuggly in the warmth of Noven's hand despite the leather covering. Without thinking, his fingers wrapped around Noven's, gripping slightly tighter. He preferred the feeling of Noven's skin, whether it caused him pain or not, but there was a soft serenity that came with knowing that the warmth he felt through the tanned covering belonged to the man before him.

As Noven led him over to the bed, Keene eased himself down with a controlled grimace. The pain itself was more or less bearable, but Noven's words made him ache far worse. To Keene, Noven was, essentially, the penultimate concern. It bothered him that Noven would seek to place Keene's relatively minimal physical distress over his own, and a frown played at his lips as he silently regarded the Sunberthian with a steady, passive gaze. He allowed Noven his administrations and investigations, taking not small part in enjoying watching the other man needlessly fawn over him. That pleasure, like most things, was confusing. Noven was wasting his time, their time, and yet Keene let it continue on, doing little more than tacitly watching, noting the crease in Noven's brow in concern, the gentle manner in which he held his leg, even the gentle mix of concern and humor in his voice as his eyes rose to meet Keene's with his question and suggestion - or perhaps it was a command, Keene wasn't sure.

With an stilted though gentle movement, Keene pulled his leg back to rest in a more comfortable position, eyes holding Noven's gaze while his frown loosened some. "It hurts. I have cleaned it." To make a point, Keene deliberately moved his hand to press against the scrape with a sizable amount of force. While the wince was inevitable, it was no more pronounced than any other he'd given. The pain was negligible, and while Keene did enjoy Noven's worried gaze, he had indulged himself long enough. Withdrawing from his injury, Keene raised a brow. "And why would you fight with a cage?" He shook his head, not really needing an answer. He supposed that it was an idiom, perhaps something pertaining to all of the bruises and cuts he'd manage to scatter across his body, much like the bars of a cage.

"I spent the day in the Testing Grounds. Everything that did this to me is dead now." The unemotional statement of fact was given for two reasons: to answer Noven's question and to assure him there was no more reason for concern. He was fine, better than fine, in fact, as the single thing he'd been thinking about all day was there in front of him. It should have concerned him how much comfort he took in just Noven's presence alone, how much he longed to touch him in spite of everything, how much he craved the taste of his kiss and the panting breath of his passion. It should have, but it did not. There was time for regret, for contemplation, for lament, for everything above, below, and between, but the time had not come yet. Instead, he shifted in his place, moving his legs out of the way so that, if Noven desired, he might come closer.

"Now, what can I do for you, Noven?" The concern in his voice, while slight, was evident. Noven's troubles where his troubles, in a sense, though they affected each in a very different manner. Keene wanted to enjoy every tick with the man he loved - or whatever the proper term for his affections was - and to do that, he wanted Noven to enjoy himself as well. It was a strange concept, happiness. He'd never really given it much thought before, but he found that when Noven was unhappy or trouble, it tugged at his own heart, constricting and pulling it in a painful, jittering dance. The only way to stop it was to address the root problem, which lay in Noven's mind, a troublesome location indeed. His head tilted slightly, the candlelight catching his features in glow reminiscent of bright, icy blue eyes and cascading golden hair. "Tell me, and I'll do it."

[Noven]

He watched in morbid confusion as Keene moved to press against the scrape on his knee. The nerves on Noven's own shin tingled in sympathetic pain, though his companion showed little more than a wince of discomfort. Conversely, Keene's complete obliviousness to what the term cage fighting meant came as no surprise, and Nov merely grinned in amusement at the other man's literal interpretation.

Ahh, the Testing Grounds. So that explained all the cuts and scrapes. The Scar might have asked why Keene chose to spend his day out slaughtering dangerous creatures, maybe even faulted him somehow for bringing such injuries upon his person, had Nov not more less done the same thing himself. Except his battles had been internal. A bloody struggle between what he thought was right and what he knew he needed, the scars left hidden beneath layers of self-justification and ruthlessness.

No, he couldn't judge Keene for putting himself in danger. Not after everything he'd done, all the people he had hurt, that very same morning.

When the Initiate asked once again what he could do for Noven, eyes glowing with earnest desire, the merc felt a quiver of recollection. He knew he'd seen that gaze before. Up in the hills, by the side of a humble little fire. The memories alone sent his blood stirring again.

But the weight of what he had done and learned that day would not leave him in peace. It dragged him down into dark, familiar depths. So much to do. So much to worry over, if not outright fear. And yet, all he wanted to do was to lie in this barren room, thinking of nothing but the comfort of Keene's presence. If only life could ever be that easy.

He moved closer, though only to pull Keene with him as he laid back slowly against the mat. Gods above, he was tired. The moment his head hit the softened surface he let loose a weary breath of relief. To think that a threadbare mat on cold, stone floors could feel like paradise in this moment, made all the more appeasing with the Initiate's tawny head resting against his shoulder. "Just lay here with me," he answered, eyes half closed. "Lay here and talk a while."

There was a moment of silence before Noven decided it would be best just to come clean. His visit to Cryptly's had been far from pleasant, and it would do him no good keeping something like that so close to his chest.

"I went to the Dungeons today," he confessed, trusting Keene to keep his discoveries secret. "I...made another deal with Cryptly. He had me torture more folk, after paying him a handsome sum first, of course, in exchange for one last interrogation with that old partner's of Carmine's."

Nov pressed his cheek against the top of Keene's head, seeking some form of amenity in the other man's solidity. "I hurt so many people today, Keene. People who might not even have deserved such pain. But I did it anyway, knowing it was wrong, just so I could learn one last thing from a dying, broken man." He paused for a tick, absorbing the quietness of the room. "Flames...he said Carmine chose Sunberth because she was looking for flames. And then he died right there in his cell, after I had Vexed him beyond his limits."

"It could be me she's looking for," the Scar pressed on, fighting the tide of panic and anger rising in his chest, "now that I know what the mark on my back truly is. Or maybe it's not me. Maybe it's someone or something else. There's only one way of finding out, and trying might mean ending up like that petched up partner of hers. Half mad and rotting in a monster's cell. What will I do then? How will I--"

Come back to you, he wanted to say. But the words stuck in his throat and would not come out. Sighing in defeat, Noven turned to face his companion. He tugged a blanket over them both, desperate for some semblance of security and refuge, and settled in closer beside the other man.

"By the way," Nov diverted, unable to go further with his original subject of choice, "you don't actually fight a cage when you cage fight." There was humor in his eyes, but no trace of mockery or superiority in his voice. "It's a blood sport. Fighters test their skill against each other while cowards in the audience place bets on who they think will win. Makes for good business in the Berth, and it was how I made my living for a while before I found more...proper work."

By that, he meant he ended up cooking for a building full of vicious orphans. Which wasn't quite as impressive a job description as cage fighter, but it paid better, and it hurt less. Sort of.

