Closed A Lesson Exchange

[Keene Ward]

Noven's words were both a relief and a strange disappointment to him. Keene wasn't sure how he felt about being touched by the man who gently pressed the sudsy towel onto the nape of his neck to begin the steady and - oddly enough - practiced motions to scrub away the dust and dirt of the days past. He wanted Noven to touch him, to run his warm, calloused hands over his back and draw him in closer, yet he found he was thankful - profoundly so - for Noven's abstinence. The pain was very real and without feverish motivators, an obstacle quite daunting. It took quite a bit of his already exhausted willpower not to flinch away the moment the towel touched him, but as Noven worked his was over his back, Keene was better able to adjust to the constant contact. It was not soothing, and Keene's body would not relax no matter how much he imagined it should. He was not necessarily tense, but whatever comfort Noven had derived from Keene's washing was not a mutual experience.

When he felt the warm, strong grip of Noven's fingers wrap around his arm, the very first thing he experienced was the gentleness of it. There was no aggression to it, and alternatively, no romantically starved hunger either. It was, in a sense, the most casual of gestures. Unfortunately, it was immediately followed by the flare of burning pain that had always been associated with touch. Instinctively, Keene flinched away, the contact taking him by surprise and instantly tensing most of the muscles in his body with a jerky splash. Noven's apology was nearly as quickly presented as the event itself, and as he was released, Keene shook his head, letting out a sharp, controlled breath. "Don't be sorry." It was rare for Keene to ever speak on the feelings and opinions of another as if he had influence over them, but he wanted Noven to understand that Noven's touch, painful as it was, was not something he abhorred. Rather, he yearned for it in spite of everything: their night together, their morning after, their agreement, and even then in the baths together. He knew full well what they had decided, mutually, and he strove to uphold that. It was, however, one of the most trying things he'd ever had to do, and he was proving to be quite inept at it. "I was just startled." His reaction would not have been nearly as pronounced had he been able to see Noven move for his arm; the trust it required to turn his back to Noven in such a manner spoke silent volumes about the amount of trust he seemed so naturally inclined towards when it came to the dark haired man who had such an infuriating influence on Keene's mind and body.

His question was one that Keene had never really stopped to think about, even after their intimate encounter. It simply was the way things were and had been as such since he could remember. In fairness, physical contact in his childhood had only ever been a slap; it had not been until he was much older that he'd ever experienced the touch of another, and those memories were as hazy as the night he and Noven had spent together - only they were far darker and filled with something as far removed from pleasure as the core of the world was from the gentle winds above it. He didn't respond right away, jaw clenched as Noven returned to his bathing. The gentle scrapes of Noven's fingers against his back left searing trails of sharp pinpricks, but they occurred with enough regularity that Keene was able to gain enough composure to begin formulating a reply based off of what he knew or could remember. Having never given it thought before, Keene immersed himself in it, only vaguely aware of the shifting distances between him and the man behind him.

Noven's augments to the question at hand elicited a small frown from Keene's lips as he stared down at the warped reflection, details lost in the miniature waves cast by Noven's movements. Noven was correct in so much as Keene was aware. The only memories Keene could recall were ones of incredible pleasure, warmth, comfort. There was pain too, but it was of a different sort - an aching desire. He clenched his teeth tighter, this time to address the rise of interest from the heated memories. He wasn't sure what had changed, nor how that change had been lost upon his reversion. It was possible, he supposed, that there was something different within his own body, and the body of the woman had not contained whatever condition it was that caused him such physical aversion to touch. It seemed... strangely unlikely. He didn't believe magic was the cause of this particular problem, but he had no alternatives. In his quiet way, Keene relaxed some, his lower half having grown a bit calmer in the flurry of his thoughts. Uncertainty played in his tone as he finally replied, a slight waver of will. He wanted to understand. If he had that, perhaps he might discover a way around it. The desire to feel Noven's skin against his own was absolutely ludicrous when in the context of the pain it elicited, but somehow, it wasn't enough to logically support the irrational craving - perhaps due to the absurd nature of the problem itself. He was torn in the greatest of sense with nothing to hold him together but his own discipline that had - since their morning together - been under so constant a strain he wasn't sure how much of it was left. "I don't... know."

Noven's little experiment was, Keene supposed, a good test from his perspective. He shook his head, indicating that there was little to no pain, though the knowledge that the hand was there was more than enough to make his skin crawl with the anticipation of what it knew was to come should the cloth be removed. Against his better judgment, Keene reached behind him to slide the towel out from between himself and Noven's hand. With the cloth in his possession, Keene turned, hands gripping the fabric perhaps a bit tighter than he intended. His grey-green eyes stared back at Noven's, the glimmering lights of the Hydrasa reflected there and mixed with an undertone of determination. "It hurts," He'd never talked about it before; he'd never had a reason to. His hand carefully rose out of the water, his body close enough to Noven's that as he gingerly set his palm on Noven's chest, his arm remained bent. He winced, slightly, the rush of pain instantaneous with the points of contact, but he let it remain there. In his other hand, he clenched the towel, right hand immune to the actual crushing feeling of the force he exerted. "When I touch anything or when anyone touches me."

His voice at that point was little more than a whisper, the effort it took was more than present in just his tone then, set in the slight furrow of his brow and tightness of his jaw. "But..." He paused, swallowing a sudden hitch in his throat. He was breaking his word. He and Noven had agreed it was for their mutual benefit that nothing more happen between them, had they not? It had been very clear, to both of them, that there was nothing to be gained by their further intimacy - whatever that term implied. Yet, there he was, hand so gently pressed against Noven's breast, the display of interests just barely concealed beneath the movement of the water above. Keene did not imagine himself a liar or an untrustworthy individual. He abided by his own rules and agreements, for if he did not, how could he expect others to do the same? Yet there before him the temptation to do so was so great and his will so weak that he found himself quickly failing. He was tired of it, of all of it. He wanted Noven and, as far as he could tell, Noven wanted him as well.

Keene did not read tension well. He had few ideas about the finer intricacies of courtship or even simple attraction. His experiences in romance had been next to nothing, and that had been born from the understanding that it was an unnecessary force meant only to distract from the greater efficiency of man. With Noven, however, all of those things seemed meaningless. He didn't need to know what to do, how to do it, or the reasons behind it; he only needed what was in front of him. The simplicity of it was almost as alluring as Noven himself. His life had become so complicated; everything and everyone a puzzle to solve or an enemy to be dispatched. Noven was Noven. His hand moved once more, a jerking motion at first as the relief of release was met once more with the fire of touch as his fingers moved along Noven's jaw, eyes oddly steady in spite of everything. "I want-" He paused. There was no going back if he spoke his mind. The contract would be broken by his hand alone, and that treachery would be something he would have to carry with him for the rest of life.

Was Noven worth that? Was he worth everything he had put his integrity into, everything that Keene had lived for under the subjectively crafted morals he held himself to so rigorously? As he studied the man's confused face, it only took a final tick to decide, years of discipline and force of will little more than a wafer thin sheet of parchment. "I want you." He let the hand fall back into the water, a small bloom of blood gently hazing the water around the hand he'd managed to cut with the force of his nails against his skin, though it went unnoticed by the man who could not feel it. Keene shook his head, taking in a deep breath. "I don't understand..." He spoke his mind, his thoughts, things that never shared with anyone. There had never been a reason for him to do so, for he'd never truly desired another to understand him in such a way that it was necessary. Noven, however... Noven he needed to understand him, to understand that the pain was incredible, but it was no where near that which he felt in pleasure. "I-" He paused, trying to form his thoughts into something that would make sense outside of his mind. "I want to feel you. Touch you."

He shook his head, the words sounding wrong. It was different than stating facts or relaying objective information. "I... I don't know." His confidence had left him entirely. What remained was the exceedingly weak and vulnerable shell of a creature so far out of its element that it could do nothing but quake and shiver in the face of a world so profoundly foreign. Emotions were messy. Keene was fully aware of that; in fact, he knew it perhaps better than most. He felt things powerfully, so much so that they easily overwhelmed him if they were not kept under control, balled up tight within the first of his self-control. That control, however, was weary. It had released the most powerful of those emotions, unable to restrain it any longer and could do little more than watch helplessly as it ravaged the entirety of Keene's soul. There was nothing more he could say. Instead, he just stood there in the water, feeling far more isolated and alone than he had ever thought possible. Mella's death had been one thing, but the inability to explain his heart to Noven even after tearing apart the agreement they had made in such good faith with little more than a blubbering drivel of words with the raging desire still polluting every thought and action...

