The weather was awful, the wind howling around the hut with blinding flurries of snow. Runar, like, he was sure, the entire rest of the village, hadn’t set a foot out the door all day. It wasn’t unusual weather, and like every winter he was prepared to wait it out for days if necessary, firewood and food stocked up.
But for Yves, it appeared to be new. He’d given Runar anxious glances when he’d announced they’d have to stay in, then sat by the window, peering through the cracks of the shutters until they were covered in darkness — snow or night, it could have been either one. His trembling hands fidgeted in his lap. Runar was glad when he came to sit by the fire instead. It seemed to calm him a little, too. He was no longer trembling, at least, but that might have been the warmth.
Now he sat and stared into the flames of the hearth, just like that other night, when-
Yves didn’t flinch when Runar sat down next to him, which was heartening.
»Are you alright, sweetheart?«
Yves glimpsed down at him. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t look immediately terrified. He turned back towards the flames before he replied, quietly, »I’m okay.«
Runar nodded, steeling himself. He wasn’t sure it was the right thing to say, but when could he ever be sure? »I was wondering…«
Yves turned back towards him, now distinctly wary. Runar wasn’t blind to the anxiety he apparently caused with every little attempt at change, but then, their day had already been overthrown by the storm, so maybe now was a good time.
If nothing else, they had all the time in the world.
»Do you want to talk?« Runar offered softly.
Yves watched him, his brows knitting into a frown. When he turned away again, his lips were pressed together.
Runar suspected he knew exactly what he meant, and the fact he asked for no clarification confirmed it. Although that might be just his usual timidness.
»You don’t have to, obviously.« At least he hoped it was obvious. »But, uh. You… chose to tell me something the other day and I was wondering… if maybe it would help. Sometimes it does.«
Yves’ lips twitched, and Runar pulled back a little, worried he’d put too much pressure on, despite the care he’d tried to take.
But Yves’ eyes flicked up and followed him. »Why?«
»I want to help you,« Runar explained patiently, for the hundreth time.
»If you knew…« Yves shook his head, his eyes back to the fire, shrinking in between his bony shoulders.
What do you think would happen if I knew? Runar wanted to ask. Instead, he said, »You don’t have to… let me know. You can speak in your language, if you want. This is for you, not for me.«
Yves stared at him, then quickly cast his eyes down, then a dry, uncertain chuckle wrested free from his throat.
Then he stared into the fire again. Runar recognized the faraway look that crept into his eyes. It was all he could do not to hold his breath.
The fire crackled. The wind howled, quieter now there was so little of the hut left to catch against outside the snow.
Finally, Yves started to talk.
At first, the words came haltingly, what Runar guessed were barely fragments of sentences staggering into the empty space of long pauses. Then brief, quick rushes alternating with even deeper silences. Yves’ arms were wrapped around himself, his body curled in protectively against a long-gone threat.
By the time the tears came, he wouldn’t stop talking, his voice rising in sobs and anger, then falling to a whisper. His hands curled before his mouth so Runar could barely hear him.
But by the end of it, he sat straight. Grabbing on to his own arms, sure, but staring defiantly into the fire mirrored in his eyes.
*
Yves felt raw, as if he’d scraped his heart open. His cheeks were wet, his vision bright with amplified fire. He wiped them dry until the hearth before him was clear again.
Runar’s eyes were still on him, he could feel it. He’d sat in silence all this time, listening. Yves still didn’t know what he was doing this for; he’d gained nothing out of it.
This is for you, not for me.
His heart was rushing in his chest. It had been a lot. He felt a little ill, like a fever had just broken. He was strangely hungry, as if he’d done hard work.
He sat in silence, waiting for Runar to say or do anything. Then he realized he had no way of knowing he was done.
He felt like he couldn’t talk any more. He just slid off his chair and towards Runar and… he could only stand there awkwardly, until-
»Would you like a hug again?« Runar offered, very quietly.