"I'm guessing you don't have anything like that here in Sahova," Nov murmured, taking one of Keene's hands into his own and absently running gloved fingers over it. Probably for the best that the Initiate knew nothing of cage fights up close and personal. They were bloody, messy businesses, and unfailingly cruel. A sure fire way to show the ugliest sides of humanity all gathered up in one room.

"Tell me more about yourself, Keene," he asked curiously, finding the topics he'd chosen thus far to be bleak and bleaker. "What was it like for you, growing up? Before you came to this island to train."

[Keene Ward]

His body was like a puppet's in Noven's hands, sinking down beside him, matching the other man's motion with his own. The fatigue that had been held at bay by Noven's worry had returned, and with it a weariness of gaze that even Keene could determine spoke more of peace than pleasure. Noven's request was easy enough, and Keene shifted beside Noven, wrapping an arm under the other man's head to cushion the face that pulled at his heart so, wincing only slightly as the warmth sent little daggers of pain through his skin. It was a small price to pay for Noven's comfort. He lay his head on Noven's breast, the top of his hair tickling the darkened jaw above him as his pale, delicate fingers gently played with Noven's ebony locks. He remembered Noven had said that it was soothing, and he found no better time to try to soothe than in that moment.

He let his own eyes close, Noven's scent and warmth drifting over him in a lazy haze. His body ached and, in some places, it stung; all these things slowly drifted to the corners of his mind as he let his head bob with the steady metronome of Noven's breath. The rise and fall lulled him, enticed him to wander away from the dull, throbbing pain of his physical being to float somewhere between life and death, pleasant in its neutrality. There was warmth, too, more than just Noven's. It warmed him from within, an ethereal heat that had no effect on the slightly chilled nature of his skin. He didn't know what the heat was, or why it was there, but it comforted him - comfort he had not known he'd sought before but found it almost excruciatingly welcomed. It was entirely foreign, but there was an instinctual familiarity to it, something that sparked a craving far more deep and buried than that of desire or passion. He let it wrap around him, his head sinking unconsciously deeper into the support of Noven's chest, his free hand idly petting the man's torso with little intention beyond being all that much closer to him. He felt... safe.

Keene felt Noven begin to speak before the words drifted up into the air, the change in his breathing shifting the rise of his chest. The sound was odd, different than Keene was used to, as he'd never been so close to one in such a way when they were talking. He could hear the deep, vibrating baritone start in Noven's torso, tickling his ears and nose as it was expelled out in the common way of speech. He had been instructed to lay and talk, and from what he understood, talking often involved listening. So, with a very subtle sigh of resignation as he pulled his mind back to the present so that he could focus on what Noven had to say beyond simply the shivers of pleasure he gained from listening to the tone and lilt of his voice, Keene forced his eyes open, staring at the thread bare shirt that separated his face from the soft, smooth chocolate skin beneath it. Finding that distracting, he instead focused on one of the buttons.

He hand't enjoyed the visit to the dungeon's, and from what he remembered (and now had the information to understand it), Noven had only been partially relieved after his use of vexation. From the strain in Noven's voice, Keene could tell his companion's second foray into the fetid depths of the dungeon's depravity had been, if anything, more difficult than before. Unsure how to handle the information other than to comb through it for unseen relevancy, Keene felt Noven's cheek press down upon his hair, seeking something that he couldn't quite place. His fingers, in spite of the pain it took just to move a few of the more injured digits, gently pressed down on Noven's scalp, massaging the skin that felt like jagged daggers rending his fingers apart. He kept himself from gritting his teeth, not wanting to cause the man any more distress. While he didn't understand it - the parallelism lost on him - Noven seemed unduly trouble by Keene's own pain. There was no reason to strain Noven's sentiments any farther, and the desire to protect the other man kept him steady in spite of the pain, though the desire itself was hardly understood.

Keene remained quiet, gently continuing to run his fingers through Noven's hair and mutely kiss his chest when he paused. He didn't have anything to say. Words of solace had never come easy to him, though that was mostly due to his lack of necessity for them. He found that empathy was a skill that, when unused, fell to atrophy. The people Noven had tortured were prisoners, people who had been placed in the dungeons for various reasons. While rules existed in an almost arbitrary nature, they existed. Those who did not follow them, and who were not able to elude those who would enforce them reaped what they sowed. What Noven had done weighed heavy on the Sunberthian's mind, but to Keene, it was a means to an end. Noven had needed more information. The price was set and he had paid it, little more than a transaction of business that was so common on the island Keene found his memories of money in exchange for goods to be relatively unbalanced: like for like, even scales.

Fear and frustration began to rise in Noven's voice, and Keene stirred, rising to prop himself up on his elbow and stare back with calm, grey green eyes at the distress of the man he so dearly treasured - even more than he could consciously comprehend. As Noven broke off his thoughts, Keene let the blanket slide over the two of them before he gathered up Noven's face in his hands and gently pressed his lips against the other man's. He lingered, toying with the uncertainty, the worry, the fear, before he pulled away, sinking down to rest his own head on his outstretched arm to stare into the eyes he had burned into the very core of his soul. "And what will you be if you don't try?" He shook his head, tawny locks relatively stiff in their precise crop. "You will do what you will do, Noven." A hand carefully brushed along the jaw that always seemed to call out to him, a slight glimmer of pain in his eyes at the contact but little more than that. "When you find her, you will know what to do."

That was the thing about Noven. He always knew what to do in spite of his peculiar habit of professing ignorance. Keene did not consider Noven to be particularly erudite; the man was not a scholar, and while Keene supposed it was quite possible Noven could become one, there was little reason for it. Noven was wild, unpredictable, and strong. He was, in a sense, the opposite of Keene; where Keene was steady, Noven was uncertain. Where Keene walked forward, Noven walked around. He was emotional where Keene was not. He didn't understand Noven, and something told him that Noven didn't quite understand him; what he knew, however, was Noven was Noven. He did not share the doubt that Noven seemed to harbor, for no reason other than the strange warmth he felt in him every time he looked at him. All men were mortal, but Noven... He seemed something more. Something almost untouchable. As unrealistic as the thought was, Keene let it color his words. Perhaps that was what comfort was, a confidence given where another's faltered.

Noven changed the subject then, his voice shifting from its aggravated state into something less; Keene had never been good with humor, but the more time he spent with Noven, the better able he was to at least pick it out from the various sets of tones and stresses the other man used. "I see." The was no hint of surprise when Noven had explained he'd been a cage fighter. He was a skilled combatant, and if such a thing could bring him money to support himself, it was the logical career choice. The concept of cage fighting as a blood sport however, was unappealing to him. He saw little reason in fighting another for sport, though he supposed as a career, if one was skilled enough, it made sense. It seemed to be something relatively structured, however, which didn't really fit with the loose concept of anarchy he had paired the city with. It was possible that, even in a city that shunned structure, structure still existed. The Sunberthians were, after all, a collection of people with a similar goal. It was only natural that some form of order would rise from the chaos.