Though his face remained relatively impassive, far too overloaded with the rage of thoughts and emotions within him to settle on anything other than neutrality, he felt a hot streak of warmth run down the side of his face. At first, he imagined it to be the water of the pool, but that had long since stopped dripping. Blinking, he realized it was a tear, the forerunner of several more. Dropping his face down towards to the waters once more, Keene drew his free hand up to quickly brush them away, uncertain why they had presented themselves. "I'm sorry." He swallowed, shaking his head before drawing a deep breath, voice wavering but lacking the sadness or rage that Keene had thought to be the only sources of such things as tears. "I don't think this bath... was a good idea." It was, by far, the most taxing form of hygiene he had ever participated in.

[Noven]

He could practically hear the gears churning away inside of Keene's head, pieces falling in and out of place with quiet, metallic clinks. The Initiate was tensed, as always, his body stiff with the effort of flurried thought. Not for the first time, Nov wondered if Keene knew what being relaxed even felt like. If a warm bath and free back scrub couldn't do the trick then he wasn't really sure what would.

Well, actually, he did have an idea, but...

When Keene finally answered, Noven could hear the strained mix of confusion, frustration, and hesitation in his voice. A little more at ease in body but not in spirit, it was clear the Initiate seldom spoke of this issue. If ever.

Nov felt the damp towel being pulled from underneath and drew his hand back without a second thought. He might be called thick from time to time, but he wasn't thick enough to commit the same mistake twice. Especially not when it cost Keene such a painful price. Across from him, the other man met Nov's eyes with that same, cool but determined intensity, gripping the towel tight enough for water to be oozing through in lazy trickles betwixt his fingers.

For a moment, the merc thought he had pried too deep and was about to be told off. Wouldn't be the first time, and wouldn't be the last--he had a certain propensity for raising all manner of hell. But Keene, in spite of his silent and economical nature, was still somehow constantly full of surprises.

Instead of reprimanding his fellow bather for burying his nose in another's business, the Initiate slipped his free hand out of the water and placed it against Noven's chest. Though it brought no pain for Nov himself, his breath hitched at the unexpected contact. All he could feel was the solid, wet surface of Keene's hand, cool to the touch even though it had been in spa water moments before, and the quickened pace of his own heart beating against that pale palm. He found it strange that the Initiate's skin was so consistently chilled. Though, it bothered him little, as the Sunberthian had plenty of heat to spare, with or without the aid of a Nuit spa.

But for Keene, his spasm of agony was unmistakable. That fleeting wince was all the proof Nov needed.

After a few ticks had passed and Keene gathered enough strength to cope with the discomfort, he explained that this pain accompanied anyone's touch, not just Noven's. The admission was as relieving as it was simultaneously disheartening. While it was good to know Nov wasn't the sole source of another's misery, for once, it also meant the condition Keene suffered was far more severe than he'd originally assumed. And if the Initiate hadn't been able to cure it with all the various magics and research at his disposal, then...well, it was likely beyond the Sunberthian's own meager understanding, that much was certain.

He'd thought the confession the end of it. But there was more Keene wanted to say. To do. Noven's heart kicked itself up a notch and his mind went uselessly blank as the pale hand upon his breast moved up to draw itself along his jaw.

The gesture was so tender. Awkward at first, yes, but honest as well, and bringing with it an impending severance that both men had felt looming over their heads since the moment they'd agreed to this tenuous pact. Nov was still hesitant to hold Keene's hand in place with his own, as instinct had commanded. He couldn't quite bring himself to inflict what was basically a minor Vexation on his companion, though he knew that the gentle fingers trailing down to his chin were more than a simple touch. They were a testament to Keene's determination and conviction.

To his want of...his desire for...

"You."

Emotions speared through his heart in rapid succession. Thrill. Disbelief. Elation. Desire. Fear. Confusion. One after another, till the last one lodged itself within the reckless beating beneath his ribs, mandatory amongst all good things in the mercenary's short life: Denial.

Keene's hand fell back into the water, but by then the damage had been done. The dam was breached, a chink punctured through its hastily constructed walls, and all of the things Nov had been desperately trying not to think about or feel were starting to trickle back in with greater and greater urgency.

The Initiate was still talking, still struggling, and his companion did his best to comprehend in the midst of mirrored turmoil. Keene gave words to the assumptions Nov had already made. About his wanting outweighing the pain, and the lack of understanding as to why. And while he did, Nov couldn't help but suspect he'd never met anyone like Keene before...someone who suffered not imagined or potential torment, but real, physical, and inescapably present agony at the merc's hands, and yet somehow wanted to be with him regardless.

He could only think of one other person like that. And she had been dead for nearly seven years.

Noven watched as Keene shook his head side to side in helpless frustration. The poor Sahovian had thrown his truest desires out into the open, hoping it might alleviate some of the torture, but it had done nothing if not further complicate the tangle of emotions.

And then, of all things, Keene began to cry.

Rivulets of water completely separate in nature from that of the spa's trickled down Keene's cheeks. One by one, at first, before they turned into free flowing streams, running down his face faster than he could catch them. The Initiate ducked his head and apologized, brushing away the most visceral signs of emotion Nov had yet to see after that heated night they'd shared up in the hills.

There were a thousand things Noven wanted to ask, wanted to do. The first being, why him? Why this foreign, trouble making Pulser who continued to lead Keene into one disaster after another? And his second compulsion being that of drawing the weeping Initiate into an awkward embrace. But while that may have worked for a runt with a skinned knee or a heartbroken wetnurse who had just lost another babe to Lady Winter, it wasn't going to cut it for someone who felt pain just from being touched.

"Keene..."

Nov raised a hand to try and wipe some of his companion's tears, but stopped just short of his cheek, still afraid of hurting him. He then turned that hand into a fist and slapped it back into the water, frustrated beyond measure. How was he supposed to comfort Keene if he couldn't even touch him? It made him feel helpless, useless, and he hated the world for it. Hated whatever strange circumstances that had brought this affliction upon the Initiate.

"You're right..." he murmured back, "it wasn't a good idea. It was a bloody terrible one, just like all the other ones we've hatched."

Running a hand over his eyes, Noven continued, "I mean, hell, just thinking about that mystery brew we drank...gods above, how could we have ever been so petching stupid..." As he said this, his hand fell away, revealing a rare glint of mirth in his amber gaze, and the merc's shoulders began to shake.

When he finally did laugh, he did so freely, the sonorous sound echoing on and on in the tiled room.

"Keene," he said once he'd recovered enough, voice raw but warm with sincerity, "if all this shyke we've been through has been because of our piss poor decision making, with us still alive and kicking to tell the tale afterwards, then I for one am glad for it."

The Sunberthian shifted a hair closer, feeling for all the world like he was falling down, down...deeper and deeper into a bottomless well, seeing no end in sight but no longer concerned with whether or not he'd be able to climb back out as his old, former self. Because what the petching hell would be the point of that? He was no coward, and he was no liar. And he firmly believed that, if his thoughts were plaguing him in the face of risk that could kill neither him nor those he cared for, then he should bloody well stop listening to them.

"And I would rather take all of our bad ideas to have known you the way I have," he added, voice steady with heartfelt conviction, "than to take the one you'd call a good idea and have never known you at all."

Nov hesitated for one, whole tick. Just to take in the sight of the other man's tear stained face, as vulnerable as it had been that night in the hills, though under completely different circumstances, and wondered at their ability to compel him so. Then he dipped his head toward Keene's, moving as close as he dared, and kissed the Initiate full on the lips.

The act was tentative at first, with Nov's hands clasped firmly behind his back. But as their skin finally met after so long a period of deprivation, the contact no doubt bringing Keene a new wave of unsolicited pain, Noven felt the rest of the dam crumble. And out from his newly freed heart poured something earnest in both intention and affection, compassion and hunger. It swept away the rest of his pointless worries. Those strawmen who went by the names of Fear, Cowardice, and Self Loathing, that had littered the fields of his thoughts, felled like so many empty shells beneath the roar of an ocean wave.

[Keene Ward]

The single word spoken was an echo of Keene's feelings in the shape of Noven's soft, conflicted utterance of his name. As the hand moved towards his face, Keene felt himself shift towards it, both of them hesitating just before Noven's fingers could brush against the shimmering trails that ran the course of his cheeks. He wanted Noven to touch to him. It was a thought, a need, that had repeated itself in his head over and over and over again until it had just become something of an incessant buzz, an understanding of desire with no way in which to attain it. He could feel the heat of Noven's body in the hovering gesture, his skin shuddering in anticipation of both pleasure and pain that did not come. Though the moment only lasted a tick or so, to Keene it felt like years. He clenched his jaw, fingers digging into the palms of his skin, the pricks of pain where the nails began to pierce through just enough to keep him from closing the distance. He had given Noven everything that he could, poured his soul as best he knew how out before the man who had captured his mind and body in such a way he'd never imagined possible.

