Artisan’s Sanctuary

A collection of notes

[artisanssanctuary]

There’s a certain amount of smugness that settles in Nadal’s chest when Valas possessively demands he braid the elderboy’s hair.  It’s an activity usually left to Xune and Nadal knows the rogue thinks himself a thief.  That he’s stealing from a female noble rather than indulging Nadal in an intimate bonding activity.  There’s trust in the act that Valas refuses to acknowledge.  Someone sitting at your back, knuckles brushing the back of your neck as they gather up strands.  It’s every soft moment Valas hates and he comes back to it time and again. Nadal turns his head, catches a hand in his own and pulls it slightly forward so he can press his lips to the rogue’s knuckles.  Valas snatches his hand away and his other hand twists into Nadal’s hair.  The elderboy leans into the sharp tug, smiles despite the acid, “Do not.” that falls from Valas’s lips.  Brat. “If you’re going to be like that, I can go back to Xune.”  Behind him Nadal can practically hear Valas fight with himself.  “Should I?”  Nadal leans forward a touch and Valas’s grip on his hair tightens.  The rogue’s other hand grabs his shoulder and hauls him back. “Don’t even dare,” Valas hisses.  If the rogue spends more time trying to imitate the intricate weaves Xune usually does, then Nadal doesn’t comment.  Valas hisses like an angry cat at his thanks as it is.

[artisanssanctuary]

Nadal is soft.  Not that anyone would guess looking at him.  Back in Intraril'tyrr when the elderboy never smiled, he cut an imposing figure.  Up here?  Soaked in sun and smiling as brightly?  How wretchedly soft.  Valas hisses at him, smacking at the hands running up his thighs too delicately.  The rogue is not glass and the feather light touches make him itch to be man handled.

But Nadal is soft and so are his touches.  It’s irritating how easy the elderboy lets himself be pushed back.  He rolls away with ease and makes a face like Valas has done something disgustingly cute when the rogue climbs into his lap.  Valas has to do everything.  He wants to wrap his fingers around the elderboy’s neck but his hands only make it to Nadal’s shoulders.  He’s still not sure how much the other man meant it when he said not to try that again.  Nadal pulls him in for a kiss, teeth and tongue and it’s acceptable.  Some of Valas’s ire ebbs away.

Fingers card through his hair and pull at it just so.  Enough to break the kiss and this time the feeling of frustration is good.  As good as the teeth over his pulse and Nadal’s low, “I could end you right here.”  And the threat of it makes Valas’s whole body sing in anticipation of pain.  The bite to his shoulder doesn’t break skin but Nadal flips them both and kisses Valas so hard he has to shove the elderboy away just to breathe.

The rogue pulls him back down for another kiss before he can be asked if he’s okay.  Nadal could be so good if he didn’t bring everything to a halt with nonsense.  Valas wraps his arms around the other man and tries to claw away the ink on his back.  That only makes Nadal press closer and that’s good too.  It’s Nadal who pulls away first this time but Valas beats him to the punch.

“Shut up.  Be a good boy and just shut up.”  He gets a critical look and for a moment Valas thinks Nadal will pull away.  He would too.  Because Nadal is a bastard who thinks a roll in a hay needs to be filled with reassurances that you’re fine.  Instead he does something worse.  He cups Valas’s cheek and kisses his forehead.

“Silly.”  Valas hisses and tries to scramble out from under the elderboy but Nadal’s other hand catches his shoulder and presses him in place.  Not enough to hurt.  No.  Not when he’s like this.  Nadal trails kisses across his jaw, down his neck, never once a hint of teeth.  Hands slip, firm and careful all at once down to his chest.  Valas hisses curses and insults and tries to knee Nadal in the gut but the angle is all wrong and Nadal is too close.

“I hate you so much!” 

Nadal laughs, forehead resting on Valas’s sternum.  “Usstan orn'la flohlu vel'klar dos nau'thal xuileb erg'les.” It’s said with a quiet reverence that makes Valas want to scream.  More unbearable than the words, than Nadal’s stupid face is the heat he can’t stop spreading over his face.  The elderboy has the gall to laugh at him and kiss him without teeth.

[artisanssanctuary]

Nadal Emaess’al is a bastard and a half and how he’s kept this fact from his sister is a mystery.  It’s sickening, hearing the familial affection in their voices as they say farewells.  Finally.  An entire three hours of sitting around talking about reports, and their days, and garbage feelings about the future.  Valas ignores the jeers from his...allies...as he leaves his table to slip into Xune’s vacated seat.

At least, that was the intent, but as stated: Nadal Emaess’al is a bastard and a half.  Valas is only just within range when the elderboy drags him into his lap and wrapping his arms around him in a hug.  “Hello there.”  The embrace is intimate and stifling, made worse by the affectionate kiss Nadal presses to his temple.

Really, the elderboy has become too comfortable with...whatever this is.  Valas slaps at his arms, which obediently unwind from around his middle.  That’s nice at least.  Valas slips out of his lap and into a seat of his own. 

“You need to stop doing that.”  Nadal gives him a long look, like a stupid dog trying to read a spell book.  But of all Nadal’s horrible flaws, his blind obedience is one that works in Valas’s favor.

“Alright.”  And there it is.  Agreement, simple.  It’s irritating.  More so when Nadal reminds Valas he can’t actually have his cake and eat it too.  The rogue has to buy back Nadal’s obedience in the bedroom with more public allowances.  The elderboy cashes in those promises the first chance he gets, scooping Valas up and telling him he’s adorable when the rogue snaps at him.  Valas is going to gag the man later.