As Noven's leathered fingers intertwined with his own, Keene let out a slow, peaceful sigh before he replied. "No, not for sport as far as I'm aware." The Testing Grounds were the closest equivalent, and there was little game to be had there. It was to kill or be killed, each visit a dance with death that Keene had become practiced at in his own domain. The time to listen, however, seemed to have come to an end with Noven's inquiry to Keene's own past. He drew his hand up to his face, bringing Noven's with it, to contemplatively press his lips against it. "Growing up..." The words were muffled with thought and leather before he drew in a bit closer.

The candle light still steadily burned, illuminating the room itself but casting shadows about both the men's faces. The blanket combated the natural chill of the room and was further augmented by the shared warmth of Noven's heat, and Keene curled more into him, his face just a breath way from Noven's, silently reveling the warmth of breath and scent of his skin. "I'm not sure what about my childhood you want to know... If anything interests you, ask, and I will try to answer." It wasn't that Keene was loathe to share his past. To him, the past was the past - it was a collection of facts interspersed with a few instances of grief and pain. He never spoke about it because no one asked, and those that did ask often stopped asking after awhile, so he had little practice in sharing personal information. "I was born in Zeltiva. Mella trained me ever since I can remember. We weren't rich, we weren't poor. I learned to read to and write, first Common then Nader Canoch." He paused, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "An old language practiced by mages and scholars alike."

It was odd to speak so much without being interrupted, and Noven's continued, supportive silence was novel. Softly clearing his throat once more, Keene pressed his thumb into Noven's covered palm, more out of something else to do than anything else. "I made a friend. Bianca White. She taught me how to play chess." He wasn't sure if that information was relevant, but it had been his first true human interaction, which when compared with Noven as he was now, they way they were now, it seemed relatively paltry. "I was initiated into reimancy at the age of eighteen, and from that point on a large portion of my time was spent practicing. Training." He paused, brow furrowing slightly as he thought.

"Mella..." The words were difficult to sort through, though his soft, cool tone was still relatively emotionless. "Mella was fascinated by the weather. She wanted to control it. I wanted to control it." He sighed, rolling to his back though keeping the same, intimate distance from his partner. "She died. We weren't strong enough. I wasn't." There was a slight waver to his tone then, though whether it was fatigue or sorrow, neither man knew. "It was difficult. I was..." He turned his head, still on his back, to face Noven once more, a glimmer of what he said next drifting in his gaze. "Upset." Letting his face turn back to the grey pallor of the ceiling's stone yawn, Keene finished his lengthy monologue. "Zeltiva - the college in Zeltiva, I suppose - did not want me, and I did not want to remain. I came to Sahova to learn, to grow stronger, to..." He shrugged. "To escape, maybe." He'd never really thought of it in that light before, but his verbal retrospections suggested it was quite certainly a possibility.

He felt strange. It was something akin to being hollow, but instead of emptiness there was a slight weight, as if his heart were the only thing physical in a body made spectral. With a sigh, he let the feeling drift from his lungs, turning instead to face Noven once more, a slight moisture at the corners of his eyes, though the sadness that should have accompanied it lacking. "Would you like to know anything else?" He had summarized his life, choosing points in a combination of arbitrary plucking and events that he supposed had shaped him. There was only the soft meter of his voice to carry with it whatever emotion Noven wanted to hear, the source itself still stoic, almost surprised by his own lack of despair. It had taken time to get over Mella's death, and it seemed Noven had been the final piece of the long constructed puzzle. She was dead, but Noven was not; and that mattered more that he had ever thought the life of another might.

[Noven]

The words had come easier than he'd thought they would, no doubt because of the pale fingers gently running through his hair. It was harder to despise what he'd done, to loathe the way ends trumped means time and time again, when the person he was confiding in remained so unfailingly doting. Even more so when Keene rose to cup the Scar's face in his hands and wipe any lingering doubts from his mind with a soft kiss.

Strange, to think a man who had never been courted could have such potent influence over him. Or maybe it wasn't strange. Maybe the Initiate was simply tapping into something so fundamentally human it required only a spark to ignite what was otherwise innate and instinctive. You could learn how to woo another, to curry favor and manipulate weaknesses and weasel your way into a person's heart, for good or for worse. You could be taught how to treat a neighbor well, or a friend as nothing but a stepping stone.

But when it came to caring for someone, to love...well, Nov had yet to see it grasped in conditions anything less than mystifying. It just happened, sometimes for no rational reason at all, and often when you least expected it. And when it did, its victims would be left helpless before it, until it either died, warped into something less pleasant, or was stolen right from under your nose.

Perhaps it was because of his rather morbidly bitter views on love that Noven found Keene appealing. There was a guilelessness to the Initiate that he'd never come across before. It wasn't that Keene was stupid or naive--far from it, if his recent actions were anything to go by--but rather that he harbored none of the preconceptions of how this song and dance should go, none of the the wile and cunning that others back in the Berth employed for their own, selfish needs. And they were all selfish in the City of Slums. Everyone down to the last squalling babe and hungry mutt. They had to be, in order to survive, and no one ever gave or did anything for free.

Yet, here he was. Lying in unprecedented peace, accepting words of both logic and comfort from someone who wanted nothing more than his presence in return. It was so simple it felt almost painful in its clarity.

And what Keene said made sense. Noven could not have gone home without every last resource at his disposal used to its fullest extent. Because it was more than just his life on the line. If this crimson Vexer was as dangerous as her reputation preceded, then who knew what kind of methods she was willing to employ to get what she came for? He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the first thing she did upon discovering his identity and occupation was hold one of the orphans hostage. Horrified and enraged, yes, but not surprised.

Nov couldn't help but wonder if this was another reason he felt so assured by Keene's presence. That he found himself more worried about the present than what might come to pass. It was because he knew both distance and competence kept the Initiate immeasurably safe from the troubles that preyed upon his own life. For the first time in the history of his memory, Nov had allowed himself to become involved with someone equally formidable, if not more so, than he. There was no shred of doubt in his mind that whatever dangers came Keene's way would meet the same fate as those countless carcasses now littering the Testing Grounds barren landscape. It didn't just bring him peace of mind. It brought him a very real, very substantial sense of security.

He'd never had someone so skilled by his side before. And now that he did, the Scar would be lying if he said he weren't just a little proud--and a little relieved to be receiving some form of protection rather than being the only one to give it--of what the two of them now shared. A voice in his mind instantly tried to remind him how short lived it would be, but for the first time that day Noven ignored it. Instead, he began to think, to ponder...