He had played his hand. There were no more moves left to him; his pieces all captured save the king in the corner of the board, unable to move, locked in a checkmate. Anything more between them was entirely Noven's choice. While Keene knew he could no longer keep himself from the overwhelming yearnings, Noven's refusal would be more than enough of an impediment to at least shatter what strange dreams he had of mutual affection - though in truth, to Keene, he wasn't even entirely sure what all that entailed, only that he wanted Noven to want him as much as he did. It was an irrational desire, something that Keene didn't understand, just as he didn't seem to be able to understand anything when it came to Noven. He wanted the other man to touch him, to feel him, to want him.

When Noven's fist smashed into the pool, the water splattered over the both of them, mixing with the remnants of tears on Keene's face. The frustration of the gesture was an accurate reflection of everything that Keene felt. He couldn't stop feeling it, and there was a part of him that was terrified by his complete lack of control. His logic screamed that Noven was wrong; everything about the other man made him feel, made him function at a level that was so inefficient and dysfunctional he was little more than a blabbering idiot. Yet, it was dwarfed by the massive waves of humanity that boiled from within him. Keene could see, quite clearly, that Noven struggled with things that, for once, Keene knew so intimately that he didn't even have to think about what they were. They were there, in Noven's face, simmering beneath the tension of his muscles, even drifting on the steady rock of the pool's once still surface. There was a chance, and Keene knew it. He craved it, teeth feeling as if they were going to explode from the pressure of his jaw, the sting of his hand were his fingers drew blood. Then, Noven spoke.

Keene listened with absolute stillness, his silence only a weak facade to dull the flames that flickered behind his grey-green stare. Noven knew reason. It was in his words as his voice, far quieter than he'd ever remembered Noven speaking, carried his thoughts to the initiate who stood as a statue, frozen between his mind and his heart. What happened next, however, released Keene from his self-imposed stasis, his brow raising and eyes slightly widening in confusion at the show of levity - no, the actual nature gaiety itself. He blinked, once more cast into the muddied waters of bewilderment at Noven's ever unprecedented actions. Keene had never seen humor in things - in anything -, and he didn't see it then. Strangely enough, frustration at the situation did not bloom from within him, raw as his emotions were; instead, there was only the strange, twisting sensation of nescience. He couldn't understand, so he waited; his patience seemed to return to him in that moment and for that moment only, settling in around him to relax his shoulders and loosen the destructive grip of his fists.

At his name, he nodded, a reflex more than anything. His eyes still regarded Noven with a thinly veiled craving, though it was now mixed with a curiosity that muddied the expression to make it seem far more mild than it truly was. He didn't understand what Noven was saying, his own heart beating too rapidly to properly comprehend the words as Noven drew closer. He was "glad for it". For what? For their interactions that had led to nothing but a world of meaningless strife for the two of them? For their night together and the morning after? For the days spent apart, each itching to be in the presence of the other but forcing that distance to widen?

Noven's voice lowered, a rumble of a whisper, and Keene's heart slammed itself against his chest, almost painful in the sheer force in which it shoved blood through his veins, filling his body with a warmth that was so much more than the heat of life. In a flash of memory, Keene sat in the library, a book in hand of poetry regarding the elusive nature of love. The words as they had been printed escaped him, but Noven's voice rang steady, filling the simple vision of the past with a meaning so true, Keene could feel it wrap itself around him, drawing him back to the present, forcing his pale eyes to lock with rich, amber darkness of the man before him. Poetry. Noven spoke poetry without the conscious effort and with no intention. Keene could recognize it anywhere, whether he had understood it or not, but there, in the jittering, pale light of the baths, Keene found it truly beautiful. It was absolutely absurd. In fact, it was so much so that his lips twitched. For the first time in a very long time, the hint of irony did not escape him, and he was happy. Why he was happy seemed, in that moment, wholly irrelevant. In fact, all "why's" and "how's" were little more than a distant buzz in the back of his mind.

Noven wanted him.

He stared back in the tick that lasted an eternity, eyes tracing and memorizing the face before him so filled with warmth, earnest conviction, and something that Keene had never seen before in the expression of another. It was a craving, but it held itself so incredibly soft and delicate, Keene worried it might shatter beneath the force of his own searching gaze- and his eyes reflected it.

When Noven moved, Keene stood frozen, the shift of heat, the pressure on his lips, the explosion of pain like needles rending through his skin, then... Warmth. Everywhere, there was warmth. It rose to meet the point of contact, mingling with the pain like a raging flame, searing his body and soul as Keene pressed back against the man's kiss, searching in spite of his body's aversion. Noven tasted perfect - the was no other way for Keene to catalog the flood of information that bombarded his system as if he were a single drop of rain in a raging hurricane of desire, pain, and emotion. Each movement he made was meaningful, carefully thought out in the entirety of half a tick, as he moved his hands to sit calmly over Noven's where he hidden them behind his back. In a break of their lips, Keene gasped, an exclamation of pain as well as a necessity for air before he renewed the kiss once more, taking hold of Noven's wrists and pulling his arms around him to wrap him in the other man's warmth, to draw him close enough for their chests to brush as his own hands rose to run his calloused, blood tinged fingers over the bulge of Noven's muscled back.

His whole body shook. The pain the excruciating, and tears had once more begun to trickle their way down the sides of his face, falling unnoticed, far too irrelevant in the grand scheme of their intimacy. The jerky motion of his hands as he pressed them into the warmth of Noven's skin felt as if he were shoving his palm into a bed of jagged glass. Involuntarily, Keene groaned as he pulled himself closer, the searing pain ravaging every nerve in his body, his mind screaming itself hoarse to shove the man off of him, to hide in the isolation of his own skin, to reject that which he had finally been given and had wanted so dearly.

Keene pressed on.

There was more than pain; Keene hungrily clung to it as if he were drowning and it the only thing to keep him afloat. When he was finally forced the break the kiss, to draw in a ragged, shivering breath, he raised his watering eyes to gaze with unabashed sincerity into Noven's, his nose pressed gently against the other man's. His gaze was filled with pain. It was far too intense for Keene to conceal it, and the only way in which he could cope with it was to allow the rest of his emotions free reign. While his lips worked silently, longing to be connected with the those that were just a hair's width away, Keene's eyes danced. There was a light there that shone through the agony, through the strife, and it flared even brighter a tick before Keene moved his head to press his lips into Noven's neck, breathing deeply in scent of the soap mixing with the man's natural scent.

In a low, quaking tone that was as soft as the quivering trails Keene traced across the exposed skin of Noven's back, he spoke, breath just a bit cooler than what one might expect from a supposed member of the living. "Th-thank you." He pulled himself closer into the embrace, teeth clenching as he let out another muffled noise of involuntary protest before drawing his head back to face the man so that he might see him as well as he could feel him, all of him, in the flaring throes of his body's anguish. "You are-" He paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, exerting what little was left of his twice worn self-control. "You are the worst idea I've ever had." And, for just a tick, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, a flicker of Noven's mirth reflected in his gaze before he let his eyelids close, throwing himself back into the passion of their embrace.

[Noven]

Confused and drunk in the heat of the moment, he watched through half closed eyes as Keene broke their kiss with a gasp. The Initiate's hands were snaking around him. For what purpose Nov had yet to deduce, though his mind kept busy enough wondering whether or not they should be touching anymore than they al--

Keene's lips pressed back against his with renewed fervor. Suddenly, the merc couldn't recall what he was thinking two ticks ago. His hands were being pulled out and around to wrap the other man in a bold embrace, bringing their chests close enough to touch. There was no time to brace himself before the rush of increasingly desperate contact, his darker fingers laid haphazardly across the pale muscles of Keene's back, their mouths locked again far more feverish need the second time around.

In a matter of ticks, he began to forget the need for caution. His embrace grew steadily more insistent and his breath ever shorter. Nov was unable to help himself as Keene pulled nearer and yet somehow not near enough, the merc's hands moving of their own accord to embark on an unprecedented exploration. With whatever scanty shreds of rationality that remained in his mind, Nov marveled at how impossibly new everything felt at that moment. New, different, and daunting in its own right. He'd never been kissed so passionately, so hungrily, by another man before. Never felt the slick tips of calloused, masculine fingers running down his back, nor his own digging deeper into the lean flesh of a truly formidable peer. It was at once jarring and mesmerizing, alien and appealing. His head couldn't decide on which and it wasn't long before he was past caring.