[artisanssanctuary]

Nadal thinks Valas is cute. It’s not an opinion he’s held very long. Small, devious, loud in ways that he doesn’t think anyone else has witnessed.  Nadal dips his head, scraps teeth along the shell of a pale ear.  Valas swears, jerks against the hands pinning his wrists down and hisses death threats.  Vulgar creature, Nadal used to think…still thinks.  Vulgar and impatient.  Nadal is willing to teach him patience.  Teach him manners.  Even if these lessons never stick, the elderboy gives it five more minutes before the rogue is a wreck who’s remembered the word “please”.  And how cute he’ll be when that happens.

[artisanssanctuary]

In the Underdark, when Nadal saw with tones of heat and cool and the shadows of things, blushing wasn’t something you could hide.  He could see anyone flush in anger or embarrassment, see his youngest sister’s cheeks grow warm in shame under the latest lecture their mother chose to give her.  Up here, both his sisters have an easier time at hiding feelings.  Most do.  

Valas, curiously, doesn’t bother.  At least not where Nadal is concerned.  It’s interesting, seeing color creep across the curious grey of his skin.  It bleeds from his ears and across his cheeks.  Valas’s fingers twitch for a knife, or maybe the weight of his crossbow in his hands.  Violence is always his first thought.  Nadal can see it in the way his eyes narrow and his mouth twists.  The elderboy thinks he could put color to Valas’s lips with enough kisses.

He raises a hand to draw a thumb over the rapidly vanishing line between dusky russet and grey.  Valas snatches it out of the air, hissing like a territorial cat.  “You need to stop.”

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”  The question only serves to darken the color of Valas’s cheeks.

“THAT needs to stop!”  Ah.  This again.  Nadal raises his hand, pulling the rogue with it as he stubbornly refuses to relinquish his grip.  “You bend to everyone’s whim like a dog doing tricks!  Even if it’s not expressed!”

Nadal stoops down, pressing kisses across Valas’s face.  “You’re so jealous.”

The rogue sputters and Nadal wonders if, in the dark, he could tell the difference between Valas’s anger driven flush and indignation and embarrassment.  “I AM NOT!”  He definitely is.  It’s almost cute.  Nadal nearly feels guilty for wanting to see what other ways he can bring color to the rogue’s face.

[artisanssanctuary]

Valas loves the militia’s training days.  Well, he loves watching the regimen more than participating in it.  Well...he loves watching Nadal sparring.  Valas withholds a laugh when the elderboy sends one of the female militia members face down into the dirt.  Maybe, in some other timeline, some other scenario, he would have put his sword through her back.  Valas’s mirth is soured by Nadal asking if she’s alright.  He at least doesn’t break stance, even if he lets her get back on her feet to resume their match.

The elderboy is still infuriatingly soft and weak, but when he puts her to the ground again he at least taps her with his blade and she yields.  It’s maddening.  Nadal Emaess’al could have been so much more than the shadow at his sister’s heels.  Nadal looks over to him as he leaves the sparring circle to make way for the next pair.  The idiot waves, smiling too easily, too brightly.  At least up here, Nadal isn’t painting a target on the rogue by being so chummy.  Valas goes back to target practice.

[essande]

Valas Deseth reminded Nadal of a chipmunk.  He was small, cute, and probably diseased in some way.  Watching his sister pet said chipmunk was something of a trial.  Valas practically glowed under her attention, even if the affectionate gesture was for something as minor as bringing her a book she’d forgotten on the veranda. 

“Thank you Valas, you’re always so helpful!” 

“Anytime, Lady Emaess'al.”  Nadal frowned as Valas bowed and whisked himself from the room, shoving that damn coonskin over his head as he went.  Nadal waited for Valas’s small form to vanish around the corner before he turned to catch up with his sister.  Of course she’d be trusting enough up here to turn her back and continue on her way.

“Xune, I wish you wouldn’t be so…”  Nadal trailed off, letting out a frustrated sigh.  Xune just gave him a glance.  Maybe he’d complained about Valas a few too many times to her now.  But who else was he going to complain to? “Just because things have changed doesn’t mean they’re any different.  You can’t just turn your back on people.  Especially him!”

“Nadal, I appreciate that you hate him, I do, but he hasn’t actually done anything–”

“Yet.”

“…He hasn’t actually done anything yet, and he chose to live up here.  With us.  I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.  Besides, even if he was up to something, I doubt he’d try anything on an open street.  …Nadal, you’re doing it again.”  Xune reached forward to yank her brother back.  “Walk next to me, silly!  Gosh, you’ve spent more time up here than me and you still think you’re down there sometimes.”

[artisanssanctuary]

Nadal Emaess’al is an infuriating man.  Valas hisses at him, tells him he’s a fool and a one day Valas is going to slit his throat.  Nadal just presses the hair brush into the rogue’s hand and tells him, “You won’t” with such assuredness that Valas wants to do so out of spite.  He doesn’t.  He tells himself it’s because Nadal is watching him through the mirror.  He could though, and that’s what’s important.

Allowing someone to tend to your hair is a grossly trusting act.  Perhaps Valas isn’t trusted as much as Xune because of the presence of a mirror here, but it’s a close second, certainly.  Standing at Nadal’s unarmored back, hands allowed so close to his neck, his spine...Valas could do quite the bit of damage.  A pettier part of him wants to simply gather up the curtain of white and cut it.  It would be so easy.  He runs the brush through too long hair and watches the elder boy’s eyes close.  Weakness.  Folly.