His thoughts alternated between conversation and contemplation as he took in the Initiate's words. Keene started at the very beginning, with his birth in Zeltiva and training under a woman named Mella. There were some terms Noven was vaguely familiar with, such as 'reimancy' and 'chess', and others he'd never heard of before, like 'Nader Conch' and 'college'. At the mention of wanting to control the weather, however, his brow creased in surprise and confusion. How could such a thing even be possible? Certainly, Keene's magic was impressive, but to hold sway over nature herself was something the merc could scarce even begin to understand.

When the mage spoke of being upset, Nov couldn't help but wonder if he was referring to Mella's death or the fact that he had not been strong enough. Either way, Keene certainly couldn't be blamed for wanting to escape, not after everything he'd endured. Nov ought to know, having done the same in the wake of Nona's death. The desire to no longer be reminded of one's pain and to grow stronger in spite of it was, he realized over the years, a reaction only the strong shared. The weak wallowed, losing themselves deeper and deeper into their cups and drugs and sorrows until there was nothing left to salvage. Weakness only begot more weakness, and Noven would no longer tolerate its existence in his pursuits. He could not afford to.

"This Mella..." he asked after a spell, digesting the Initiate's words in silence. "Who was she? Just a teacher, or...or was she your mother?" And then, seeing the wetness along the edges of Keene's eyes and realizing such prying might only add to the painful memories he'd already incited, Nov added, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you remember old sorrows. I just...get curious, I guess, since I never knew mine."

Somewhat regretful of his choice in questions, he wrapped his arms around the chilled form beside him and held Keene closer. The Scar considered asking more of the other man's life, but he got the distinct feeling it would yield mostly the same answers, and definitely the same, stoic manner of telling. So, instead he opted for a different approach.

"I would like to know more, but not of your past," he explained, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone. Nov loosed his embrace a bit so that they could be face to face once more. "How about we play a game? The rules are easy. I ask you one question, and if you answer it truthfully, then you get to ask me one in return. It goes on until one of us fails to answer, or we fall asleep, or...something else happens."

It was an old trick Nona used to get him to sleep, when he'd been younger and over brimming with energy. Though the last term was a new addition. One that he had tacked on with a tiny, suggestive curl of his mouth.

"I'll start, since you've let me," Noven began, shameless in his exploitation of Keene's earnest offer. "Here's your first question. If you could have one new form of power, any in the world, be it some kind of magic or wealth or skill, what would it be, and why?"

[Keene Ward]

He blinked at the question. He had read poems of mothers, stories of woman who raised their children in various ways. He'd even once asked her if she was his mother, what a mother even was. He had been given a welt the size of his fist on his face and a firm statement that no, Mella was not his mother. She was many things: his purpose, his teacher, his master, his provider; "mother" was not among them. He had ceased to associate the word with her face, that dead, staring corpse of a face that seemed to precedent all other memories as if her passing and dropped a veil over his mind, saturating it with the stiffness and chill that came with the departure of one's soul. She was Mella. Mella was she. Mother was an entirely separate construct, and Noven's question - implying as it did that she might have been - confused him. In his pensive contemplation, Noven fell back into his worry and that sent a ache of pain through Keene's heart more stinging than any touch.

He was pulled into the embrace, but even in the warmth of Noven's comfort, the heady undercurrent of the scent that had become almost a drug to him, the steady inhale and exhale of his breath, even then he kept his focus. Keene returned the gesture, pressing his body against Noven's with gentle, tender movements. What his body wanted and what it was capable of were, in that moment, very different things. Pulling his head back some so that he could look into Noven's eyes in his slightly unsteadied gaze, flickers of desire and passion muted in the grey-green gaze, Keene replied, his answer far more steady than any other part of him. "Then that makes two of us." Where Noven had sounded almost wistful in regards to his parents, Keene held no emotion. He had not known them, whoever they were or might have been. They were no more a part of him than Syliras or the distant lands depicted in the countless books he had immersed himself in. There was no desire to know them, no desire to find them. They had not wanted him, either of them, and he had learned not to want for them in return.

He did, however, control himself. Noven had requested that he lay and talk, and Keene had resigned himself to nothing more than reaction when he could help it. Thought his lips itched to close the slight distance between them, he contented himself to drift in the warmth of Noven's breath and body. Noven's change of direction was logical; he imagined that his past had not held the interest the other man had sought. The present was the next rational step to investigate. What he had not expected, however, was a game, one oddly reminiscent of a certain animator's with a slightly augmented list of rules. He slightly raised his brow at Noven's vague insinuation. The innuendo was lost on him, instead serving as a mysterious third option. By Noven's curl of the lips, Keene was only able to discern that it was something potentially amusing for the dark humor of the man before him.

His uncertainty only lasted for a few ticks. He found that while the rules were vague, he trusted Noven. He trusted him almost unconditionally, something that should have worried him like so many other things when it came to the smoldering, grinning Sunberthian that held him so completely in his palm, and yet who conducted himself as if it were Keene at the strings. Whatever the mystery, whatever the challenge or command, Keene found he would oblige him. There were reasons to say no, to leave, even to snuff out the light he so blindly seemed to follow as he grinned at him with his heart melting crescent of ivory. Yet, reason had no place there, and Keene tossed it aside with a steady nod of his head to denote that he agreed to Noven's terms, whatever they might be.

As if to prove a point that he could never be anything but a series of unexpected surprises, Noven resulted to a hypothetical question that made use of a hyperbolic utopian existence in which consequence had no cost - or perhaps the cost still existed, only the access plateaued. He stared impassively back at Noven, his focus shifting to just beyond the face in front of him, his eyes taking on a contemplative haze as he considered what he'd been asked.

Before he had come to the island, the question would have been easily answered. So much had changed, even more than what he even knew, and there, in the tiny, cramped quarters wrapped in the warmth and comfort of a man who had been little more than a stranger only weeks ago, he found himself mulling over the question as if it had been one of the most challenging puzzles he'd come across in years. In a way, it was. He considered many things: the power to raise the dead, to cheat fate, to control the weather, move mountains, rewrite the very nature of djed itself... Yet nothing struck him as what it was he would truly wish to have. He thought on other forms of power: beasts of incredible strength and intellect, the golem Dranira as his peer-Master, weapons of massive destruction, armors of everlasting life... Then, there were his eyes, dark and rich like a summer's night. His lips so paradoxically rough and soft. His body muscled, rolling beneath his sun loved skin in a sculpture of mind numbing beauty. His voice, his scent, his soul.

