rattling windowpanes
Thunder boomed as lightning crackled across the sky. The power had long since gone out; it was dodgy in his neighborhood, the entire grid a bit ramshackle to begin with, and against the howling wind it stood no chance. Electricity as Ethadril knew it was still a fairly new, untested thing in his city--after all, who needed lightbulbs when most of the surviving populace could probably provide illumination for themselves with magic? Yet here and there, with greater and greater frequency, it was being implemented. Most people--the priest included--saw that there was profit to be had in renting to non-elves, who generally appreciated the convenience of a lightswitch within easy reach. Hell, even their own magically uninclined citizens seemed intrigued by such a novel convenience. It was thus far a highly successful endeavor--aside from those nights the city was washed clean by torrential downpours.
Ethadril huddled on his side in his mass of blankets, eyes wide and locked upon the lone window of his bedroom. Fat lot of good wiring his house for electricity did him now. The layered, gauzy batiste curtains he so loved obscured all of the window but a single long, vertical strip, perhaps two inches in width. It was into this strip that the priest's glare bored, out into the black, bleak night.
He hated storms. Every inch of him was locked tense, rigid. He didn't even know /why/--after all, he was perfectly safe inside his house, in his comfortable bed with all of his soft pillows and blankets. His roof was sound; the walls around him were sturdy. He wasn't in any danger of having to go outside. He had nothing to fear.
And yet the atmospheric unrest outside his window set him on edge. Every storm, every night. What little sleep he happened across--if he managed any at all--was miserable and restless, fraught with anxious tossing and turning.
It was silly. It didn't make /sense/. He was a grown man. There was no reason for a grown man to be so irrationally terrified of storms, and yet there he lay--irate, scowling at his window, and uncomfortably moist and sweat-dampened.
He could do something about the last, at least. Grousing, the priest extricated himself from his blankets, flapping the bottom hem of his cornflower blue nightshirt to air himself out. Really it was too warm for the baggy buttondown garment /and/ blankets, but he felt keenly vulnerable and exposed in just his underpinnings--the clingy boxer briefs he wore were scant protection against the night's prying eyes.
That didn't make a whole lot of sense either. Eth sighed, giving his blankets a good shake to air them out as well. He was a hairy furnace, prone to overheating on hot, humid nights--and sadly the rain lacked even the barest decency of bringing with it anything resembling a soothing chill.
Perhaps a drink would smother a bit of his displeasure. Not an alcoholic beverage of course, as he never indulged--but possibly a glass of tea from the coldchest, which fortunately drew power from a magical source rather than an electrical one, would suffice.
The priest was more than capable of summoning forth his own sources of light--Light, actually--and frankly he could have probably illuminated his entire house had he half a mind to. Yet he balked--something seated deeply within him insisted that it was folly to light up his home at night like some sort of shining beacon for whatever lurked in the sodden dark outside. If anything stalked his home in /this/ weather, he certainly had no wish to invite it closer with twinkling fairy lights.
Why was he so /foolish/? He chided himself for his overactive imagination as he crept away from his bedside and towards his closed bedroom door. The floor at least was cool against his naked soles--he was glad for the thick, smooth hardwood and its tendency to stay cool, even on obscenely sunny, muggy summer days. Tile might have been even cooler but honestly--who tiled their bedroom? Tile was for bathrooms, basements, and kitchens; the rest of the house got either slick, finished boards or soft, opulent carpet, optimally a mixture of both.
Ethadril was absorbed in his hazy thoughts--curses for the rain, lustful thoughts over the tea in the coldchest, and faint, musing notions of how maybe, just maybe, he might like a new length of carpet for his cozy livingroom--as he turned the knob of his door and swung the slab of wood inward. He walked right into Arieh as he made to exit his bedroom, bumping into the much taller man's chest with all the grace of a blind elephant. Strangely there was no doubt in his mind that it was Arieh and not some malevolent night phantom; it might have been scent, or memory of the paladin's burly, solid form, or just as easily some undefined preternatural instinct--regardless, Ethadril was glad of his surety.
It still startled both of them /terribly/. "Shit, I didn't," Ethadril began to apologize, then fell short. "What're you doing up?" he asked instead, pulling his hands back from where they'd risen to rest on the paladin's chest. It was instinct to lean on Arieh, to touch him, to cling to him, but... well. This wasn't his Arieh. This was another man entirely, from another time and another life. Eth needed time to get used to that, before he could comfortably think of this man as 'his' Arieh and treat him as such.
"I was coming to check on you," the bigger man answered, his voice a soft, rough murmur in the dark. Ethadril could just make out the limey radiance of his fel-tainted eyes, peering down at him with concern.
The priest felt uncomfortable beneath such scrutiny. He was the one who checked in on people, not the other way around. "Why?" he asked, his loose plait of wheaten blond hair shifting as he tilted his head inquisitively to the side. He wasn't able to just pick up where this Arieh had left off with his version of him, who had died; he felt all the same infatuation, all the same desire, all the same lust for this Arieh that he'd felt for his own version of the man, who had left him /years/ ago. Yet he simply was not ready to invite this man to his bed, not for lovemaking at any rate--for all that he /wanted/ it, Ethadril knew good and well he wasn't emotionally ready for such a leap.