Runar had assumed that that night would take them back a few steps; that Yves, perhaps, would be more hesitant, that he would prefer to keep their touches lighter for a while. He was prepared to go along with it, of course, to enjoy what Yves could easily give and patiently wait for his scars to heal further.
But if anything, Yves’ kisses became more passionate. He didn’t try to go for Runar’s groin again, that was true, but they continued their gentle little explorations above the waistline as if nothing had happened — except, perhaps, that Yves’ lips were more eager to explore where only his hands had been.
When he came home from training that evening, a few days later, he threw himself right into Runar’s arms without a care in the world, aiming straight for his lips.
He had to say something. If it was all genuine — well, nothing could have made him happier; but he worried. Yves had felt the urge to apologize right away — what if he was pushing himself to make up for something?
»Don’t hurt yourself,« Runar said, easily catching the little thing in his arms. Playful, as if referring to the way he flung himself at him, but he knew Yves had seen the earnestness in his eyes when he stilled, looking up into his face.
He looked so sweet. Runar would never forgive himself if he allowed him to injure himself for his, Runar’s, sake.
»You’re worrying again, huh?«
»A little,« Runar confessed. He knew Yves had, at times, found his worries overbearing, but how could he help himself when it was Yves’ wellbeing on the line?
This time, though, Yves simply traced his fingers along his shoulders and lowered his gaze. »I’m alright,« he finally said. »I — you’re still thinking about… what happened the other night, right? But I’m okay. Promise.«
He looked up to give Runar a half-smile, and Runar couldn’t help but reach up and cup his cheek. »I just want to — make sure, I guess. Don’t push yourself for my sake, okay?«
»Oh.« Yves looked away. »Oh no, that’s not — that’s not what this is.« And then he smiled at Runar again. »It’s really not. I want you — whichever way I can have you.«
He blushed adorably under Runar’s fingers, and Runar felt the heat creep into his own cheeks, too. »I want you too,« he replied before thinking it through.
He didn’t want to ask too much. But Yves just grinned, and kissed him again.
And in the end, it was bafflingly easy.
Weeks passed, sure. Night ate the days away, snow and quiet covering the village.
But it only served to make the hut seem cozier.
That night, Yves had turned in early, face red from the cold. There had been days, two or three, where the snow and the cold seemed to get to him, and after some hesitation, he asked Runar to accompany him to the weavers’ house. Runar once more was proud of him, for having shed the fear of asking for help from a friend — and he felt strangely honoured. Most days, however, Yves didn’t even need his support.
And today he came home early, with a package wrapped in cloth, and beamed at him before he even kissed him. »Björn made a test run of cookies!«
They devoured the cookies cheerfully instead of dinner, the rare spices that had found their way into Björn’s hands from the warrior’s expedition a strange delight. Soon they were feeding each other, laughing.
When they hurried to bed, eager for their nightly caresses, Runar found Yves helping him out of his clothes, and it seemed so natural to reciprocate.
They hadn’t done this before, not quite like this.
There was still a chuckle in Yves' throat as they kissed, vibrating into Runar’s mouth.
And then, when their lips parted, Yves continued kissing him, trailing down his neck, into the now familiar places on his chest. His hands gently pushed him down on his back, then slid down until they sat on his hips as his lips continued their journey.
Runar simply kept him in his embrace, his heart racing as he watched. It couldn’t have been plainer where Yves was going.
»You don’t have to do this,« Runar breathed, even as his desire nearly suffocated him. Yves looked beautiful, and the touch of his lips — already his imagination was racing ahead.
Yves hands rubbed his thighs, almost careful compared to how he’d been the last few days. His mouth travelled down past his belly button, his breath against his skin alone driving Runar almost insane with want.
His hair brushed against his hard cock first.
»I want to,« Yves finally replied, his voice barely audible.
So Runar let him.