What greater form of power was there than the potential of the man before him? Keene's paused ended with a flicker of curiosity in his gaze as he replied, his voice tinged with something that could have been amusement at his own foolishness. Whether hypothetical or not, Keene found it immeasurably strange that he would pass up all those things, perhaps even all of them combined for a single, simple man. "You. I would choose you." But it was all hypothetical, all illusion that was not of reality.

They both knew that the choice could not be made, that he and Noven were only to align for a brief tick on the ever spinning wheel of time and fate. There was no longing in his voice, no tearful desire or frustration at his circumstance. Had his life been different, had he not come to Sahova, had Noven never been marked by the goddess of pain and murder, had so many things that only briefly flashed through his mind's eye not come to pass and come to pass and pass that which came and went, perhaps he would have understood what he felt. Perhaps, he could have laughed alongside Noven, kissing him gently, lovingly, and not with the muted desperation of one condemned, knowingly, to an inevitable separation. Perhaps he could have loved Noven; he could gathered him up in his arms, awkwardly and gangly in their difference of build and height, carried him caressingly and tenderly into whatever future they might have had. Perhaps, but it was no so.

He did not understand what he felt. He did not understand Noven. He did not understand the hollow ache that had gutted him every time Noven had averted his gaze and walked away. He understood so little, and yet he had come to know so much. The irony was lost on him, but there was a subtle bitterness to it that he knew only as a clawing at the pit of his stomach. He was intelligent. He was powerful. He was even a handsome enough, thoughtful human being who had been weathered by the circumstances and trials of a life that was not deserved but borne none-the-less. He was all these things, but he was not the man that Noven needed, nor Noven his. Their paths were too different, too diverging, and it was for that reason his answer had been chosen. Had he the chance for any power, any at all to overcome all odds and impossibilities, it would be the power to have Noven, as he was and as he was.

Keene let out a soft, silent sigh, an action that passed unnoticed by his higher functions, as if his body itself felt the futility of the desire, yet still wished to scrape what it could from the limited time they had left. There was the why still, and so he set about doing what he could to explain himself. "And why?" He shook his head, the struggle in his eyes only just discernible by how close they were to one another. "I don't know why. It's illogical, foolish even." He shifted, easing an arm between them to carefully trace the curve of the other man's lips, the pain rising up to dull some of the confusion he felt, like a searing drug, dulling it by taking his mind elsewhere. Those lips. They were so perfect and for no reason that he could think of. "You're illogical." Though perhaps an accusation, the words sounded almost comical in the blank faced nature they were spoken. His fingertip pulled at Noven's bottom lip, the gentle slick of warmth intensifying the pain and the pleasure he gained from his investigative gesture. "Maybe that's why. Maybe..."

He shook his head, letting his finger pass from Noven's lips to settle on the warmth of his chest. "I have studied magic. I know what it is capable of, what it is not capable of." He held his gaze steady with Noven's, his words soft and sure. "I have seen what money can buy, what privileges it can unlock." The hand snaked its way up around Noven's neck to settle with searching fingers into Noven's dark locks. "And I have watched those of great skill, people far greater than I am." His fingers absently played with the hair, the act more pleasurable than he remembered it being only chimes ago. "But nothing... No one... Is like you. I can't understand you. I thought I could. I tried. I've been trying." The hand ceased its toying as Keene continued. "But I can't. I would choose you because of that. Because you're something I can't make sense of..." His eyes, for a moment, were filled with all manner of things. While no light illuminated them, they seemed to glow, if only for less than a tick. "I would choose you." It was repeated, almost as if he were convincing himself of something he already knew. Whatever it was that had sparked his gaze into such vibrancy - something that he was wholly unaware of - seemed to fade back into whatever depths it had come from as Keene let his hand slip from Noven's head to settle in a loose embrace around his torso, mirroring Noven's own as he prepared to ask his own question that was still yet unformed. He had not though Noven's would have taken so much of his efforts, and so he had been unable to come up with one of his own yet.

There was a brief moment of silence as he considered. He was uncertain if there was a specific sort of question he was supposed to ask or not. There were plenty of hypothetical questions he could ask Noven: What would he do if Keene asked him to kill him, what would he do with the power to slay a god, if there were only two people left in the world what would he do if he were one of the, and a plethora more. It wasn't that Keene never wondered about the future. His mind constantly worked at every point, a never ending whir that was far less efficient than he would have liked. To focus was to take the already expended energies and redirect them, to relax to allow them their searches without giving them much thought. It was much like a collective of rivers, each flowing in their own path, occasionally converging, but only on occassion, and his conscious a single boat drifting between them.

"Why do you concern yourself over my well being?" It was something that bothered him, more than he cared to admit, and for lack of any other reason to ask a question, he found that one possessed the potential to yield an answer to an otherwise frustrating mystery. His comprehension of empathy was as lacking as his understanding of love. While he knew that he wanted to protect Noven, he didn't understand why Noven might want to do the same. He had magic where Noven did not; it was illogical for something of a lower capability to want to defend that which was greater. It was not that Keene thought lowly of Noven, nor that he believed the man inferior to himself. Noven was wise in his own confounding way, and Keene doubted he would be nearly as well suited to handle the twists and turns of the city of anarchy as well as the Sunberthian. On Sahova, however, Keene was at the peak of his function. Noven's worry was unnecessary, and by its very nature made him uncomfortable. He didn't want Noven to worry, for whatever reason, and knowing the other man's motives behind carried with it the possibility of relief - or at least the seed of understanding.

[Noven]

Knowing Mella had not been Keene's mother was a relief; Nov imagined such a merciless upbringing being tied to motherhood would have done unkind things to the Initiate's already bleak views on the life he led. Though, the fact that neither of them knew their families did add a layer of complexity to what made Keene Keene, and how it might have influenced their relations thus far. The Scar wondered if they were lonelier souls because of it, and if that in turn had drawn them closer to one another. But the truth would forever elude them so long as their pasts remained riddled with holes.

He watched the Initiate turn inward, searching for an adequate answer. It wasn't a stretch for Noven to assume his partner hadn't really done this sort of thing before. No doubt questions of this nature would require extra time to answer, which he was prepared for, laying there in quiet anticipation as the gears spun rapidly in Keene's industrious mind.

Tick by tick, the silence crept on. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect, especially not when the Initiate finally drew breath to speak, puzzlement glimmering in his gaze before the answer was revealed.

There was a moment of stunned bemusement. "...Me?" Nov echoed in disbelief. "But I'm not...a power..."

His face scrunched in puzzlement. "Or am I...?"

But Keene was already moving on, dutifully upholding his end with typical, rational pragmatism. Noven felt almost painfully aware of every touch and word that occurred in that moment, noting how the other man's fingers traced his lips in a kind of tender reverence while hearing himself being described as illogical and impossible to understand. It wasn't often that he got to hear someone speak well of him, even if Keene's words weren't exactly full of praise. The Sunberthian knew little of what others thought of him, other than him being stubborn, or foul tempered, or reckless, or a brute, or a myriad of other unpleasant attributes. And the Initiate's opinion mattered so much more than he would have thought possible a fortnight ago. He didn't just want to know. He needed to.