Everything they did--every act, every touch, every inch drawn closer together--carried with it a tidal force of carnality, held at bay by the sheer grace of ignorance alone. For the first time in a long time, Noven had let his companion take the lead. Whatever Keene desired to feel, and however he desired to feel it, the Sunberthian yielded. It was a rare display of surrender, beneath the attentions and mercy of someone who could just as easily turn his skull into a block of ice as he could dissolve his will into a helpless puddle.

By the time Keene finally surfaced for air again, his partner was panting and disoriented, not entirely sure where he was anymore and rendered incapable of looking anywhere but the shining centers of the Initiate's eyes. They were flaring with life. Bright discs that seemed more green than grey now, glowing like twin moons floating side by side. Noven had never seen the Initiate like this before. Not after that night in the hills, where there meager fire forever paled in comparison to the flames that roared in Lady Keene's gaze.

As Keene spoke, Nov relaxed his grip a bit in a conscious effort to listen. Anything that wasn't physical had grown infinitely harder to focus on. And it certainly didn't help when the other man dipped his head to press soft, velvet lips against the skin of Noven's neck, sending shivers of surprised pleasure up his spine. Sorcery... the merc thought witlessly to himself, it has to be sorcery....

The Sahovian was thanking him...for what specifically, Keene never said. Though Nov was able to get the gist of it, when he wasn't busy concerning himself over yet another muffled noise of pain, or feeling the coolness of Keene's breath as it shuddered out of him like a butterfly emerging shyly from its cocoon. And when the faintest ghost of a smile graced the Initiate's lips...Krysus, Nov could feel his heart do a triple flip before flopping back down into the sea of lust hued bewilderment as he found himself covered head to toe in Initiate again.

Keene may have been a few fingers shorter and slighter in build, but he was by no means weak. The force of throwing himself once more into Noven's embrace sent the man rocking back a handful of watery inches, forcing his grip around the Initiate to tighten. There was nothing delicate, nothing pliant or plush in what they did, what they felt. Both were solitary, trial hardened survivors. And both were hungry for something neither truly understood in the most worldly of senses.

Well, Nov knew more than he ought to, having spent as much time as he had around Isme's crowd. But knowing third, fourth, or even fifth hand and actually executing such knowledge first hand were two different beasts altogether.

"Worst idea...eh?" he part panted, part growled into the nape of Keene's neck, right below his ear. "You don't know the half of it."

Nov's dark, calloused hands moved to grab Keene at the hips. He didn't know exactly what he was doing and he honestly didn't give a petch. It was instinctive, as he'd done countless times with so many partners before--Lady Keene included--and he left it at that. The flesh beneath his grip felt more narrow and muscled than he was used to, and to his surprise, only heightened a growing sense of raw, animalistic voracity. All the camaraderie and heartfelt words they had shared prior carried with them an undeniable tenderness. Fondness, even, and unquestionable sincerity. To a point. And then everything beyond that point hinted itself to be so heated, so rooted in the physicality and acute virility of the swelling force between them, that Noven found himself unable to properly name it. He had trouble enough just trying to understand it.

With a sound he could scarce recognize as his own, Nov turned Keene so that he was facing the edge of the pool and leaned his body into that of the Initiate's. Funny, how he'd done this very motion so many times before, yet never in this way. Eyes clouded with a mix of wonder and something starkly more primal, the merc rested his face along the crook of Keene's neck, breath hot and heavy with undisguised need. He was so far past modesty he could hardly remember what the word meant, the strain of so many days' worth of distance between the two of them pinning the Initiate and his toned, lean frame against deep blue tiles.

"Gods, I can't..." Nov shook his head, mussing the dark locks atop damp, pale skin. He could feel that firm flesh pressed back against flesh firmer still, and it was driving him mad. "I know it hurts you...every tick we're like this...and yet I--"

"Well, well," a familiar, husky voice resounded from somewhere above their heads. Noven looked up to find Amaryllis and all of her blue green, peacocked glory, watching them as it they were merely two ducks sitting in a pond. "Seems I've caught you gentlemen at a busy time."

Raising both arms on either side of Keene and planting his hands along the edge of the pool, Noven glared up at the Nuit. He remembered her earlier remark and managed to tone down the acid in his voice. Just a hair.

"What."

Amaryllis smiled down at them. It was irritating, and Nov resisted the urge to wipe the smug look off of her painted face.

Unbeknownst to either young man, she had noted their positions, reactions, the protective gesture the darker one had so unhesitatingly employed, and tucked it all away in her mental library of Sahovian tidbits before giving an elegant shrug. "I just wanted to inform you that the soaps and towels in that shelf there are complimentary for our guests. Well, for you two, at least, since I'd failed to mention it at the beginning."

She chuckled to herself before turning to go. "That is all, boys. Carry on."

Nov waited until he could no longer hear the click of her heels before drawing away from Keene in a hiss of pain. He dug one palm between his eyes while the other remained gripping the pool's edge for support.

"Keene..." he managed to explain through clenched teeth, "...it's starting...we have to...I need to get out of here. Fast."

He took that brief moment between one wave of pain and the next to assess the Initiate and their quiet surroundings. There was only one way out that he knew of, and their clothes were with Amaryllis, who was still awaiting payment. It wasn't until he happened to glance down at the lower half of his companion's naked torso that he finally noticed a fading pool of pink around Keene's hands.

The merc's brows shot up in alarm. "What the hell, Keene, when did you get hur--aggh!"

The second spasm of agony came, bringing with it an exceptionally vibrant curse. He'd gone too long with fulfillment. He was running out of time.

"Need...to Vex..." Noven looked wildly around for a tick, trying not to panic as he ran through his terribly short list of options. "You have to go, Keene. You can't stay. Get as far away from me as you can!"

[Keene Ward]

As Noven's arms pulled Keene ever closer, their strength pressing against the tensed, quivering muscles that writhed beneath the touch in a mix of pain and pleasure, Keene grit his teeth, a hiss escaping him as he felt Noven's racing heart match the frenzied beat of his own; his hot breath was like some strange drug, weakening Keene's knees and forcing his weight into the solid arms of the man who had wrapped himself around him in both body and soul. Rough hands that moved with an urgency steeped in the overwhelming rush of their seemingly endless tension's release pressed searching fingers into his hips. The resulting grind of their bodies drew them impossibly close; Keene's voice caught in throat as he pulled back from the kiss to gasp, drawing in air that seemed set upon escaping him as his hands groped Noven's back, slipping over the slick skin until they finally found purchase in Noven's hair where they clenched down onto the locks, holding on for dear life.

Noven responded, his motions forceful, animalistic, but not lacking the passion they had both succumbed to. Keene felt his body melt under the man's influence. Where he had thought only ticks ago that he would not be able to release his grip upon the dark, bronzed hair of the panting wall of muscle and desire before him, Keene's fingers loosened without a second thought, body turning so that his back was encompassed by the curled heat of Noven's yearning embrace. His entire frame quivered in an uncontrollable shiver, past the point of being able to differentiate the pain and pleasure, only able to focus on the wild, primal scream that had begun to fill his mind that this was Noven. Noven. Hands slid down his chest, searching and leaving behind them a trail of fire that left Keene shuddering beneath their influence, only half cognizant of what was happening, limbs too weak to resist even if he wanted to.

Then, there were the tiles; the sweet, refreshing breath of cold stone that grounded him as he felt Noven grind against him in a hungry, seeking way that forced the air from his chest in a trembling sigh provided a respite of ice among the blazing flames of dolor and desire. Noven spoke more words whispered into his ear, his chin brushing against Keene's neck with an agonizing and tantalizing graze. A trembling hand rose to weakly press against Noven's cheek, unable to say anything more than to brush his lips against the man's as he spoke, Keene gently shook his head.

Keene didn't care. It was not an apathy kin to what he had felt upon Mella's untimely passing, nor was it the numbing chill he had experienced when he struck down the various, pitiable creatures that roamed the island's surface and cowered in its depths. It was a choice, an active refusal to accept defeat in the face of a trial that, under any other circumstance would have proven itself far too daunting an obstacle. It paled in comparison to the devastation his lust and desire wrought when paired with the white-hot flame of his passion for the dark skinned, deep voiced visitor who had arrived like a storm to fill Keene's life with the wild, whirling winds of change. It was change that, even with his mind still hoarsely whispering the contrary, Keene not only ached for but had fully committed to. Their time together was short, days lost to stubbornness and tenacity that had proven too weak to stop them. With those things finally removed from between them, Keene wanted nothing added - no reservations or fears to hold them back -and his shaking, shallow breaths were all he could do to intimate that to Noven, words seemingly so far away they would not come no matter how much he wanted them to.