“I know you can do this yourself.”  Nadal hums, opening his eyes again.

“If you don’t want to, I could.”  Valas slaps away the hand that raises to reach for the brush.

“I never said that.”  The rogue’s seen Nadal braid his own hair too many times for it to be a treat.  Better this than him going to Xune.  That’s perhaps the best part of this.  That Nadal is here, with him, and not playing stylist with his weak willed sister.  Sure, this is a brazen display of stupidity, but Valas counts it as a win anyway.

[artisanssanctuary]

The second time Valas pushes Nadal down and takes full control, he lets him.  It’s infuriating.  Nadal is too sweetly obedient, even when Valas bites and scratches and pulls on clothing so hard they rip.  It’s the amusement that the rogue hates the most.  Nadal pulls him down for a kiss, sweet and elegant, and Valas ruins it immediately with teeth and tongue and fingers twined in the elderboy’s hair.  He rakes nails down Nadal’s chest and calls him weak.  They really should have been doing it this way all along.  

Maybe, perhaps.  Valas presses into the other male with a groan and yanks at his head to the side to get him at the right angle to press teeth into his neck.  He mutters insults about Nadal being unfit for anything but this.  It feels like playing with fire in the wake of the last time Valas attempted this.  His hands itch to wrap around Nadal’s exposed throat.  He settles for holding down Nadal’s wrists, if only to make him stop pulling him in for kisses that he frankly doesn’t deserve.

The legs around his waist are unexpected, holding him still as Nadal takes a few breaths, lips bloody and eyes distant.  “Give me a moment.”

It’s a strange tone. Valas wants to ignore it, pressing back against the weight on his back.  Nadal focuses on him.

“I could crush your spine.” Fuck.  The low warning tone sends chills down Valas’s spine and he shudders. He’s tempted to push the issue, to dig his nails into the elderboy’s thighs and force him to lay open and compliant. To get him to fight.  Nadal gives him a look, legs wrapping tighter around the rogue in a silent threat that nearly undoes him.  Valas presses his forehead against Nadal’s sternum, and he feels Nadal free his hands.  Fingers card gently through his hair.

The moment passes, and Valas is finally allowed to move again.  “I should have strangled you again,” he hisses, fingers digging too hard into thighs, just to make Nadal whine.  He feels like this is something that is going to be a rarity, pressing the elderboy into the bed and using him.  For now it’s worth it, because Nadal takes his hands and slides them up to his neck.

“Try it.”  The words are a threat.  Plain and simple, and Nadal’s amusement is gone for a split moment. It’s the hottest the elderboy has ever been.

[artisanssanctuary]

Xune’s hair is an intricate loop of braids today, a lovely purple ribbon twined in for color against the stark white.  She’s pretty.  They both are, actually.  Valas always thought the twins of House Emaess’al were pretty.  Pretty and vapid.  A bleeding heart who argued that fear was too fleeting an emotion to buy proper loyalty and her loyal dog who’d she’d trained up on support and understanding.  A perfect example to prove her point.  Xune’s weakness was left unchecked.

And she’s still weak now, bustling between people and trying to keep tabs on everyone personally.  She worries about everyone’s well being, how they’re adjusting, if they’re getting along well with the few residents here that aren’t fellow escapees.  She worries about if they’re being treated well by the adventurers and merchants who pass through.  Xune worries, trying to take on everyone’s problems as her own and in turn everyone worries for her.  Their guardian who stepped in to argue that an injured worker is less productive, that if a worker wasn’t getting things done then that is the fault of poor management of resources on the overseer’s part.  

Valas wouldn’t mind giving her one less person to worry over.  He wants to claw the tattoo off Nadal’s back and crop his hair short, take everything that marks the elderboy as a male of House Emaess’al and throw it away.  But the dog off his leash will still his at his mistress’s heels and Valas knows it.  Maybe it’s because of her kindness, maybe it’s because of her weakness.  What a good dog Nadal is.  Valas wants to tear their relationship apart, take the leash from her and pull it so tight Nadal chokes.  

“Is the day finding you well, Valas?”  He hates that she’s taken the time to know everyone’s names, but he smiles at her anyway.

“It always does, milady.”  She gives him a smile, bright and genuine, with an ease that makes him hate her more.

“Please, just Xune is fine, really.”  No one ever does call her that, no matter how she insists.  Valas just shakes his head and she lets it go rather than argue.  Nadal gives him a curious look as he passes by, catching up to walk a step ahead.  A habit Valas is sure he’ll never be broken of, even as his sister catches his arm to pull him back next to her.  She whispers something to him and he grins.  Valas’s hands itch.

[artisanssanctuary]

There’s no conversation about it.  Valas was never one to bother with that sort of thing.  He pushes at Nadal until the stupid giant of a drow is on his back and Valas presses biting kisses down his neck.  It’s the kind of lavishing attention Nadal usually enjoys giving Valas and for once the smaller male can see the appeal.  There’s a certain power in batting away hands and making someone lie back and take everything you have to give.  

There should be more fight though, really, if Valas is honest with himself.  Nadal is too content to watch Valas, only occasionally attempting to pull him up to kiss him.  He succeeds once, catching Valas under his arms and kissing him slow and lazy and sweet, despite the bruises and scratches the rogue insists on digging into his skin.  Too forgiving, too trusting.  There’s too much of a smile on his face, even when Valas bites him so hard on the hip he draws blood.  Nadal doesn’t protest the change of roles.