Arieh was silent for a long moment, assessing the priest and his faintly suspicious tone. Slowly, as though he chose his words carefully, the paladin answered, "The other you didn't much care for storms either." Eth could hear the small, rueful grimace in his voice as he added, "I was worried about you."
The shorter man's lips parted, but no sound emerged. Ethadril felt a telling rush of heat wash over his face and ears--his ears, which saw fit to absolutely /wilt/ as he took in Arieh's gently spoken words. His suspicion fled from him, and tentatively he reached out for the other's hand. "I'm sorry," he said, rueful himself, "I was just about to go grab some tea. This weather's really..." He scowled, pausing to listen to the thunder still merrily roaring away overhead. He squeezed the paladin's fingers, much too stubborn to go into detail right then about just how much the weather affected him.
"S'alright," Arieh reassured him, squeezing back with his usual firm, faintly possessive grip. "Do you want me to stay up with you? It's too hot to sleep."
"We could dump all the food out and crawl in the coldchest," Ethadril suggested, earnest but for the ridiculous grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth, thankfully obscured by the lack of light in the hallway.
"We're /both/ too big for that," the paladin teased. He gave the priest a nudge, wordlessly indicating that if Ethadril meant to visit the kitchen, he'd gladly follow. Eth honestly enjoyed how easily he was able to read Arieh, for all that technically this man knew more about him than the priest knew about /him/.
Retaining his grip on the bigger man's generously given hand, Ethadril ventured into his kitchen. Two casement windows and a side door's window allowed the jagged, erratic illumination of lightning to wash the priest's tidy kitchen in fleeting argence. Arieh fetched two glasses for them from the cabinet, and Eth retrieved the tea pitcher from the coldchest and poured both glasses full.
It was a small mercy he didn't jump at every crack of thunder, at every flash of lightning. The two elves leaned upon the counter's edge rather than pulling out chairs at the table; the priest leaned against Arieh, sipping his cold, sweet tea pensively as he stared out into the dark. Arieh wrapped his arm around the shorter man protectively, squeezing him to his side. "At least everything'll be nice and green when it lets up," he said, trying to cheer the priest.
It was a good attempt, but ineffective. "I feel bad for all the strays," Eth admitted. "The animals and the vagrants." Arieh rubbed his upper arm, more soothing, and the shorter man was about to add that /he/ had been a vagrant for a short time himself until he realized that Arieh probably knew that already--Light, that was probably the reason for that gentle rub.
Cursing himself, Ethadril sighed. "D'you wanna. Come back to bed with me? I mean, not to do anything," he added hastily, firmly tacking clarification onto the end of his request. "Just. Bed's probably..." He broke off, gaze dropping to the floor, annoyed with himself for not having the words he wanted within easy reach.
"More comfortable than the counter?" Arieh finished for him, his grin wholly evident in his quiet, rumbling voice. Eth supposed he was lucky the bigger blond found his occasional flustered moments endearing. "If you want me to," the paladin answered, seemingly content to allow the priest to be the one to decide, in the end.
He was ever an obliging man. Since Ethadril had known him he had never been pushy, never demanded more of him than he was willing to give. Arieh had come to him--been given to him by fate it had seemed--at a time in his life when those closest to him had done nothing but take, and take, and take, and there had been nothing he could do to stop them. Arieh on the other hand took only what Ethadril chose to give him, asking precious little in return for all that--in the priest's opinion--he deserved so much more.
He led Arieh by his hand back to his bedroom, eyes wide and near-blind in the dark hallway. The air within seemed cooler, marginally less stuffy, but he left the door open a few inches anyway. "The nightstand's... somewhere here," he muttered, casting about for somewhere to set his tea.
Arieh corrected his course, nudging Ethadril over closer to the small table he sought to safely set his glass upon. Whether the paladin's night vision was simply better than Eth's or he somehow remembered the bedroom layout used by his own version of the priest, Ethadril couldn't have guessed. He supposed, in the back of his mind, that was always going to be a worry--he was always going to feel a little robbed, a little cheated by the other him, who'd already shared all his secrets.
But really, was that such a bad thing? Arieh knew things about him, horrible things, hideous things that weren't even true for him anymore, and still he was loved, still he was adored.
Arieh rolled into Ethadril's bed, pulling the priest along with him. He was comforting and solid, a broad mass of muscle wrapped around long, heavy bones--since the day they'd met, Ethadril had admired the great burly bulk of him. It went beyond simple lust; Arieh was /powerful/, powerful in ways Eth was not designed to be. The priest was stocky, certainly, but Arieh was the sort of man who could easily pick him up and chuck him clear across the room if he so desired.