Yves proceeded hesitantly at first. This was good, Runar reminded himself, it meant he wasn’t pushing himself too hard, he was taking care of himself and he would have been pround of him for that, too, if his impatience hadn’t grown by the moment, by each tender touch. It was all he could do not too grab on to him too hard.
But Yves didn’t pull away, not this time, and before long, Runar found himself dissolving in bliss.
*
The taste of semen filling his mouth almost took Yves back, but he just remembered he wouldn’t be punished if he just spit it out. So he did, and that made it easier.
And then there was the much more immediate echo of Runar calling his name inbetween moans of pleasure. The feeling of driving his lover over the edge — he had done this, by his own choices, his own actions. He wasn’t by any means an experienced lover, not even with the lessons the knights had beaten into him, but he was good enough.
He rested his cheek on Runar’s sweat-soaked thigh, catching his breath, and looked up into his face, still hazy, but looking down upon Yves with the softest, sweetest eye.
»Did that feel good?« It was a silly question — the answer so evident — but he wanted to hear it, still.
»It damn well did.« Runar pushed the words out between still-heavy breaths, and Yves smiled at the rawness of it. Runar was always so careful with him, but for the moment, he’d gotten him past it.
He turned his face back into Runar’s skin, littering more kisses as he slowly made his way back up to lay with him, in his arms.
He trailed his way up past his hip, up the gentle slope of his belly.
»There’s so much of you,« he muttered along his way. So much body for him to cover in kisses, to rest against and be held by.
»It used to scare you,« Runar said softly.
Yves had reached his nipple and bit it, gently. He was rewarded with another groan, pulling another smile from him.
»Yes. It used to.«
Finally, he buried himself in the crook of Runar’s neck, the whole length of his body resting against Runar’s, his strong arms wrapped around him once more. He sighed — oh to stay here for ever and ever.
»I’m so happy,« he whispered, and when Runar turned his head to look at him, he grinned with ease. »I’m so happy to be with you.«
And that wasn’t all; not even all he wanted Runar to know; he’d be happy to, Yves knew that. But he had to look away. »And I’m proud of me.«
Runar squeezed him gently. »You should be. You should be, my brave little sweetheart.«
For a while, they just lay there, and Yves, his hand on Runar’s chest, observed as his heartbeat calmed from the force with which it had thrown itself into his ribcage, as if it truly wanted to leap into Yves’ hand.
Then Runar said, »What about you, sweetheart? Do you want me to — touch you?«
Yves raised his eyes. He hadn’t quite thought about it, but now the prospect seemed exciting. Scary, too. He had been touched, but not the way Runar meant. Not that way, for certain. But truly, his body yearned for something.
He felt Runar’s heart hop under his hand as he replied, another grin stealing onto his lips, »We can try.«
Runar felt bad for not offering Yves the option to stay at home with him. But it was the solstice festival, and—no matter how callous and selfish it felt in the moment—he couldn’t put every part of his life on hold for him.
It was, therefore, doubly relieving that Yves seemed to be okay. He kept close to Runar’s side as they made their way to the hilltop where wood had been stacked up twice as tall as Runar was, the yet unlit pile silhouetted against the dusky sky, but that might have been due to how narrow the paths through the snow were—more had fallen just this morning.
It was about time for winter to begin its slow retreat, and Yves seemed to welcome it as much as anyone. There was a shadow of a smile on his face, even.
Runar was irrationally proud of how brave he was being. »I’ll go say hi to my family, and then we can check out the food, yes?«
Yves nodded timidly. They hadn’t had lunch yet; after all, the potluck feast would begin as soon as the bonfire was lit once dark had fallen, which would be soon, and last as long as anyone could still eat. Runar had offered Yves to snack with him, of course, knowing how starved he had been when he first found him, and not wanting to stir up dark memories. But Yves, after hearing his explanation, had declined, had wanted to wait for the feast with him. That, too, Runar was proud of for him.