When Amaryllis spoke, it sounded like a dream. Keene blinked, bleary from the extended duration of their agonizing contact, and quite seeing the woman's features though clearly registering the deep blues and emerald greens. Noven's hands released him from their cradling investigations, instead rising to form a barrier of warmth around him. Keene slid a few inches further into the water, breath coming in quiet gasps as his muscles twitched involuntarily, finally allowed a reprieve so overdue it still felt as if they were filled with shards of jagged glass. Every inch of him had reached a point of fatigue he had not known his body capable of, and as he let his eyes drift shut to listen to Noven's strained, biting reply to the heady lull of Amaryllis's voice, Keene took the opportunity to rest, forehead feebly set against the smooth tiles. He used the fading click of the woman's steps to gauge her distance in the darkness, forcing his eyes to open once more when they grew faint and turning to meet the rich, dark gaze that Noven cast in pursuit of the retreating frame.

Though weary, Keene was far from finished. He moved to continue on from where they had been so suddenly interrupted, but a flash of pain shot through Noven's features, jerking him away from the uncomprehending stare of his companion who watched with a foggy concern in his grey-green gaze. His words didn't make sense to Keene's lust saturated brain, though it immediately began to spark back into working order once Keene was able to realize that something was very wrong. A frown formed on his features, hands uncertain what to do, as Noven pressed a palm to his head, his face twisting in torment. Keene had been the one to experience such traumatic a reaction when they had touched, not the other way around, and his eyes flicked over Noven's features, searching for a cause but finding only the dark, crimson veins of his hands and forearms to be anything out of the ordinary - and they were the typical for the Sunberthian vexer.

His explanation was broken, confusing, and just as concerning as everything else. "W-what's starting?" His voice came as a raspy whisper, returning to him far slower than his senses had. "Noven-" He was interrupted by the rising panic of Noven's realization. Glancing down, Keene found the dull sting of his palm that had continued to persevere after Noven's release as a direct result of a physical wound, both hands still slightly bloody from where he'd torn away his skin with his own fingernails. His attention only lingered for a tick before Noven's curse brought his eyes back onto Noven's face, his natural, steady demeanor beginning to reclaim him as his mind whirred with activity. He didn't know what was wrong with Noven, only that something was happening - something that was clearly something the afflicted couldn't control. Not knowing what else to do, Keene did what he could to stand strong and ready for whatever it was Noven needed that wasn't his immediate retreat. After everything that had passed between them, he had no intention of leaving behind the single most all-encompassing thing that had occupied both mind and desire for the better part of the Scars' arrival.

Then, the answer came. Keene still knew little of Krysus, her followers, or the strange abilities that she bestowed upon those she marked, but he had been vigilant enough to comprehend that Noven spoke of the strange power he had used to reduce the akavatari that still festered in the dungeons into a puddle of bloody, blubbering mess. He was fully aware, then, of the repercussions of the decision he made directly after his mind had finished sorting through and compiling the information he could recall about the act. Keene had already decided even before Noven frantically shouted his nonsense. Egress was not an option. It never had been. Everything that Keene wanted, in that moment, was there before him, eyes pleading, gaze mixed with a steadily growing agony that Keene knew he could assuage; and he knew how to assuage it. "No."

The word resounded with a quiet, resolute force that would have surprised him if he had not already been drawing his res out and shaping it into a thin, wicked blade that glistened into reality by his will alone. In a tick after it formed, it became a razor of ice, pressing into his skin to reveal a steady trickle of blood from his palm. He chose to slice his left hand, wincing only slightly as he matched the trail his fingers had left. He didn't know exactly how vexing worked, only that it required contact to be made with a wound that caused the individual pain. While his palms had been left raw from their fit of passion in an attempt to hide from the searing pain, Keene didn't want to take any chances. With cut fully formed, Keene's hand snatched at Noven's, intertwining their fingers with a force only achieved by the mix of will and adrenaline that coursed through Keene's body. He had chosen the left because, as far as he was aware, vexation worked through pain; and his right was numb to it. Already feeling the burn of contact, Keene wrapped himself around the other man, eyes too weary to shed any more tears as he whispered into the man's ear with a faded softeness. "I can stay."

And he could. He would. Lips pressed against lips, and Keene tightened his grip, refusing to allow the other man to remove him until the deed was done. Sahova was a world in which what was taken was expected to be given in return. He had failed to abide by that law, the knowledge only adding to his determination as his body screamed in protest both in the present pain and fear of the future. His blood mixed with the heat of the water, strangely cooler than the limpid liquid as it began to cloud about their grip. It was time to repay what was expected of him, if by no one else than himself, and as he searched, hungrily but tenderly, Keene steeled himself. The pain he felt then, his mind reasoned, could not be any less unbearable than that of a vex. The day, however, had proven that Keene's reasoning had been lacking, and the final thought as he let his eyes close was no more correct than any of the others before it.

[Noven]

He should have known. Should have heeded the increasingly pressing signs. Headaches were so commonplace in his daily life that Noven rarely thought twice about them anymore. As soon as he felt one coming on, or decided he was done enduring them, he would step outside of Sunset Quarters and hunt down a rat to Vex. Or kill, depending on how far gone he was and the recent activity of his victim. Simple, but effective. His curse had yet to best him so far.

Here on the island, however...suffice it to say that victims had been near impossible to come by. Mostly because he'd kept visiting Cryptly and his menagerie of mangled souls as an absolute last resort. The decision was as much for his own sake as for Keene's; Nov dreaded the idea of either of them getting involved too deep with Cryptly's crowd.

But he couldn't afford to die, either. Nor could he remember the last time he'd been forced to endure day two of his curse.

For five nights in a row.

The Sunberthian had done plenty of shameful things in his life. Things no one could easily beat out of him, physically or emotionally. But just these past five days he had reached an all new low, using one of those gibbat pups that had done no one any harm to keep the worst of his symptoms at bay. Noven despised Vexing animals. It was almost worse than Vexing children. But he had been literally a handful of bells away from watching his own skin split open in bloody wounds before he stumbled across a stray from the earlier infestation and decided morals could sod off for one night.

Only, that one night turned into two. Then three. Then four. Until at last he could bear the guilt of torturing this innocent creature no longer and ended its misery with a quick snap of the neck. He buried it somewhere near the graveyard, away from where the red tailed pup still alive and bouncing about in his quarters would not see. Nov couldn't decide which was more despicable. That he had sacrificed an unwanted dog because he couldn't bear to torment his own, returning reeking of guilt to the happy affections of the felled animal's blissfully ignorant kin, or that he was still able to feel relieved after the clock was set back to zero with this single, craven act.

Another violent surge of pain exploded in his chest. With a pathetic wheeze, Nov hunched forward and moved the hand between his eyes to clutch at his heart. It felt like the damned thing was trying to rip itself free. Yet, chest pains were just a harbinger for true torment to come. In a matter of bells, he knew, it would worsen by twofold and send invisible flames shooting up and down his limbs. And if he hadn't turned back the curse by then, he would be dead in two days' time.

When Noven looked up, he saw the pleading look in Keene's eyes and knew. Long before the man's answer was uttered. Frustrated beyond measure, Nov closed his eyes and fair shook with anger.

"This isn't--godsdammit, Keene. Just...just get out! Get. Out. Now!" he snarled, throwing both fists against the pool water and shattering its placid surface into a thousand, wriggling ripples. He knew he must have both sounded and looked the most petulant of little shykes, upset because he didn't get his favorite custard for dinner. But he couldn't help himself.

Headaches, Nov could handle. Forget, even, with enough tempting distraction. But knowing what Keene was about to offer before he even offered it while feeling as if something was sawing a hole straight through his chest...well, it was enough to drive him more than a little mad.

"You don't understand..." the Sunberthian tried to explain more rationally. "I've done vile things for my curse...things no sane man should ever have to do, just so I can go on selfishly living. But I won't do them to you. I just won't. End of discussion. So get the petch ou--aahh..."

Agony wracked his upper half, completely destroying whatever semblance of control and conviction he'd been able to muster.