“If you don’t stop me, I’m going to hurt you.”  Irreparably, visibly.  Mark him up in a way that no one can ever claim Valas wasn’t some bone deep part of Nadal’s life once.  Valas is rough when he slides oil slick fingers into Nadal, sneering and digging a thumb into the bloody teeth marks at the elderboy’s hip.  Nadal hisses, but he doesn’t stop Valas.  Because he’s an idiot.  A moron.  A dog who just listens to whatever command he’s--

“You won’t.”  Valas freezes.  Gawking at Nadal as the elderboy smiles lazily back at him.  “I trust you.”

A shudder of something the rogue can’t identify runs through him.  “I could kill you any moment you know.”

“You won’t.”

The next moment he’s sitting on Nadal’s stomach, wrapping his hands around the elderboy’s throat.  “You fucking idiot.  You placid mutt!  You weak minded simpleton--fight me.”  Valas never had any illusions that Nadal could be overpowered head on like this.  Warm hands rest against his back but there’s no motion to pull him off, even when he leans his weight on his arms.  No one is this trusting.  He’ll kill the damn man and make a run for it.  He’d be long gone before Xune suspected a thing. He’ll be done with this fixation once and for all because Nadal Emaess’al should not trust--fuck he really does, doesn’t he?  Nadal would really let himself just strangled to death in his own bed, thinking Valas would stop.

Valas pulls his hands away, that unknown feeling rolling through his veins like ice and fire at once.  Nadal coughs, gasping for air while Valas stares at him in horror.  He could have stopped him.  He should have stopped him.  Valas is sure an unseen bruise will mark the elderboy’s neck for a while.  A horrible secret between the two of them.  A hand slides up Valas’s back and into his hair, twisting painfully.

“Good boy.”  The words are hoarse and breathless and all Nadal says before forcing Valas down for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue.  The breath is knocked out of him as Nadal flips them over, still recovering his breath.  “Good boy,” he repeats.  It hits Valas, as Nadal’s teeth scrape too roughly across the shell of his ear, that Nadal Emaess’al has likely never done anything in his life that he didn’t want to do on some level.  

“I still trust you.”  Valas slaps a hand over the elderboy’s mouth.  He needs to not.  He needs to not.  Nadal presses a kiss against his palm, easily pulling his hand away despite Valas’s attempts to keep it where it is.  “Hey.  Are you okay?”

“Don’t you dare ask after me,”  Valas hisses.  It’s upsetting.  He hates it.  How dare he when not two minutes ago he was being strangled?  Nadal presses a kiss against his hairline and moves off of him.

“We’ll stop.”  Valas doesn’t protest when Nadal pulls him close to cuddle.  He owes him that, at least, tonight.  “You won’t do that again.”  The words come quiet and low, after several minutes of silence.  It’s not a taunt, there’s no confident mirth in the words.  It’s an order, a statement, a threat perhaps, another declaration of trust because Valas could damn well try to choke the life out of the elderboy if he wanted to.

“I won’t.”  Valas doesn’t want to anymore anyway.

[artisanssanctuary]

Nadal calls in the favor Valas owes him the night a traveling bard troupe rolls into town. They put on an impromptu play, for tips and the thrill of an exotic audience.  Valas is both surprised and not surprised at the timing.  He hadn’t thought Nadal would do anything on a night his sisters were in attendance.  Yet here they all are.  Xune’s attention is locked on the tiny stage the inn boasts.  Xull’rae’s attention is on Valas, glowering like a spoiled child who’s been denied a beloved toy.  

Valas resists the urge to stick his tongue out at the child, an easy feat.  It doesn’t feel like he’s won anything particularly wonderful. Nadal had picked him up on his way out and reminded him that fair was fair.  The rogue reminded himself exactly what this was in trade for.  Honestly, Valas was beginning to wonder if Nadal would have gone his entire life without someone sharing his bed if Valas hadn’t barged in.

There’s nothing particularly sexual about the way Nadal holds him either.  Nothing they can’t get away with, anyway.  Nadal has an arm draped around Valas’s waist, thumb rubbing lazy circles against the rogue’s hip.  It’s an absent gesture, one that only pauses when Valas twists to look at Nadal during a particularly heinous bit of the play that Nadal has the nerve to laugh at. The elderboy’s expression is disgustingly mirthful, even when he presses a light kiss to Valas’s lips and then his temple.  

Valas waves him off with one hand and tells him to watch the play.  His other hand is otherwise trapped, fingers tangled with Nadal’s on the table in a shameless display.  Valas tries to subtlety free his hand all of once, but that just makes the elderboy hug him with both arms, which is intolerable. Valas intertwines their fingers again and drags Nadal’s left hand back to the table top.

The entire affair is intolerable, really.  Nadal is warm against his back, and every now and again he laughs and whispers a comment to him like a secret.  People glance at them from time to time, peering at something Valas wants to guard jealously because this stupid, soft intimacy is his and he’s never been inclined to share things.  He wants to take every piece of Nadal he’s forced the elderboy to address and keep it between them.  Out here, like this, Nadal smiles too often, feels too comfortable gifting Valas little kisses when the rogue twists to look at him.

No one else should be thinking of Nadal as someone who kisses. Valas huffs, wanting to drag the elderboy up to one of the inn rooms when the play ends and Nadal gives a contented sigh.  His teeth itch and he resists the urge to bury them in the elderboy’s wrist, to twist around and mark him up and show everyone exactly who Nadal Emaess’al belongs to.  Nadal smiles into Valas’s hair and murmurs a thank you before he finally lets the rogue slip from his lap.  Valas feels cold now.  He focuses on that instead of his desire to haul Nadal down for a proper kiss.