They trudged their way up the hill, and Runar could feel his mood rise along with their path.
It was going to be good.
*
The stars were coming out, and Yves felt nervous to the bone.
Nervous enough to trail closely after Runar, no matter how pathetic it felt, no matter how much it stirred the bitter, helpless anger seething inside him all the time now. It ebbed and flowed—his sword practice, as silly as it was, seemed to help, but then there were moments like this, when his anxiety peaked for no real reason and there was nothing he could do, and it felt so deeply unfair. He wasn’t even properly scared—he knew nothing bad would happen to him, and somehow that made it worse. If his nerves could at least save themselves for actual threats—they should have enough experience with them to know the difference.
Still, Runar’s company comforted him, and the joy he and his family shared rubbed off. When Ingunn smiled at him, he found it easy to smile back.
»Yves! Glad you came too, it’s a big day!«
»Yes… I’m glad too.« And it was true. The air was filled with cheer and excited chattering, even among the cloudy wisps spewed forth by every breath. Soon, the warmth would come—first from the fire, and then, eventually, from the sun.
It was an important event.
Watching the crowd made him feel better as they gathered around long tables set up around the fire, some already taking their seats, but most standing and occupied in various tasks, or simply commenting on the stake and the food the tables were laden with, even as families were still carrying up more filled pots and plates.
No one would go hungry tonight, that much was certain.
Even actually spotting Brandr, who stood with two other warriors near the stake and seemed to be engrossed in discussing the quality of the wood or some such thing by the way he gestured aggressively at one log or another, couldn’t fully dispel the warmth of the occasion.
If Brandr confronted him again, this time, Yves would stand his ground. Or so he told himself, even as his heart beat faster at the thought.
He balled a gloved hand. No, he would. He wouldn’t let anyone take this from him, not when Runar’s family was so welcoming. They wanted him to enjoy the night, and he did too.
Dusk crept by slowly, the rising darkness dispelled only by their cheerful voices, but they became quieter and quieter, until darkness and silence were complete.
That was when the eldest lit a torch, its brightness momentarily burning in Yves’ eyes. Everyone watched, rapt, as she approached the wood and with one decisive strike pushed the torch into it.
The center, carefully constructed from dried leaves and twigs, caught fire at once, and cheers erupted from the crowd. Runar joined in, and Yves, too, though his voice was still drowned out.
The flames licked at the larger wood pieces, climbing up and up, until the bonfire reached high into the night sky. The light and the warmth lifted Yves’ heart. Maybe it was all going to be alright. Maybe the darkest days were truly gone now.
Once the cheering was done, the feasting began. After that, it wasn’t long before musicians picked up their instruments, and many voices joined in songs that must be long familiar to the community. Even Yves had heard some of them before by now, though his voice stayed quieter than the rest. Soon people were dancing, and Runar, after checking in with Yves once more, like he always did, like he never abandoned him without notice, jumped into it too.
Yves was undecided, and even that seemed big. He hadn’t danced in—a long time. It seemed fun. He didn’t know the local dances yet, though, and in truth, he felt a little out of place. So he simply sat and watched.
After a while, Signy fell into the now vacated stool opposite Yves, laughing, one of her spouses on each arm. Her wife let go of her and chattered something about getting some of the fish that was being roasted over the other side of the bonfire before she disappeared.
Signy noticed Yves sitting opposite her, and gave him a wide grin. Her face was heated, not just from dancing, but her demeanour was, if anything, more jolly than usual. »Yves! How’re you holding up? Having a good time?«
Yves nodded, smiling without effort. He was having a good time. He was having something close to fun, just like he had wanted. He was still a little nervous, yes, but the all-around cheer of the event was rubbing off on him, and he wasn’t feeling unsafe.
»That’s good! That’s good.« Signy’s grin turned into a warmer, deeper smile for a moment, then she focused on her husband again, so intensely Yves looked away, heat creeping into his own face.