On some deeper, intuitive level, he believed he was beginning to grasp what his companion was trying to say. Power could be great in force and wide in scope, but the moment it encountered something it cannot overcome it was rendered useless. A captain who possessed the finest ship money could buy would still drown if she fell into the sea and didn't know how to swim. A merchant who had garnered the respect of his peers and patrons would still be forced to give up his wares if a knife was being held to his family's throats.

Nov himself could train to become unrivaled in hand to hand combat, Krysus's champion, and feared across all the lands, and still be just as easily killed by a shard of ice formed by Keene's magic. And afterwards the Initiate would return to his quarters. Still alone, still puzzled, and no less sated in his quest for comprehension than before.

To Keene, what mortals like them were driven sometimes to do, what they were most certainly doing now, made little to no sense. They behaved, as he had described it, illogically and foolishly. But to someone like Noven, it made quite a bit of sense. Not necessarily in a way that could be picked apart and analyzed piece by piece, but on a larger, broader scale. One that relied on trial, error, and the embracing of the human condition. Because the moment a person's needs were acknowledged and deemed important enough to act upon, illogical foolishness as a label ceased to apply, for good or for worse. Nov supposed that was where morality came into play, though it was a subject best saved for another day. Or maybe never, given his goals.

In short, to ignore one's needs was to owe oneself a debt. And eventually, that debt would have to be paid, in one form or another. You can't run from yourself the consequences always catch up to you. At least that was how he saw it, belated as his realization was.

The mercenary had come to Sahova to escape the pain and sorrow of loss, vowing to himself he'd steer clear of its incriminating involvement from here on out. Only to fall right back in, harder and swifter than ever before, and with someone he'd never have assumed capable of pulling him back from the depths of denial and acrimony so easily. It wasn't until he discovered the kind of peace their unity could bring that he finally came to accept the immutable truth. His heart was always going to seek ways to mend itself, no matter its wounds, and the only way to stop it from doing so was to get rid of it entirely. Destroy it beyond recognition, beyond salvation. In essence, it would mean giving into the monster he'd struggled for so long not to become. Krysus would rejoice, and he have long since forgotten how that word could be used for things other than bloodshed and mayhem.

For this reason alone, Noven was convinced he owed Keene more than the other man would ever know.

That being said, there was still the issue of Keene's final answer. He wasn't sure if he should feel cherished or concerned that the Initiate considered him more desirable than new magics or infinite wealth or a thousand other different kinds of power. Did it mean that Nov was special, or just that his companion had been deprived of such interactions for his entire life? He knew the other man's fondness to be genuine. He could feel it in the way Keene's fingers wove through his hair, hear it in the candid tone of his voice. But as the Initiate had admitted the previous night, he'd never been courted before, and therefore knew nothing of how romantic relations should proceed. Which meant he also didn't know what happened to these emotions over time. How things could change, how people could change, because change was inevitable.

He hadn't been sure of how to respond until it was Keene's turn to ask a question. And in the immediate, obvious answer Noven had almost blurted a split tick before the other man even finished his sentence, he found the words he'd been searching for.

"Because you're important to me," he replied, the admission effortless. "Because I care what happens to you. Because your happiness is mine, and so is your pain. "

Slowly, reluctantly, Nov removed his gloves so that he could place tentative fingers along the curve of Keene's face. He knew the Initiate was not able to completely hide the winces of pain, no matter how adept his self control. "I wish my touch didn't hurt you. I'm convinced that if it didn't, you would only enjoy it more. And that alone makes it worth wishing."

He lowered his hand and placed it between them on the mat instead. It was hard to consciously, willingly prolong skin-to-skin contact, knowing that it inflicted such pain on the other man.

"Maybe we are not so illogical as you think, " Nov continued, voice steady with the conviction of his words. "Maybe we try to protect each other, to care for people other than ourselves, because we need to. I don't think we were meant to live like little islands. Alone and far apart, never touching, never speaking. And the reason why I think this is because it sounds absolutely petching miserable just to say it out loud. "

The old grin of mischief returned as he added, "Besides, a bit of foolishness isn't so bad now and then. To feel something other than worried, or tired, or angry, or banged up inside and out. Just to do something because you want to, and not because you have to."

To prove his point, Noven leaned in to kiss the corner of Keene's cheek. Suddenly, inexplicably, and for seemingly no reason at all. His lips lingered for a moment to savor the feel of soft, cool skin before they drew away again.

Fueled by some strange, newfound energy, the merc propped himself up and looked upon his companion with no small hint of devilry.

"Alright, here's your next question, Keene. If you had to choose between singing, dancing, or downing the rest of this fine wine we've got here, which would it be? Doesn't matter which, just pick one. Don't think too hard on it."

[Keene Ward]

Noven's reply took almost no time at all to form, and Keene's eyes focused on the earnest, unveiled gaze that Noven shared with him. Everything he said from the sound of the words leaving his lips to the manner in which they his ears down to the visceral meanings slipped right through to his heart. He felt his throat catch his breath, forcing a moment of mute suffocation under the feelings that welled up inside of him. They were entirely foreign, a swell of feeble weakness starting at the base of his spine and rising outwards, a shiver of what could have been fear subtly tightening his muscles, even that same deep-seated warmth of his soul pulsing with each rise and fall of Noven's words. He was paralyzed, unable to think or move as Noven slid his hand from his glove to gently blaze his fingers to his cheek with a fiery explosion of pain that mixed with the confusion that swam in his gaze.

Caring. Noven cared about him. While he cared for Noven, he had not considered the possibility of the affection being returned in such a way. In fact, affection itself was a cloudy, confusing subject. He wanted to protect Noven. He derived pleasure from his attention, from his touch. He found Noven's distress unduly bothersome, wanting to remove it any way that he could. He felt a prick of dread at the thought of Noven's death, a heavy weight every time he let his mind remind him of Noven's immanent departure. There were so many things he felt with Noven, things that were entirely out of his control, too strong and foreign for him to be able to properly cope with them. And then, Noven said he returned those feelings, those feelings that twisted a pulled at him from every direction like a hurricane, never a moment's rest. It was too much, and Keene was effectively disabled. He heard everything Noven said, internalized it as was his natural way of things, but there was nothing he could give in return, not until his heart ceased its frantic, all consuming barrage against his chest.