He has to field questions from Xune about the play now anyway.

[artisanssanctuary]

Valas growls at the arm that wraps around his middle and hauls him under the covers.  Their arrangement, as it were, would be perfect if Nadal weren’t so…feely.  The elderboy’s need to cuddle is just so very maddening. The act is so soft and weak and so very him.  Nadal parcels out pain like rewards between sweet kisses and soothing touches, and does embarrassingly intimate things like murmuring praise into Valas’s hair.  If this were proper, if this were raw and rough and a fight for control then maybe Valas wouldn’t be so opposed to laying in Nadal’s bed for longer than strictly necessary.

Nadal doesn’t even rest when they do this, tucking Valas under his chin and hugging him close to “feel him breathing.”  Valas could do without other little rituals too.  Getting cleaned up is…fine, he’ll tolerate that, but being asked if he’s okay until he answers in some way is annoying, and Nadal’s little apology kisses on every bruise is just…Valas thinks he’s winning the war on that one at least, after he’d snatches his hand away and hissed at the elderboy once.

Of course, more frustrating than all of that is Nadal’s refusal to just take what’s being offered. Every time Valas manages to wheedle Nadal into bedding him it’s Valas getting off and then it’s just…whatever this is.  

Valas wriggles, elbowing Nadal in the gut.  Stupid elderboy doesn’t even flinch.  “This is stupid.  We’re done here.”

“I’m not.”  Hands pull him closer, warm and innocently wrapped around his middle.  Valas can almost feel the elderboy smiling into his hair and it’s almost too intimate. Valas twists and manages to get enough distance between them to scowl at the larger elf.

“I am.  Listen, if you want to keep me in your bed longer, maybe you should consider making sure I’m too sore to leave it.”

Nadal looks at him a long moment, eyebrows raised.  His grip around Valas’s middle doesn’t relent, so the rogue is rather certain he’s doomed to cuddles anyway.  That is until Nadal shifts, rolling to press Valas into the mattress and pressing their foreheads together.  “Is that advice for next time or are you asking for this now?”

Valas blinks, teeth scraping his bottom lips as he considers.  Nadal is so…obedient about this sort of thing.  To a point. Valas could do without having to beg for release, but the idea of being roughed up proper is tantalizing.  So he purrs, “Now.” And is rewarded with a kiss that’s tongue and teeth and a bruising grip at his jaw to angle his head just so.  It’s a lovely opening.  More so when he tries to tangle his hands in Nadal’s hair and his hands are caught and slammed into the mattress.

“Hands to yourself, Valas.” The elderboy’s tone suggests the rogue will be punished for not complying.  Valas pretends it’ll be something other than getting kicked out. He twists his hands into the sheets instead and groans when Nadal’s teeth scrape over the shell of his ear.  “Good boy.”

He is a good boy, isn’t he?  When he wants to be.  And Valas will be well behaved if it means getting what he wants.  Nadal definitely gives him what he wants, even if Valas foggily remembers a pause in the middle of it all where the elderboy asked him if he was okay of all things.  Valas is perfect.  He stretches while Nadal gets up to do…whatever it is Nadal goes to do between the end of their little sessions and ugh, cuddling.

But every little movement reminds Valas of something that will be sore in the morning, so the rogue supposes he’ll tolerate being treated like a comfort toy tonight.  Or not. The elderboy takes his sweet time being away.  When Nadal comes back though, he doesn’t pull the covers up and snuggle into Valas.  Oh no.  He instead bundles the blankets around Valas and picks him up, and they’re both out the door.

“What.”  Nadal half shrugs.

“We did something you wanted...twice technically.”  Valas isn’t sure if he’s proud of Nadal or not for noticing the poor exchange rate. He chooses to be suspicious.

“And?”  A half shrug again, and Nadal opens a door with his foot. …The bathroom.  Valas stares at the full tub and then squints at Nadal. The blankets are discarded and Valas is set in the luke warm water, and oddly, the elderboy doesn’t join him.  Or maybe not so oddly.   “Oh.”

Valas sighs and makes the most of it, letting Nadal go so far as to wash his hair.  It’s weird…and exhilarating.  Being waited on like this by a noble would be exquisite if Nadal didn’t look so serenely happy about it.  And maybe if he’d stop giving Valas those small, sweet kisses and telling him he was so good for behaving.  It makes Valas wanna revolt.  He doesn’t though, because the thought rises when Nadal finally joins him in the tub and he’s still pleasantly sore and Nadal’s warmth is a lovely contrast with the cooling water.

“You know the price for something like that is gonna go up.”

“You’re gonna want a bath and cuddling after as the standard, aren’t you…”  Valas can practically here Nadal smile as he pulls Valas closer and presses a kiss into his hair.  

“You’re so smart.  I may start asking for you to sit in my lap at the tavern too.”  The rogue scowled, twisting to look at the elderboy.  Nadal had the nerve to smile back at him.  “Nothing hard, you’d just have to sit there.”

“You want me to cuddle with you.  In public.”  How stupidly human and tame.  Valas saw things like that from time to time.  An adventurer with a bubbly woman in their lap, joking with each other and ugh, sometimes feeding each other bites of food with their hands.  It was sentimental and weak.  Nadal would love it.  Valas huffed, resting back against the elderboy.

“Fine.”  They could renegotiate later.