Signy’s wife returned to release him from the awkwardness of the moment—or make it worse, who knew—carrying a plate of freshly grilled fish, which she sat down before Signy, in the middle of the three of them.
»Thanks, s͏w̧e҉e͟t̸ḩe̵àr̀t͢« Signy said and kissed her wife’s mouth. When, turning back to the table, she noticed Yves staring at her, she just gave an enthusiastic little wave with her knife before she tucked into the fish.
Yves, though, sat frozen with realization, unable to avert his eyes from her and her—her wife. Her lover.
Her sweetheart.
Each breath caught in his throat. Was that how Runar saw him—what he expected of him?
Since when had he been calling Yves that? He couldn’t be sure, not with the way his mind raced, but it seemed to him it had been since ever. Since the very start?
Was that the reason he had rescued Yves?
Had all his kindness been a ploy to get Yves to-? The thought was terrifying. But why bother? He could easily overpower Yves.
What did he really want? And why hadn’t he been honest about it?
Yves’ head was reeling, and he dug his nails into the stool he was sitting on, desperate to find a grasp on reality.
»Yves?« Runar.
Yves couldn’t answer, or even look at him. He just stared down at the plate in front of him, trying to figure out what this was, even what feeling it was that was rushing through his heart, fear with flashes of fury.
»Are you okay?«
»No.« The word plopped out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and a spike of panic shot through him. He pushed himself up forcefully, still without looking at Runar. »I’m. Going home.«
»Yves… ?« But Runar didn’t move to stop him, and a word was not enough to, not anymore. There was a bitter triumph in it.
As he walked off into the night, he could hear Runar ask Signy and her companions what had happened, heard Signy’s full-mouthed, »No idea.«
It angered him more. How could they be so oblivious?
It was unfair—how would they know?—but everything was unfair, anyway; why should it only be unfair to him? The darkness swallowed him, the light of the bonfire only faint reflections on the snow as he escaped.
He had thought about it long and hard as he lay awake that night, terror battling with the determination to pay back the man who had saved him—after all, he had come to the conclusion it barely even mattered to what purpose. He had been saved, and treated kindly, and even now that the truth was out, Runar had not…
He had not.
But when he had picked up all his courage, Runar had turned him down.
It was a relief, of course. And then… Runar didn’t have to say the things he did.
You have become one of us. It was the sweetest thing Runar had said to him yet. One of them, to be protected and cared for, perhaps respected even, like everybody else.
He just couldn’t make sense of it.
Or maybe he could, and couldn’t face the truth of it. Not after all these years… not him.
Today was dedicated to resting after the celebration, and so he couldn’t escape among the weavers. He was exhausted, too, albeit for the wrong reasons.
He’d been exhausted worse. He would be fine. He wished he could find some housework to busy himself with, but the hut was small and the garden asleep. When Runar announced—his voice strangely quiet—that he would go to help clean up after the party, he jumped at the chance.
Only up on the hilltop, under the stars, it occurred to him that—
»Hey Runar! Yves! There you are, you were gone so soon!« Signy waved at them from one of the tables where she was stacking bowls perilously high, deep rings under her eyes, but full of cheer. »Are you alright?«
It was lucky that Signy was friends with Runar—she knew enough to not find it overly strange he had some kind of moment. When Yves simply nodded, forcing a smile, she looked between them expectantly for a moment, but as neither of them elaborated—even Runar, it seemed, lost for words for once—she didn’t dig deeper.
Instead she made a sweeping motion at the tables. »We’re rounding up the last of the crockery, so we can bring down the furniture. You can gather them or you can start with the stools, your pick. We’re bringing them back to the longhouse,« she added for Yves.
Yves immediately went to grab a stool in each hand and make his way downhill. They weren’t heavy, just unwieldy, so there was no way for Runar to outdo him, and it gave him a strange, bitter sting of satisfaction.
They worked in silence. All was said.
So why did he have the feeling he should say something else?
