#ic. addam

[walkpathe-arch]

[ 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] : as sender is about to leave, receiver grabs them by the wrist. ( for Addam 🤍 )

the air inside the castle walls is stifling, cutting off the breath in his chest.  perhaps it is the endless talk of war, drenching addam with gloom like a giant storm cloud as big and maddening to defeat as vhagar, but he longs to be outside. where he can see the water. where he could mount seasmoke and lunge for freedom, if only he wished it.

he doesn't.  not just yet, not when he can see @kipagircs storm outside the council room. brows furrowed in silent concern, addam remains steadfast and obedient until he is dismissed, only interminable moments later.

'' luke, ''   addam calls for him, undaunted, only remembering belatedly that he should address lucerys by his title, if only in public, where keen ears abound.  he should, but his name is too sweet on the tongue.   '' slow down, will you. ''   half hearted, the tilt of a smile showing on his lips despite it all. addam kills the distance between them with a few more strides, fingers circling luke's wrist more to be on the same pace with him than to halt his steps altogether.

'' let's leave here. come with me to the beach. ''

desperation,   accepting

[walkpathe-arch]

› lucerys presses a kiss to the back of addam's hand ⁕ action prompts. accepting.

a few moments of peace before they are meant to be carried off to battle.   something of a habit the young dragon riders have seamlessly developed along the years.  addam is glad for it,  for the feel of @kipagircs's warm skin on his own,  the grip of his hand sure and unmistakable and then his lips,  as gentle as a drizzle,  touching the back of addam's hand,  grazing his knuckles.  he has come to expect it before each battle,  this blessed respite they have carved out for themselves and while the gesture might differ,  the sentiment behind it never does. good luck.  come back safe and whole.  don't you fucking die out there.  words could not quite suffice,  they needed it conveyed by touch,  skin on skin,  the thrum of blood just beneath.

''  would you help me with the rest of my armour?  ''   the truth is addam doesn't want him to go just yet,  he wants to be selfish for a little while longer and keep the prince at his side.  addam's own hand finds its rightful place at the nape of his neck,  the movement as natural as keeping balance on a ship.  i know you like i know the comings and goings of the tide.  i know you by heart.

[walkpathe-arch]

         › CONTINUED FROM HERE.

addam feels fire stirring below the skin,   a fever that refuses to cease.  it engulfs his thoughts and eats at his limbs,  as unbearable as it is entrancing.  the boy couldn't escape it if he tried  —  and trying he is not.  he burns maddeningly,  body and soul,  unable to think of anything other than inching closer to @kipagircs.  chest to chest,  rib to rib.  only then can i breathe.  only his breath is a wounded thing,  escaping his grasp and getting out in desperate gulps against the skin of his beloved.  sweet,  amazing luke,  hair windswept and mouth kissed to redness,  so ready to give addam whatever he may need.  steady as a rock beneath his fingers,  unyielding yet never harsh and addam rests against him,  brow to brow.  the fever pitch recedes just barely,  enough to allow addam to open his eyes and try to make sense of the battle ground that has become of his thoughts.

'  i need you.  '   addam breathes him in and this time it is not enough,  not even close as they are.  the answer is right there,  beating down like furious raindrops,  echoing through his heart.   '  i don't want to think anymore.  i want you to strip me of everything else until all i can feel is you.  '   raw honesty is fitting for them.  they have no need to abscond from their truths,  whatever shape they might take.   '  kiss me until i feel dizzy for it.  '

[walkpathe-arch]

          ›  INBOX CLEAN UP.

he has no friends here and the only mercy he is left to rely on is a stranger's.   all the stories addam has heard name him mad to have come here,  right into the witch's lair and that of her dragon,  seeking a pact on the feeble reasoning of them both being dragonseeds.  he has come forward on his own two feet,  keeping seasmoke well out of the massive dragon's reach,  slow and with hands in sight,  void of weapons and ill intentions.  he is no reckless knight in search of glory,  nor a bold mercenary seeking to be paid in gold for a slain dragon  —  heir of driftmark no longer,  now he is just a bastard boy,  still loyal despite his undeserved status as traitor to the crown.  he comes to @hauntingcurse as just that and no more,  all too aware that nothing would stay her hand should she decide to spill his blood onto unforgiving dry soil.

if i do, they're will be no turning back. you have to understand.

'  should you help me i would have no power over you.  '   there are no empty promises to make,  here in this alcove far from prying eyes.  he sits on the ground with nothing but his honesty to trade,  legs beneath him but ready to make himself scarce should he need to retreat in haste.   '  i have not come here to put you on a leash.  '

[walkpathe-arch]

is there somewhere, h/alsey ( 27 28 )

this feels like the dreadful calm before the storm,   the hitch of breath that comes with standing too close to a cliff's edge.  he had refused to believe it,  at first,  that he could be accused of treason just so,  with no more evidence than him being a bastard son,  but he had read the truth in corlys velaryon's urgency.  and stunned disbelief or no,  addam had fled,  seasmoke's speed no match for soldiers on foot,  retreating to a spot known only to him and @kipagircs,  not too far from the city,  but secluded enough to avoid notice.

his chin is resting on the warm nook between lucerys' neck and shoulder,  his body  —  he knows beyond doubt  —  strong enough to hold addam up should it betray him with something more than quivering muscles.   '  i don't want to let this go.  '   he presses a kiss to the side of the boy's neck,  desperate more than gentle,  than another to his jaw.  this is the wretched sadness of someone who has already made their choice.   '  but i have to go.  i have to make this right.  '   even if it kills me,  this he does not say.  still,  it rings true all around them,  foul and inevitable as the stench of blood on a battlefield.  '  tell me you understand,  luke.  please.  '