[artisanssanctuary]

Valas Deseth is soft. That’s something Nadal enjoys about him. All small frame and deceitful padding. He runs his hands down pale sides, admiring the press of his fingers into pliant flesh.  Getting to this point was a trial.  Nadal wishes Valas didn’t fight so.  But that’s what Valas is, a fight.  Even when he wants something, he will fight.  It makes no sense, but then again, what does Nadal know.  An uncharitable part of him glances past Valas’s face to his silver hair…but Valas isn’t crazy, no.  The only crazy one in this room is Nadal.

His hands travel down to hips and thighs.  He bends, lips brushing over the shell of an ear, teeth scraping over skin.  Valas jerks his head away, Nadal doesn’t pursue the action.  If Valas looks disappointed, that’s his own fault.  He grumbles, but stays quiet for now, obedient only through threat of this all ending.  That threat is dirty all on its own, but the rogue stayed, so here they are.  Nadal’s mouth dips down lower instead, teeth and tongue on skin enough to bruise but not to bleed.  His hands skirt up inner thighs, a ghost of a touch that yanks a laugh out of Valas and a curse.

Nadal pauses.  This whole evening has been stop and go:  From finding the rogue draped on his bed to tying the bastard to his headboard.  They both know Valas can free himself anytime.  Nadal is surprised he hasn’t.  Glad he hasn’t.  He’s being so good.  Nadal bites, just on the edge of breaking skin, because the elderboy refuses to do anything to Valas that will result in the need for medical care.  The rogue hisses, pushes up against him.  A leg hooks about his waist and tries to pull him down.  Ah. Nadal presses pale hips back down against the bed.  Not yet.

He shifts, settling himself so Valas is easily stopped if he tries to get friction.  Instead, that particular need is ignored in favor of marking up the rest of his skin in bites and scratches.  Just once Nadal feels a hand on his head, but when he glances up, Valas’s hands are both gripping the headboard and wrapped in a scarf.  There’s also curses on his lips, but for the past few minutes that’s been the norm.  Nadal presses a kiss to Valas’s inner thigh and starts a trail up to his hip. Valas starts threatening to kill him.

Nadal smiles against heated skin and decides he’ll finally give the rogue the attention he’s been begging for, but not before reaching up and cinching the rogue’s hands back to the headboard.  He really should punish Valas for that, but he’s been so patient.  Nadal lets it slide.  He pulls hard enough that the man underneath him groans and arches.

“Nadal please.”  That was new. He didn’t hate it.  The rogue’s hips are shoved back down again, Nadal’s left thumb pressing hard enough to bruise.  The elderboy briefly thinks of getting Valas to promise to stay out of his room.  Then again, Valas probably would say anything to get what he wanted and disregard any promises later.   The thought is brushed away and Nadal gets back on track to what he was doing before making sure he wouldn’t find the rogue’s hands in his hair.

Valas whines and swears and honestly lasts longer than Nadal expects.  Then again, Valas is pure stubbornness, and Nadal doesn’t doubt the rogue fought with himself just to see a noble servicing him for as long as possible. The elderboy kisses him, now that he’s puddle of pliancy.  

“Stay.”  Valas mumbles something along the lines of not being a dog. Nadal ignores him, already off the bed and pulling on a robe so he can go fetch water.  When he returns, Valas is where he left him, still tied to the headboard though now less out of it.  The rogue squints at him and his pail and washcloth.  Both are set on the side table.

Valas hands are freed and Nadal presses his lips against darkening wrists too.  Really, Valas is going to be a canvas of bruising, but at least most of it is easily hidden.  His hands are snatched back.

“If we’re done here, I’m—Oof!”  Valas blinks up at Nadal, glancing down at the palm on his chest that forced him back down onto the bed.  “Are we not done?”  There’s wary excitement in his voice.  Cute.  

“Stay.”  Nadal says, rather than give a proper answer.  Valas stays, glowering, then griping when Nadal goes about wiping the smaller elf down.  “Are you okay?”

The rogue gives the elderboy a look, disapproving and a little bit bewildered.  Nadal stops and repeats the question, quiet and concerned.

“I’m fine.  You can also stop being so fucking gentle with that, god damn, I’m not glass.”  No, Nadal supposed he wasn’t, but they already did Valas’s thing.  And now Valas was going to indulge him.  Nadal draped the cloth over the edge of the pail and pulled the covers up from where they’d been kicked down to the foot of the bed.  “What is happening?!”

“Shh, be a good boy just a little longer.”  Nadal slid under the covers with Valas, catching the rogue around the waist and tucking the smaller elf against him.  He kissed the rogue’s temple, hugging him tighter than comfortable to keep him from wriggling away.  

“FINE.  I’ll cuddle, goddamn.  At least let me--”  Hands brushed against Nadal’s abdomen, seeking the edges of his robe.  Ah.

“That’s not necessary.” The hands paused, then a heavy sigh left Valas.

“Fine.”

[artisanssanctuary]

Discovering that Valas Deseth is besotted with him gives Nadal something to think about.  The rogue’s wheedling and barbs about his wasted potential are the same as before, and he’s willing to hurt but he’s not willing to kill.  Perhaps, to someone else, the bold declaration of having given up the opportunity for murder would be romantic.  Valas had done so several times, actually, though he’d always framed it as a cautionary lesson.  The rogue is too keen on trying to improve Nadal.  To what end?  Who knows.

Nadal watches him from across the tavern floor.  For all Valas complains that Nadal is soft spoken the rogue can be too, when he wants to be.  Soft and sweet as his face might imply.  And everyone here is fooled by it.  There’s no break in character when anyone here turns their back on him, even when Valas locks eyes with Nadal as he carries drinks over to…friends?  Does Valas have friends?