Lying next to that much strength was intoxicating. Despite the warm night and despite /himself/ Ethadril curled up against Arieh's side, sighing as the paladin's arm wrapped snugly around him, as that large, rough hand spread its gentle fingers across his back. He had an unobscured view of his window and of the storm that continued to rage outside, furiously beating the branches of the nearest sugar maple against his roof. That'd be delightful to clean up; he was willing to bet good gold his gutters would be hopelessly clogged with burs when the storm finally let up.
His own fingers smoothed the worn cotton of Arieh's tshirt, any excuse to explore the tender hills and hollows comprising the paladin's torso. He knew Arieh liked it--maybe not from other people, but from him? He was terrible at concealing his feelings; Ethadril could see the yearning in the paladin's gaze every time he graced the larger man with a stray touch. He was hungry for the priest's affection, starving for it.
And Light, Eth meant for him to have it. He hadn't expected their arrangement to be /easy/, of course not, but he also hadn't planned on it feeling so damnably complicated. There was no doubt in his mind that Arieh was who he wanted most, but proceeding beyond that point had proven far more difficult than anticipated.
Another crack of thunder, like a pissed off Titan throwing a chair down a stairwell right above the house, and Ethadril stiffened against Arieh's side, fingers curling into claws as he clutched at the other's shirt. Thinking back on what the paladin had said, trying not to let too much disgust with himself seep into his voice, the priest said, "I hadn't picked the other me for a coward. ...That's what this is, you know." He was reluctant to /apologize/ for his cowardice, but the sentiment was plain in his tone.
"Hush," Arieh chided him, squeezing him tightly. "You're not a coward for hating the rain." He didn't elaborate on what Eth /was/, but then he didn't need to--he knew good and well the priest's doubts were never all that deep-rooted, and coddling him with excessive reassurance was typically overkill.
The smaller man grumbled but uttered no argument. Instead, he tossed his leg over the paladin's hips, a blush and an unseen grin overtaking his features as Arieh rubbed his hand up and down the fuzzy length of his thigh. "That tickles," he muttered, burying his face against the bigger man's chest.
Arieh responded by rubbing harder, his enthusiastic friction chafing heat into the priest's skin--if only for a moment. "Hey, whatever it takes," he teased, kneading the thickly muscled expanse of Ethadril's thigh--so much healthier than his version of the priest had been, so much stronger, sturdier.
"Whatever /what/ takes?" Ethadril demanded, reaching up under the paladin's tshirt sleeve and tugging lightly but noticeably on the other's armpit hair.
"Ow! Look here, if you're gonna play like that--" The bigger blond took a menacing pinch of the hair on the back of Eth's thigh. They both knew the priest was far more vulnerable to having his hair pulled; Arieh didn't have /nearly/ as much body hair, and what little he did have was soft and fair and baby fine--hard to get a grip on. Really, aside from the hair that grew beneath his arms and between his /legs/--which Ethadril wasn't about to reach for--the paladin was a fairly smooth man.
Laughing, he gave in. "Please no," he entreated. "You win, you win!" Arieh jostled him, eliciting more laughter, and for a moment Eth was almost able to forget the storm that raged outside. His mirth--and Arieh's softer rumbles of amusement--drowned out the rain, the wind, the ominous cracks of thunder, and his delight outshined even the jagged, white-hot flashes of lightning.
Arieh reached up and gave Ethadril's plait a gentle tug. "Damn right I do." Another tumult of thunder shook the house, rattling the windowpanes in their frames. Arieh rolled the priest beneath him, planting a quick succession of kisses on his face, his neck, his chest.
It couldn't last long. It was too hot to cuddle so closely, and already Ethadril could feel himself overheating, suffocated by the paladin's sheer mass and the volume of that long, loosely curling blond hair--Light, how he envied that hair. Yet he allowed himself to be enfolded, to be sheltered; he even wrapped his legs tentatively around Arieh's waist, his hands venturing up to trace the rugged lines of Arieh's face--his nicked ears, his sharp cheekbones, his hard, stubbled jaw. Coyly, he asked, "You gonna protect me from the thunder?"
Arieh knew Eth well enough to know the priest wasn't about to give into temptation; he knew there was still waiting to do, before Eth would allow him to lay claim to him. He accepted that, but that didn't mean he wasn't about to soak up every scrap of affection the priest threw his way. He kissed Ethadril, more softly than would sate the smaller blond's own yearning--and just as expected, when he drew back Eth tried to follow.
Ethadril was fully cognizant of the paladin's tricks. For all that his pout filled the space between them, it tickled him that Arieh knew how to push his buttons so skillfully. Indeed, he was being handled so well that when the next brilliant flash of lightning split the room in two, he felt no stab of panic in his gut, no uncomfortable flop in his chest--only the easy, benign fluttering of fuzzy, white-winged moths, the undemanding sense of peace he'd known with Arieh since the very start.
The paladin's answer arrived a touch late, preceded by many, many kisses--worth it, in Ethadril's opinion. "Always," Arieh said, that one word prompting the priest to pull the burly man down and melt against him. Arieh repeated that word like a plea, like a prayer, his breath heavy and warm against Eth's sweat-sticky skin.
/Always/.