Instead of heeding his companion's words, the Initiate pressed on. Noven watched in horror as that strange substance curled into existence from Keene's body and hardened into the shape of an icy blade. He shook his head in silent objection, unable to tear his eyes from the near translucent razor as it moved to draw a thin, crimson line across a pale palm. The blade could have been a thing of beauty, had it not been used for such a terrible purpose. Polished, honed, and deadly with intent. Just like its creator.

Frozen in the quicksand of pain and dismay, Nov could do little more than feel his stomach drop as Keene clasped their hands together. I can't do this...can't do it...please don't make me... Blood trickled lazily down both of their arms and elbows, though he was far more preoccupied with the other man's sudden proximity. The Initiate had wrapped himself around the Vexer and brought his lips close to one ear, breath cool against fevered skin as he whispered those three, impossibly willful words.

Then Nov was drowning. Swept beneath the incredible force of Keene's compassion and desire, his only anchor the iron clad grip refusing to let his hand go until the deed was done. He allowed himself to respond to the kiss, mouth hungry, tongue searching, and mind desperate for a respite from anything other than the sharp pains throbbing in his chest and appalling inevitability of what he was about to do.

He had no choice. The merc couldn't bring himself to meet the fourth day of his curse like a true man should. Endure the final, most agonizing bell of his life without fear and end this vicious cycle of suffering altogether. He was too selfish a coward for such valor. He wanted to live. He wanted Keene.

Noven was the first to pull away, his eyes hard and glassy as he gazed down at the Initiate. "Forgive me," he whispered shakily. He could hardly finish saying the last word. It came out more as a garbled choke.

And then, returning Keene's grip with a solidity of his own, Nov flared his mark.

What would have otherwise felt like the slight sting of a razor thin cut amplified to that of a blade slicing right through bone and sinew. It was enough to send weaker men into shock, but Nov knew Keene would hold. Or at least he hoped. As agony lit the Initiate's wound with its white hot flames, Noven kept Keene folded in a tender embrace. He pressed his face close so that he could hear every pained gasp, every shudder of tortured breath that tore straight through his heart, keeping vigilance as though it was some kind of self-ordained punishment.

And while he shared the torment of his victim as much as he could, Nov wept the same words over and over into the pale curve of Keene's ear.

"Forgive me..." he prayed again. Not to any of the few gods or goddesses he could name, but to the very mortal, very human man before him. The single, bravest soul on this wretched island who was now bearing the consequences of his folly. He cared not if he received any absolution, only that Keene knew. That the tears rolling down his guilt ridden cheeks in shameful streams may as well have been the mercenary's own heart's blood.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice fading with each utterance. "So sorry. I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

[Keene Ward]

Keene found Noven's protests ridiculous. To the young man who pressed his body against the increasingly weakening barriers that Noven had thrown up around himself, there was a single option; the words that flowed like so many frustrated tears from the dark eyes that watched him with a wretched pain Keene couldn't quite understand were only words. They both knew what Noven needed, and both knew that Keene was the only thing that could give it to him. Keene, even in the half-stupor of the needling pain that wracked against his body, could feel Noven shake beneath him. Lips were parted, and Noven's eyes met his with a hazy darkness, a shadow of the soul eclipsing the pain and fear if only to steel himself for what he was about to do. His whispered words were as unnecessary as anything else that had past in the last chime, but Keene pressed his lips against the strain of Noven's neck. Forgiveness was something one gave to those that had wronged one, and as far as Keene was concerned, there was no wrong.

What happened next, however, was certainly close. Noven's grip tightened around his hand, the gesture eliciting a wince as Keene pressed his forehead onto Noven's chest. Then, with a sudden, blinding pain, there was white. The wound itself felt as though his bones were being torn out through what could have only been the gaping gash that encompassed the entirety of his arm, and while it was a pain that Keene had never even dreamed of knowing, it wasn't the only one. Every point that his own body made contact with Noven's flared with a similar pain, as if the flames that had been searing him over the course of their time together had been but meager precursors to what he then experienced. It felt as though his skin were melting, each unbelievably agonizing tick of torture experienced with a crystalline clarity that Keene had not ever thought to be possible when it came to pain. Pain dulled with time, with exposure. He had been in some kind of physical pain for the majority of his life, and he had, to an extent, become numb to it. His tolerance had become something near prodigious, his ability to push on in spite of cuts, bruises, sprains, whatever the world might throw at him. All of it had nothing to do with the experience he had just submitted himself to.

His mouth opened, as if gasping, but the air could only hitch in his throat as he felt his body fall apart. He was dying, or something close to it, drowning in a blinding flurry of blood and screams, all of which were expressed only in the blank, distant stare of his unseeing eyes. Keene couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't cry, couldn't do anything. There was nothing to do. There was no end to the pain nor was there any beginning. At some point, Keene had managed to insert himself into an endless cycle in which everything melted away but the raw, torturous feeling of his exposed nerves. He couldn't remember what it was like to not feel pain, but equally, he couldn't remember what it was to feel at all. His body, finally, slumped against Noven's, too worn to support itself.

Breath eventually came, ragged and hitching, as Keene tried to steady himself. A shudder tore through him, like some aftershock of the earthquake of agony that had ravaged him an eternity past. For a few ticks, his eyes refused to open. The air that filled his nostrils was of a semi-sweet scent mixed with the tang of blood and Noven. He pressed against the warmth that held him, shivering under a cold that was felt in the soul rather than the slight chill of his skin and muscle. Shakily, Keene lifted his head, eyes finally fluttering open to take in the tear stained face of the man who held him so gently, so tenderly. Noven. Keene found the words wouldn't come to him, even after drawing in another, shuddering breath only to find that his voice was, for the moment, merely memory. Instead, Keene just weakly shook his head, eyes still cloudy from the trance-like state the vex had put him into.

There was still pain, but it was distant, like an echo of what had come before. It no longer pained him to allow himself the strange solace he gained from the beat of Noven's heart or the warmth of their bodies that pressed against each other, passion traded for tenderness, need swapped for comfort. When Keene finally did manage to make noise, it came out as a whispered croak, the smoothness of his tone uncharacteristically broken, though the softness remained. The seriousness of his voice was almost comically the same as he had been only a chime or so before, though it was so contrasted with the weak thing that remained it seemed strange to hear such factual intonation even despite the fact that Keene was still very much Keene. "I was wrong," He paused, letting his forehead fall to sit snugly in the crook of Noven's neck, lips brushing against his breast as he continued, voice gaining a bit more strength. "That was the worst idea I've ever had."

No humor played within the undertones of his words, and he required several ticks more, ignoring anything that Noven had to say for the time being as he could only focus on his own thoughts in that moment. His mental processes were rekindling themselves, but it was a gradual process, one he was required to navigate alone. Slowly, Keene drew back enough that he could face Noven with his cool, steady gaze, his body, more or less, falling back into line under the control of his mind. He stared without searching, instead green-grey locked with a dark, reddish brown, and his next words were almost as steady as if nothing had happened, though there was a slight quiver to them that Keene couldn't help. "And I would do it again." He knew, with absolute conviction, that he spoke true. Whether Noven believed him or not was an entirely different case, but Keene had to speak it out loud. He had not known, the tick before, whether the words would come to him or not - if the pain he had subjected himself to had been far more unbearable than the loss of pleasure and desire he felt when he was locked in a dark, warming embrace.

But with those words, he cemented something in his mind. Noven was his, and he was Noven's. Anything that came between them - pain, strife, loss, even death -would not serve to stop the impossible feeling that he held towards him. Whatever the reason - and the search for said reason having long since been abandoned - Keene was inexplicably drawn to Noven, to everything about him, even to the pain to an extent. Nothing had ever made him want to overcome the burning antipathy to touch quite like Noven's kiss did, and to Keene, whether for good or bad or the neutral grey upon which the majority of his beliefs were founded, it was the single batch of emotions he allowed himself. Whether he protested or not, Keene didn't care. He'd paid the price. Gently, like a thread of gossamer web, Keene's lips brushed against Noven's. He could taste the salt of tears drawing him onward, inviting him to press himself closer. Desire had little place between the two of them in that moment. There was only a connection, a strong bond that Keene finally allowed himself to succumb to. Whether Noven returned the kiss or not was unimportant. He had found a part of himself, something he'd never known was missing.

And, in the back of his mind, Keene was fully aware that Noven would have to leave. He would have to return to the life that he had put on hold to accompany the Scars to the island of silence and undeath. It was a simple fact. There was little emotion behind it, just a reminder that the time he had left with Noven was the only time he had at all. It didn't matter to him, as his hands pressed against Noven's back, the sting of the cut dulled from the numbness that had come from the reprieve of the vex. Noven would leave, but Keene's life would be changed for the time spent in his presence. Time would not stop when the other man returned to Sunberth; it would continue, just as it had since its inception, and Keene would continue along side it, as would Noven. They were but a single, passing event in the massive span of the endless cycle of death and rebirth, but that singularity was more than enough for Keene.