Nadal knows the two Valas is sitting with.  They’re amiable enough but not the folks Nadal would envision Valas making friends with. They trust him, they don’t even test their drinks.  Why wouldn’t they trust small, obedient Valas?  Valas who laughs without malice and who responds to a story of a poor showing in sparring with sympathy and encouragement.  No one gets called a dog.

It’s unsettling, really, when Valas locks eyes with him finally.  There’s no shock at discovering he has Nadal’s attention, but there’s no smug pride either.  He just smiles, kind and sweet: a show for the others here.  It puts Nadal on edge.  That’s enough Valas watching for today.  Nadal finishes off his drink and leaves.

Valas finds him later and Nadal isn’t even surprised.  Things like private spaces and second floors?  The rogue doesn’t respect those things.  Like he doesn’t respect locked windows.  Nadal pretends not to notice the whisper of wood against wood or the quiet shift of cloth as Valas lets himself in.  He doesn’t bother looking up from his book, even when he sees the glint of a blade.  Valas Deseth isn’t a real danger.

His book suffers for it. Nadal looks at the knife pinning the novel to his desk.  Valas’s other arm is wrapped around him, pressed tight against his neck but not quite cutting off his air yet.

“One of these days the person through your window won’t be as sweet and forgiving of your stupidity as I am.”  Valas hisses in his ear, reclaiming his knife and Nadal catches his wrist before he actually gets stabbed.  The arm around his neck tightens and the rogue bites him of all things.  Nadal hisses and wrenches the knife from Valas’s hand, standing even though it just puts more pressure on his neck.  

His chair clatters to the floor as Valas uses it to get better leverage, trying to get his weapon back. Nadal digs the damn thing back into the desk and reaches up to pull at Valas’s arm.  Wrenching the limb from its socket would be easy.  Nadal doesn’t do it.  Instead he twists and slams into a wall.  Valas grunts and tightens his grip.  Nadal slams him into the wall again and this time the grip slackens as the rogue shifts to try and wriggle free from being pinned.  Nadal tightens his grip on Valas’s arm and Valas bites him again.  The man needs a muzzle.

They both pause when there’s a knock on the door.  Valas’s boots dig into his back as the rogue scrambles for purchase.  He shoves, Nadal moves with the motion if only to avoid boot shaped bruises later.

“Nadalninuk?  Are you okay?”  Xune’s voice is drenched in worry as she tries the door.  Locked.  Nadal wonders why he bothers.  Locks never keep Valas out.  Speaking of, the elderboy reaches out and twists his hand into Valas’s hair before the rogue can complete his dash to the window.

“Everything’s fine, Xune.” He keeps his voice even despite the nails clawing at his fingers and wrist.  Nadal doesn’t like how twisting his hand harder into Valas’s hair makes the rogue moan of all things.  He especially doesn’t like the careful “Oh.” from his sister on the other side of the door.

“I’ll let you be then, have a good night!”  Her footsteps fade and Valas lets out laughter.  It’s different than his laugh at the inn.

“Have a good night!”  Valas grins at him, despite the hand in his hair and his unceasing attempts to be rid of it.  Maybe a gag, instead of a muzzle.  Valas really is best when he’s quiet.  Nadal swings the rat into the wall.  His other hand wraps around the smaller elf’s neck to pin him there.  Valas is always pushing for violence from him, he can have it this once.

“Listen, you will not break into my room anymore.  Understand?”  There’s something in Valas’s eyes now.  He’s seen it before.  Always when they’re in the midst of one of these stupid scraps that no one ever really wins.

“No.”  Nadal sighs.  He pulls the rogue from the wall and slams him back into it instead.  He hates to think what his sister is spinning together about all this in her head.  “Make me.”  Valas chokes out.  Nadal isn’t sure if the tone is flirtatious or just breathy because of a lack of air.

“Valas, I really would like to not hurt you further.”  Even as he says this, Nadal can see the bright fire of something in Valas’s eyes. Ugh.  The smaller male is turned on by this.  Why is he turned on by this? Indulging him isn’t going to work here. So Nadal falls to the only thing he knows Valas hates.  He loosens his grip, hand just resting on ash skin now.  “If you don’t stay out of my room, I’m going to kiss you.”

Valas stares at him, suspicion replacing the spark that was there prior.  “You hate kissing me.”  

“Swear you’ll stay out of my room.”

“Make me.”  Perhaps, in novels, this would be the point where two people would share a passionate kiss, full of desperation and barely contained feelings.  Nadal, instead, slides his hand up Valas’s throat and cups his cheek.  “Whoa, wait.”

Nadal is halfway down, but he stops.  Valas looks utterly bewildered.  “Yes?”

“We were fighting.”

“We’re still fighting.” The pair stare at each other a long moment and then Valas surges forward.  His hands raise up to tangle in Nadal’s hair and yank him down those last few inches.  Damn. It’s the kind of kiss that’s teeth and tongue and Nadal has to force Valas back down against the wall, hands framing his face.  Valas just pulls Nadal with him.  This threat wasn’t well thought out.

Nadal pulls back before Valas’s teeth can actually cut open his bottom lip.  He ignores the way his hair is pulled in response.  The way Valas tries to press against him.  He peppers light kisses across the rogue’s face instead, avoiding his mouth to press his lips against Valas’s throat. The angle is awkward.  He drops to his knees and Valas whines.  The whole affair is strange.  The hands in his hair move to his shirt and pull.  Trying to take it off or yank him up, Nadal isn’t sure.  