As the hand was removed, Keene was released from Noven's spell. Breath came back in a quiet rush of his lungs, allowing him to blink, just once, as Noven continued. Whether for better or worse, Keene wrapped his hand around Noven's, the searing pain petched for all he could care in that moment as his fingers gently played with the rough callouses and juxtaposed patches of smooth skin. He focused on Noven's path of logic, a large part of him wanting to understand, to assimilate the other man's reasoning into his own. To protect and care because it was needed. The concept was not necessarily illogical in and of itself. If need was a factor, and those two things were indeed true, then it made sense. But it didn't make sense because Keene couldn't rationalize the necessity of protection or care. He had been protected by Mella, certainly, but when she had died he had carried on. He had been stricken useless by her death for a time until he was able to move on, and though it had taken time, it had been done. He couldn't see the necessity of it in his mind, though he could feel it in his heart. The disconnect between emotion and thought so distinct, had he been a cynical man he might have found it ironic that he had pushed them so far apart of his own volition that he could no longer consolidate them.

Noven's analogy didn't help either. To Keene, two islands were exactly that. They weren't meant to touch because they were stationary masses of land. There was nothing miserable or lonely about it. He imagined they were much like that: two separate entities who had been blown together in a flurry of fate only to pass on. It twisted in his chest, a heavy weight and a light warmth both at the same time. He experienced so much that it was difficult to neatly fold up and tuck away as he usually did. He wanted Noven, all that that entailed, which made dealing with the feelings that want elicited all the more harrowing. He didn't understand. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to, as Noven pressed his lips against his cheek in a razor's kiss. He could feel him linger, the warmth of his tender desires spreading throughout Keene's body like some fugue's haze. Keene caught him as he pulled back, teeth tugging gently at Noven's lip and pulling him back into a soft, melting kiss.

Foolishness. Feeling was foolish. He had let himself fall into the cesspool of emotion, tantalized by the heady allure of its promise, only to find himself lost in a world that was not his own. The poems, the songs, the novellas and novels... All of them had spoken of what he felt, what permeated every inch of him as the shallow gasp slipped from his lips when Noven finally did retreat, a new spark of light in his eyes that had, no doubt, been fueled by the inexplicable flame the two of them shared. He did not know what love was. He did not understand what he felt. Yet, as he stared up at Noven's propped grin, the light of the candles haloing his frame like some ethereal outline, Keene let himself be foolish as Noven had suggested. To do something because he wanted to, not because he had to. He smiled.

Lips made a gentle, subtle curve, just a hint of white peeking from between the soft pink of his lips. A distant sparkle in his eyes of amusement danced in his gaze as Noven spoke his question. What he wanted to do. Don't think too hard. He drew a breath, taking only a tick to respond. "The wine." There was no reason behind it. It was the first thing that popped into his head that was relevant to the question asked, and Keene had simply said it. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that control was necessary, that discipline and order were required if one was to survive. He knew that, but he disregarded it for the time being. Noven cared about him, whatever that meant, it filled him with an inexplicable warmth that he no longer shied away from. He embraced it, enjoyed it even. While the smile had not lasted long, the light in his eyes remained as he gingerly propped himself up and made a reach for the wine bottle, pulling the cork and taking a gentle swig with a tip of the glass.

Then, again with only minimal though, he pressed his lips to Noven's, setting the wine aside as his body moved with delicate precision to wrap itself over his parter. He was aroused, certainly, but the kiss was not one of the desperate, seeking passion of the night before. It was tender, loving even, and the wine slipped between them. He felt, acutely, every bruise and cut that littered his body like morbid freckles. He was battered and weak and broken, but Noven was there, his body warm and steady beneath him. The pain mixed with the pleasure as it had done the night before, and both men were intimately aware of the the effect it had on the other. His hands slid up and around to the back of Noven's head, pulling him closer while taking the time to run his fingers through the lush, charcoaled locks as he kept himself steady on knees and elbows. The wine had never tasted sweeter than it did in the moment they shared it, and when Keene gently pulled away, his nose still softly pressed to Noven's, his tongue moved in a gentle crescent, trailing Noven's lips that lingered with the fruity whisper of the wine's flavor.

Lips again ran themselves against each other, but the game was not finished. What do I want? The thought hung in his mind as the sweet taste of Noven's mouth filled his own. Noven. He could feel Noven moving beneath him, the threat of force clear, sending a shiver through him. He wasn't sure if he could handle a night of passion like before. The pain of their kiss was far greater than it had been the night previous, if only for the wretched state he'd allowed his body to fall into. What else? Their lips parted, quiet gasps of pleasure mixed with each other as Keene placed a hand on Noven's chest in tacit restraint. I don't know. He shivered under the effort of it took to keep himself apart from Noven. It was not so much self-discipline that fueled him, rather preservation. He could feel the ache of his bruised muscles pleading with him through the voices of his scrapes and scratches to leave them be, to let them rest.

"My question..." Though it was not yet formed, Keene let the words pass. He leaned back, his body unintentionally teasing Noven's by position and quivering breath as his fingers played at the buttons of Noven's shirt. "I want to know..." The shirt was opened, revealing the smooth skin broken by scars and wear below him, a dark expanse of muscle. His fingers slid over Noven's chest, the jarring pain almost exciting him further, though he kept some semblance of composure as he stared down at the other man. "Tell me what you feel. What I make you feel." The words drifted from his mind to his tongue, the thoughts that had been so carefully filtered and cross examined before thrown to the flickering shadows. He leaned forward, the strain on his body felt but ignored, a few tears clinging to the corners of his eyes the only indication of his pain as he gently ran his tongue over the sensitive rise of Noven's breast.

It was the only point where their skin touched, a deliberate occurrence. He wanted to know. It didn't seem to matter anymore what exactly it was he was knowing, only that Noven speak, tell him, explain. He waited for Noven's words before shifting, dropping lower to the sturdy abs. From there, he explored the rest of Noven's torso, drifting from his hips, along his sides then upwards and around, kisses melted into almost hungry bites and slippery trails left from careful, searching administrations all left behind marks of his journey. He reveled in it, the emotions had taken hold of him, and while they had no name aside from, perhaps, curiosity and desire, he allowed them their time. When he returned to Noven's lips, lingering there for several ticks, he pulled away, eyes clear and bright in the candle's light. "Now tell me... How can I love you?" There was warmth there, in his voice, the emotions having full hold of him then. He didn't understand the question himself, but his heart told him that Noven would, even if it wasn't clear. Nothing was clear any longer, and in the hazy fog, Keene found he preferred it that way. The world would still be the world when they returned to it, but in that moment, he couldn't have cared less about it.

[Noven]

His answer had been honest, his admissions heartfelt. And like most decisions he made in his life, his choice of words had been spontaneous as well, earnest in meaning but wholly unplanned and unanalyzed before they came spilling forth in an artless stream.