[Noven]

Keene wasn't the only one whose strength momentarily fled his body. Though for Noven, his own fled not because of pain, but of incredible, all consuming relief.

In allowing himself to be Vexed, the Initiate did far more than put a simple stop to his companion's symptoms. His sacrifice was enough to set the clock back by an entire day. Which meant that not only did Noven cease to feel the violent pains in his chest, but he was also freed from worrying over his curse for the next twenty four bells. Spared the burdens of having to find his next, unwilling victim and crumpling beneath the mountainous weight of guilt upon his shoulders as he did so. It might not have seemed like much to someone unmarked by Krysus's cruel conditions, this paltry sum of a mere, two dozen bells before the nightmare began anew, but it was a gift of unnameable value to the Sunberthian. One of reprieve, of peace of mind. A miracle unto itself. And it was worth more to him than anything mizas could buy.

Nov sagged against Keene's limp form. The two of them leaned on one another in a perfect, unintentional equilibrium. Bodies drained, breaths shallow, minds blank. Without planning, without thinking, they found that fickle point between weight and balance, like two eggs tilted at just the right axis's. They made for an odd contrast, too, one dark and almost sleepy with contentedness, the other fair and shivering under strain. The shudder that tore through Keene was scraped and raw, but the one that accompanied Noven's sigh of relief felt sweeter than rain as it swept past. Aware of this hopeless disparity, Nov kept the other man in a sheltered embrace, hoping to warm some of his chilled flesh. He held the Initiate this way until he was sure the pain had finally receded.

"Hm?" the merc responded lazily, too warm and relaxed to do much more than wonder at the pleasant weight of Keene's head nestled against his neck. When the Initiate explained what he had been wrong about, Nov stiffened for a moment, remembering what he had just done. Yet, somehow, in spite of all his guilt, he felt himself burst out in surprised laughter at Keene's rare gem of a joke.

But the mirth was short lived as the other man robbed him of breath just easily as he had provoked it. Keene was gazing up at him now, and Nov could tell from the look alone that he was about to say something deadly serious. The Sunberthian was coming to know that expression quite well, and he wasn't sure whether he ought to be dreading or looking forward to whatever came next. A little bit of both, most like, judging from past experience.

With nothing more than a slight quiver and even slighter breath, the Initiate sealed his fate. Sealed both of their fates. He managed, in the span of a mere half-sentence, to bind them on a level of devotion Noven hadn't even know existed until now. No one had ever, ever offered to be his victim. Not for sentiment alone. The harlot had asked once out of curiosity, being the eccentric bastard that he was, and Big Berta hounded him whenever she could out of some misguided, delusional idea of enterprise. But subjecting oneself to unimaginable pain just for the torturer's sake? Never. Not once in the six or so years he'd bore this mark.

It wasn't until he felt his lips being brushed by something cool and velvet that Noven remembered he had been weeping. The taste of his own tears mingled with Keene's gentle kiss, his feather soft skin sending whatever feeble protests Nov possessed tumbling back into the shadowed obscurity of forgetfulness.

"For both our sakes," he murmured into the dampness of Keene's hair, too exhausted for the moment to feel anything more than a muted coil of desire, "I hope you never have to."

By chance, Nov looked to one side of the pool and caught sight of their clothes, clean and folded, set neatly upon the blue tiles a safe distance from the water. He stared at it for a few moments, utterly confused. Beside it there was a small, white envelope with something scrawled on one side. He pulled just enough to point out the curious setup to his fellow bather. When the hell had that devilish woman managed to return their belongings? And without a sound to be heard, at that?

"Petching strange..." the merc muttered as he shared one more bewildered look with Keene before grabbing the edge of the pool and pushing himself out of the water. He turned back around in a crouch to offer a hand, knowing the Initiate was likely still a bit weak from his recent trials.

Once they were both out of the pool, naked and dripping sizable puddles onto the tiles, Noven walked over to retrieve their dry towels. He kept one for himself and handed the other to Keene, already drying his face and hair as he passed the second towel. It was quick work, as he wasn't too picky about his state of dryness, and within a chime or two Nov was opening the envelope with impatient fingers, baffled as to what it might contain.

"To The Ducklings," he read uncertainly on the front of the envelope before ripping it open. Which, the merc belatedly realized, was a tad bit unnecessary, as the flap had not be sealed. But the sound of thick paper ripping had already run out of echoes by the time he finished reading the note's contents.

To his relief, the note itself was written much more legibly than the elaborate, floral scrolls of the address.

"Evening, gentlemen. Your clothes have been cleaned and returned. I trust payment of one gold each will take the place of this note before you gentlemen leave. We pride ourselves in the treatment of our customers and trust that you have enjoyed the privilege of both luxury and privacy. The Palsa Hyrdrasa thanks you for your business, and hopes to service you again in the future. Yours truly, Amaryllis."

Noven stared dubiously at the letter for another tick or two before turning to Keene. "Petching stranger than strange...I can't tell what all of this is for. But business is business, so I guess it's time to pay up."

He fished out two gold coins from his trousers, slipped them into the envelope, and placed it face up on top of his used towel. "My treat," he explained with a small grin to Keene. "For...you know, leaving you to deal with that bloated vagik the other day. And for however many coins he stole from you."

Noven was, of course, referring to the day he had socked Overseer Telemenar in the face before fleeing to the hills with Lady Keene. But he didn't feel quite safe blurting the Nuit's name aloud, even if Keene's terrifying master had assured them the matter was finished. Picking up the freshly laundered clothes, he dressed himself piece by piece, too weary to concern himself with his nudity before the Initiate but unable to keep himself from sneaking glances at the other man now and then. It wasn't until they were both finished that Noven spoke again.

"Say, Keene..." he tried to casually initiate, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks before he had even broached the subject. Tried, and failed. "Um...about the the whole not seeing each other thing..."

Nov rubbed at the back of his neck, as he was won't to do whenever he felt nervous, and forced himself to finish what he'd started. "What I mean to say is...well, I was thinking, maybe we could...not do that anymore. And uh, maybe...you know...see each other every day until...until that time comes. If you're willing, of course."

He didn't really know what his own request would entail. Was completely clueless to it, in fact. It wasn't like they could take picnics to the park or enjoy a scenic boat ride around the harbor. The Sunberthian wasn't even sure anyone did anything remotely sentimental or social on this bleeding island.

But what he did know was that he was wringing Amaryllis's note to shreds in his hands regardless, anxiously awaiting Keene's answer.

[Keene Ward]

He allowed himself to close his eyes once more, to simply feel Noven around him. While he certainly preferred the idea that he would not have to undergo the trial of being vexed again, Noven offered him no promises that Keene did not seek. The after effect of the vex was felt in every part of the warmth around him; Noven's muscles had relaxed, his breathing calmed. The manner in which he acted was something kin to waking after a night of restful sleep. Keene found it calming, even in spite of the pricks of pain that danced around the peripherals of his perception. The impossibly agonizing price had come with a reward in the form of a trade: his discomfort for Noven's. It was an exchange that he had willingly participated in, and would do so again, just perhaps not for a few days at least.

In his sightless rest with head set against the rise and fall of Noven's chest, he felt the man notice something before he spoke. Drawing himself back from the comfort of Noven's breast to allow him egress, Keene turned a weary eye in the direction of the other man's focus, eyes blinking away the blur of bleary fatigue. It didn't take much investigation to notice what it was that drew Noven's attention, but it wasn't enough to hold Keene's as his eyes slid back to watch the water run down the body he found so incredibly alluring. There was a slight flicker of disappointment when Noven remained in his obscuring crouch to offer Keene a hand in assistance, but it passed after a tick as he extended his hand to grasp weakly at the man's forearm. The prickling pain of the contact was beginning to return in its full force, and Keene couldn't keep himself from wincing as Noven half dragged him out of the pool, allowing him to settle on the edge of the tiled border to rest while he moved to further examine what Keene presumed to be the handiwork of the Palsa Hydrasa's resident nuit.