“Hey, swear to me, and I’ll stop.”  It’s a whisper against Valas’s neck and the rogue knees him in the chest in response. So it’s gonna be like that.  Nadal slips his hands lower, gentle and only pressing more against Valas when he tries to push from the wall.  Valas’s own hands are more insistent, one still hauling on his shirt and the other tangling in his hair again.  

“If you won’t kiss me like you said you would, then at least break skin, you coward.  ”

That had to stop. Nadal drops his hands and for once Valas was obediently docile, but probably only because his attention was on the elderboy undoing his belt.  The hand in hair turned gentle, carding through his hair almost affectionately.  “If you’re trying to get me to leave, you’re doing an awful job at it.”

Nadal pulled Valas’s belt free.  “Give me your hands.”

The hand in the elderboy’s hair stilled and when Nadal looked up, Valas’s face was a mix of amusement and desire.  He was really into this sort of thing, wasn’t he?  “No.”

…And yet he was gonna fight every little thing?  Nadal scowled, catching the rogue around the middle when he tried to escape his place against the wall.  This really felt like he was playing into what Valas wanted.  Nadal forced him back to the wall as best her could without hurting him.  The rogue pulled him up again, fingers hooking painfully behind his jaw and teeth clacking together with the force of Valas’s exuberance.  Nadal caught his hands, pulling back and feeling for the belt so he could cinch them together. His mouth tastes like copper and blood is smeared over the rogue’s lips.  He struggles, but it’s not a rabid bid for escape.  Nadal feels like he’s started a game that he doesn’t know the rules to.

“Behave.  For once in your miserable life, behave.” Nadal should end this.  He should just throw the rogue out into the hall and be done with this for tonight.  That would be a punishment on its own he thinks, because at this rate he’ll never get the promise he wants.  So he throws the rogue over his shoulder and gets kicked in the stomach for his trouble. There’s at least less clawing. Nadal unlocks his door and drops Valas outside.  “Bad dog.”

The door clicking shut does nothing to muffle Valas’s swearing.  Nadal locks the door again out of habit.  What a strange night.

[artisanssanctuary]

The shot is perfect: Bolt whizzing past Nadal’s head and buried itself in the dirt.  Only snowy hair is disturbed, and the noble still jerks away just a moment too late.  Valas’s smile is all teeth as Emaess’al’s elderboy turns his attention to him.  

“You could have killed me.” Valas wonders if he should point out he could have done that exact thing countless times in the past.  Perhaps he’ll bring it up later.  After all, many of those moments were because of Nadal’s misplaced trust in him.  This instance was simply because the noble wasn’t expecting an enemy in the trees. They’re out here rooting out bandits after having scattered a camp that was too close to town for comfort.

“I could have.  I really should have.  You have the keen senses of a dead halfling.  But I would have hoped you’d think to check the trees.” Valas hops down from his perch, slinging his crossbow around his shoulder.  “I really don’t know why I ever expect you to have a thought in that empty head of yours though.  If it weren’t for your sister lending you hers, I wonder if you’d have any thoughts at all.”

Nothing.  Valas hates it when Nadal just stares at him like that, curious and thoughtful.  He never reacts right.  But that’s nothing new, is it?  The rogue scowls and beelines past Nadal to retrieve his bolt.  No use letting the ground keep it.

“You didn’t kill me.” Oh please.  

“Yes that much was obv—”

“You won’t kill me.”  Hey now.  Valas whips around, scowling and utterly insulted.  Won’t?  WON’T? Anger turns to ice for a brief moment. The look on Nadal’s face can only be described as piteous and Valas suppresses the urge to claw it off the noble. Instead he gets angrier and his knife finds its way into his hand.  

“I could kill you right now!”  Nadal blinks at him, tired and pitying and that expression has to stop.  He doesn’t even move to defend himself.  No change in stance.  His hand shakes.  He could scream right now.

“Okay.”  Valas does scream, throwing his knife down because it’s just not worth trying to so much as maim him if he’s going to be like this.  No fight, no pride.  Just stupid dumb acceptance.  It’s the worst.

“What is wrong with you?!”  Valas’s hands reach up to grab the top of Nadal’s armor, and he shakes with all his might.  “’OKAY’?! What kind of shit answer is that!? Okay!  Anyone else might have taken that invitation you stupid, spineless mutt!  Is this a new trick?  Roll over, play dead!  Stop fucking smiling!”

Come to think of it, has Nadal ever really reacted correctly to anything?  Even back when there had been a clash of authority at the tunnel entrance after that surface raid.  Nadal had groused but let it go, hadn’t he?  Where had been the noble pride and push for obedience there?  

“You won’t.”  Valas punches him in the face.  Idiot still has the gall to look smug the whole trek back to town and Valas’s hand aches.  He only feels marginally better.

[artisanssanctuary]

Ferra Fairfoot

Halfling

Female

3′6″

The eldest daughter of Shelbis and Speria Fairfoot.  She helps around the inn, busing tables and taking orders.  The lack of people in her age group around town means she’s either roped into her sister’s friend group or chatting with adults, and Ferra finds the whole thing a bit tiring.  She kind of wishes Alak and Corywyn’s calmer nature would rub off on Fred, but so far that hasn’t happened.

Talking to inn patrons has given her an interest in traveling again, like their family used to do.  Unlike her sister, Ferra understands the need for caution and preparation.  As of now she’s collecting tips and saving to buy a sword from Teak.  Then she’ll get to go out and have real stories to tell when she gets back, and not just tales about the wildlife she saw or the fish she caught.