So it was that when Keene's lips started to curve and the light of amusement dance in his eyes, Nov found himself completely unprepared for the effect his words had incited. Seeing those pale features stretch upward instead of down, turn pleasing instead of pensive, stopped the air in his lungs mid-breath. It was as though his sentiments were being reflected and refracted through the Initiate's smile, shining back twice as intense, twice as brilliant. It blinded him with its radiance. Tugged at the very strings of his heart in its earnest, guileless display before the mercenary's stupefied gaze. For an indeterminate span of ticks, he could see nothing but the figure beside him, transformed from cool and comely to achingly beautiful in less than a blink of the eye.

Nov hadn't a clue what his partner would pick for an answer. He couldn't even remember his own question in the face of such loveliness, let alone sit there and postulate, until the other man began reaching for something beyond the mat. When he realized Keene had not only chosen wine within less than a tick, but also followed up with an actual swig of the bottle, his brow rose in surprise and his grin blossomed from one ear to the other.

Gods be damned, Nov swore silently. The mage before him was infinitely bolder than anyone would think to give him credit for at first glance.

Before he could beckon for the bottle to be passed along, however, his mouth was smothered by wine-flavored lips of velvet, his view of the ceiling completely eclipsed beneath Keene's pale, lithe form. He could taste the burgundy liquid caught between the passion of their kiss, seeping both ways as their lips sought one another in languid, amorous indulgence. It wasn't the same kind of hunger that had gripped them during their previous night, desperate to sate the flames lit in the wake of repressed longing, nor was it fueled by curiosity and experimentation. Instead, it was something far more ardent in its pursuits. Nov could feel the warmth of their actions and tenderness of Keene's fingers running through his hair. They sent tingles of pleasure down his spine, pulling him closer into an aura of adoration and affection so potent he was convinced he could drown in it.

Even so, the desire to do more than kiss was still a force to be reckoned with. Noven was powerless to stop the waves of arousal rushing downward as their tongue and mouths melted into a feverish swirl of heat and motion. His hands moved of their own accord to tug at the Initiate's hips, bringing it closer to his own as he shifted back and forth in gentle but escalating need. His breaths came in ragged gasps when Keene planted a hand on his chest to keep them from going further. The Scar almost demanded they not stop, but Keene's next question successfully kept him sidetracked. If only for moment.

Nov shivered as chilled, nimble hand slowly began undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was increasingly hard to focus as those wayward fingers trailed down his bare torso and the Initiate's lower half teased him with its tempting angle. Fingers were soon replaced by the rough, slick surface of Keene's tongue running over his chest, and the merc's breath quickened.

"I...You...you make me..." he tried to answer, only to lose the rest of his words and thoughts to a startled moan as Keene traveled lower along his torso, kissing and biting and leaving the darker man in a general state of helplessness beneath such attentive ministrations.

Noven swallowed and tried again, mind effectively scrambled by the Initiate's stimulating explorations. But it was his turn to uphold his end and he would not fail to deliver. "You make me feel...r-ridiculous..." he started again, breaths short and heart racing, "...ridiculously good." He watched, transfixed, as the other man's mouth ventured all the way down to his hips, sending sparks of heat coalescing below, before moving back up again in agonizing retreat. It was impossibly arousing thinking one moment he knew exactly where those lips were destined toward, then left confused and guessing the next.

As the kisses moved on, however, his expression grew more thoughtful and his tone more sincere. "I feel loved by you," Noven murmured, unsure if he was awake anymore, if he'd yielded to his exhaustion long ago and was merely dreaming. "Important, cared for. Like I matter for something other than how many contracts I can sign or heads I can bash in."

His almost lost his focus as the Initiate half-bit into the muscle of his shoulder, the primal carnality of such a simple act deceptively powerful. "You make me feel I am worth something more..."

The rest of his words were lost to another tender meeting of lips, the kiss lingering before Keene drew away and asked a second question. He looked abuzz with energy and life the faint candle light, the sight so rare and captivating that Nov didn't even bother to point out his companion's greed in taking another turn for himself. The Scar supposed there was a bit of Lady Keene and her fiery ways left in the Initiate after all, though he had long since stopped thinking of the ale-induced, fairer version altogether.

"Easy," Nov answered, voice thick with desire and sweetened with genuine fondness. He drew himself upright to lean on one hand while the other pressed the mage into his strained lap. "You just keep doing what you're doing, only more of it. " He kissed Keene softly along the base of his throat. "And you let me return the favor, now and then."

What followed was as compassionate as the night before had been rapturous. Emotion took the place of pure carnality, sentiment that of curiosity. For their last evening spent together, they laid balm where they could and distracted one another where they could not. Noven made sure he was gentle in all ways, treating his partner's wounded and weary body with utmost care. He dared not stray as far as they had the first couple of times, limiting himself to only what he knew Keene would enjoy finding alleviation in. And when they were both sated and drained beyond any sane person's ability to stay awake, the unlikely pair drifted into deep, peaceful slumber, caring for nothing except the experience of feeling whole.

[Caesarion]

Grades, my darling, grades

Keene :

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Shielding	+3 XP
Unarmed Combat	+1 XP
Socialization	+5 XP
Seduction	+5 XP
Massage	+5 XP
Flirting	+4 XP
Lovemaking	+5 XP
Interrogation	+5 XP
Cleaning	+2 XP
Hunting	+1 XP

Lores

Lore Earned

Noven: This isn't a meeting, it's courting

Cooking: Lemons and Seafood go well together

Courting: Start slow, and learn about them

To Court is to Pursue

Sunberth: They 'get what they can', willing or unwilling

"I look good naked"

Round One, Noven

Noven: Happy Being With Me

Love Can Be Cruel

Carmine is in Sunberth

"Noven the Torturer"

Loved by Noven

Loots

Noven :

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Cooking	+4 XP
Planning	+2 XP
Torture	+3 XP
Interrogation	+5 XP
Socialization	+5 XP
Seduction	+5 XP
Rhetoric	+4 XP
Storytelling	+3 XP
Flirting	+4 XP
Lovemaking	+5 XP

Lores

Lore Earned

Keene: Never Courted Before

Keene: Came to Sahova to learn and grow powerful

Keene: Born in Zeltiva

Keene: Drawn to Me

Round One, Keene

Keene, Master Bedder

Trying new things, finding new pleasures

Love: Together in all things

Carmine is in Sunberth

Mella: Keene's Instructor

Loved by Keene

Loots

-31 GM

Notes :

Beautifully done, and loaded with cuteness. I hope Keene and Noven explode into thousands of sparkly glitter puffs, destined to intertwine for all eternity.

That was also quite steamy. I needed a bottle of water halfway through.

Make sure to PM me if you feel I missed anything!

If you have concerns, questions or praise (inmydreams;_;) for your grade, drop me a PM and we'll do a number!