He caught the towel that was passed to him, running it over his head so that both sides were in easy reach of his hands and gave it several good alternating pulls to rid his head of the majority of the wetness, taking care not to exacerbate the cut on his palm. As Noven began to read, Keene pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly but much more in control of himself, the dampened hand towel they'd used before gently held in his left. The lack of physical contact was refreshing in its own right and allowed him time to let his muscles relax and his mind calm from the near incessant protests it had been harboring since the day had begun. There was a calm there now, a gentle, steady commitment that allowed him some peace of mind as he wrapped up the wounded hand. Noven was dangerous, that was established. Even had he only been a vexer and nothing else, Keene would have come to the same conclusion, but there was more to the danger than a simple risk or cost. As dangerous as he was, Noven was also something he wanted - needed even. He was more than anything Keene had ever thought he'd find, and far more than anything he'd ever imagined he might actually come to experience personally. Thus, his mind was comfortable in rationalizing the peril Noven posed as an equal and understandable consequence of his desirability, rather than trying to find reasons he could not want Noven while still trying to comprehend his seemingly dangerous disposition.

Running the towel slowly and deliberately over the rest of his body as he listened, the smaller towel tightly wrapped around the palm of his injured hand, Keene kept his eyes on the other man, memorizing the manner in which his dark skin slid its way over the gentle rise of his muscles, the lighter, fainter marks from battles and scrapes of his past, even the way in which his lips moved as he spoke. He didn't want to forget anything about him. It was something he'd decided after their night together, though now it was for reasons more sentimental than anything else. The logic of the action he partook of, eyes scanning with a soft warmth that was only partially clouded by the natural neutral appearance of his features, was disregarded, just as he had decided to allow himself irrationality in all things Noven. Nothing about him or anything that involved him had made any sense to him at all, thus, Keene reasoned that was simply the manner in which the impossible man seemed to operate. It was more logical to remove logic from a situation in which it seemed it wasn't able to be applied than to cling to it and condemn oneself to needless confusion. It was still a strange concept, however, that he wasn't quite yet accustomed to.

He didn't listen very carefully to the contents of the letter, finding it far less interesting than Noven himself, but when the man moved to meet his gaze with a confusion regarding the note in his hands, Keene simply shrugged. He didn't profess to knowing the reasons behind much of what happened in the citadel, though he was sure those reasons were far easier to find than those he'd abandoned the search for. Whatever Amaryllis's game, Keene imagined she'd gained whatever it was she wanted from her interactions with them and needed little else. Stooping to finish drying his legs and feet as Noven procured the proper payment, Keene lifted his face to give Noven an impassive raise of the brow. "I believe I was repaid twice over that night for my trouble." Again, there was no humor in the statement as Keene fully believed that Noven's passion had been more than enough recompense for the meager loss of his money, even if it had been a substantial enough amount. "Besides, you would need many more than two coins to make up that loss if it were in money alone."

The calm, steady strength had finally returned to his voice, though it was a bit fainter as slightly more raspy than usual. Neatly folding the dampened towel, he set it beside Noven's before gathering up his clothes. There were few points in the process in which he redressed himself that he did not stare unabashedly at Noven. Keene was not of a mind for modesty, finding that even in those he was not attracted towards as he was Noven, there was no reason for it. A body was a body, and if one was needed to remove one's clothes for whatever reason, the manner in which a body was constructed was hardly need for concern. Still, even then his opinions were often not quite expressed in action having had at least the etiquette of modesty drilled into him and followed through with it when he thought to. With Noven, however, Keene didn't even try. He wanted to see Noven, all of Noven, and he enjoyed every tick of it. Up until that moment, Keene had never really understood the idiom of "guilty pleasures", but each time their eyes met and Noven's face flushed a shade darker, Keene began to get a small grasp of it.

Once they were nearly clothed and Keene had just finished buckling his belt, Noven offered another hesitant invitation to conversation. Keene blinked at the opening, not sure what Noven was getting at. As far as he was concerned, they had already addressed the subject when he had allowed himself to succumb and Noven with him. As he elaborated however, Keene's lips turned slightly downwards at the corners of his mouth. Noven's nervousness concerned him, not because of the nature of the emotion itself but because Keene had thought he had made his intentions clear. Shaking his head, he stepped forward, frown becoming a grimace for a few ticks as he placed a hand over Noven's to still them. "Day or night," His eyes held Noven's, a steady conviction pressing the softness of his tone towards that more of a fact than at reply, "It doesn't matter." Carefully, Keene gently set his lips against Noven's cheek, a surprisingly tender gesture that he had seen people use before but never truly understood. It wasn't as gratifying as the more searching mix of passion they had shared in the pool, but there was something about it that Keene found made it, perhaps, not as pointless as he had come to consider it.

Drawing back, but keeping his hand steady and forcing his mind away from the needling pain that ran its way up from his palm to the throb in his elbow, Keene inquired with a flicker of concern that was expressed more so in his memory of Noven's original concern than any true intonation or indication of feature. "What about Lady Redwulf?" The make-shift bandage of the towel had both staunched and stopped the bleeding of his left hand, only a small line of blurred, rust crimson bled through. The pain of the cut was less than the point of contact where his cool palm met Noven's warm and unsteady hands, making it nearly a non-entity as far as he was aware. Still, while Keene would have preferred to spend every moment they had left together, he still had a job to do, and Noven still had a life to return to. He didn't want to compromise the greater portion of Noven's future with the selfish desires of the present. Of course, it didn't change that Keene, personally, could have cared less about what Bitzer or even Palaren thought of the two of them. As far as he was concerned, their opinions were as important to him as a distant storm on the other side of the world. Noven's, however, were subjectively superior to his own, and while Keene preferred a less subtle means of seeing the other man, he was more than willing to do so for the vexer's sake.

[Noven]

It had taken him a moment to realize Keene was being completely serious, and not making a crack at the carnal nature of how they'd ended their evening as fugitives. Nov was getting quicker with interpreting the Initiate's barefaced speech, but it required some getting used to, as did much of what had passed between them.

Still, it was amusing. The idea that Keene had, in a roundabout sort of way, paid for a full night of earthly pleasure. It seemed Noven would never be able to truly escape the trappings of home. Even if only in spirit.

Mirth was soon replaced by heated chagrin as they dressed, then anxiety as he blurted out his request. And then, finally, an unexpected kind of peace to smooth the bristles of his self induced discomfort. Nov found his companion's ability to serve as a kind of personal, multipurpose balm strangely bewitching. Borderline mystical, even. Most people just agitated him to the point of violence. But Keene...Keene was able to soothe the ants in his blood with nothing more than a soft word and softer touch. A strain of powerful magic all on its own, and Keene its sole master.

The merc watched that characteristic frown move closer, noting how it deepened for a few breaths when a hand was laid over his. He stopped his note-shredding wringing almost instantly. The word magic echoed around his head. Releasing a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, Nov could feel the coolness of the Initiate's palm, his eyes drawn to that commanding, grey-green gaze in helpless obedience.

Day or night...his own gaze darkened for a tick. Clearly, his mind had not entirely left the pool along with his body.

But then Keene placed a tender kiss against his fevered cheek, and Noven melted back into calmness again. The act was as surprising as it was heartfelt. He turned his head just enough to lean his cheek against Keene's, breathing in the clean, pine scent that rose subtly and sweetly from the Initiate's pale skin. How astonishing, Nov thought idly to himself, for the presence of another to be so potent and delicate, masculine and tender, all at the same time. His right hand--the one free of crimson veins that now lay hidden beneath Keene's protective palm--turned slowly until it was cradling that of the Initiate's. Now they were both held between each other's touch, one dark one light, one steady and the other growing only steadier.

Noven ran a thumb across Keene's makeshift bandage as he considered his question, brow furrowed. With the Scars' departure approaching so soon, he knew his days would consist of one arrangement after another, whether for preparations or closing deals with the Nuits Bitzer had contracted them to, it didn't matter. It was going to be busy, and it was going to be trying. His job was still his greatest priority, if only on principle and ambition alone, and he knew he wasn't the only one who his hands tied. The Initiate had duties as well. Neither of them could afford to abandon their responsibilities for the sake of whim and sentiment.

But he would make time. And anyone who said otherwise could go hang.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Nov replied in a similarly soft, though rarer tone. "Wolf Girl has a companion of her own waiting back in The Berth. She'll more likely pity me than judge or torment." He didn't intend to divulge the private details of Bitzer's life, but he trusted Keene, and his inferred implications were hopefully enough. Moving his thumb to roam over the Initiate's knuckles rather than the bloodied towel, Nov added in naught but a whisper, "I know I would."

He stopped his thumb mid-rove and tore himself away from melancholic thoughts. "Day or night," Noven repeated, gently squeezing Keene's hand in earnest assurance. "Every moment I have to spare."