Finally, he stopped when they were walking up the hill once more, him trailing behind—the path through the snow was so narrow they would have had to walk too closely beside each other, even though it would have been possible when unencumbered by any furniture.
»Runar.«
Runar stopped and turned around, a little too quickly. He was making an effort for a neutral, attentive expression, Yves could tell, but he couldn’t fully hide that he was—was he nervous?
It occurred to Yves that Runar couldn’t be more than a few years older than him. A still young man facing his crush.
He pushed the thought out of his mind at once.
»Thank you. For… for what you said. And also.« He took a deep breath. »For saving me. I never properly thanked you for that.«
»Yes.« Yves almost managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He believed that much. He didn’t know when he had started believing it.
Runar didn’t turn back around, and after a moment of shifting his weight side to side, he continued, »I’m sorry. That I—I sprang that on you. I don’t—I want you to feel save more than anything. You deserve it. Nothing needs to change.«
This is the end of the story, however, unlike with The monster of Lindborough, there are still a bunch of gaps I want to fill sometime :)
For now, this is it, though. I hope you like it! Friendly reminder I have a ko-fi, otherwise I'm also always happy to read you comments even if I'm bad at responding dfjkdkgjh <3
This time, it was different. Everything was different, so much so Yves found it jarring he used the same words.
Runar had been right not to let him come last year, of course, he understood that with perfect clarity now; in truth, he had probably understood it then. But when last year, he had been fueled by fear — fear of what would become of him without Runar’s protection and care — as much as what little spark remained of his desire to fight for his people, now?
Now, everything was different.
Runar looked at him for a long moment. They were up at the cliffs, watching the sun set over the seas Runar would sail across soon.
He didn’t need Runar’s permission, really. He almost didn’t feel he did — he simply had to prove his valour like all who joined the warriors. But it seemed courteous to tell his lover first. They had been together — a couple — for months now.
»You’ll have to prove yourself,« Runar finally said, and Yves’ heart hopped at the way he didn’t argue.
»I know.« He smiled up at Runar, squeezed his hand.
»You’re sure, aren’t you?«
Yves nodded, his smile fading. This was a serious decision, and he couldn’t fault Runar for double-checking.
But to his surprise, after a moment, Runar started to grin. »It’s not fair to say I told you so, is it?«
»Heart of a warrior?« He had told him so. And Yves couldn’t believe it, not then. But perhaps it had been true all along.
He grinned back.
*
All young folk who wanted to join the warriors had to pass a test of skill — they had to face one of the proper warriors in a fight, one on one. They didn’t have to win, strictly speaking. But all, and their opponent foremost, would judge if they could hold their own. It was a show the whole village came to watch.
It was agreed upon that there was no way Runar would be the one testing Yves. Yves agreed.
And yet Runar couldn’t help but wish it was him when he watched Signy approach him with that mad grin of hers. Some might argue she, too, was too biased in favour of the little thing, but from the way she pranced across the trodden-down grass within the marked circle, Runar had no doubt she wouldn’t be holding back.
Yet Runar knew these very thoughts were what made him so unsuitable. He could only watch, and hope Yves could handle himself as well as his sword.
It lightened his heart a little to hear the cheers from the crowd, as enthusiastic for Yves as for any of the younger kids born and raised here. Truly, this place had become Yves’ home, and even if he was found unfit to be a warrior — yet — he had a whole life ahead of him here.
Runar breathlessly watched the dull practice swords flash and clang, watched the swift steps of the pair on grass. He had watched Yves during his training a few times, and he knew how nimble he had become; he dodged and twisted, let Signy’s sword run off his like water, boldly shot forward like a little wasp.
Yet, Signy caught him on the thigh. It was a sharp hit, and Runar knew it must have hurt. He barely noticed himself jumping to his feet.
Yves scrambled out of the way; Runar couldn’t see his face, and he was desperate to know if he was overcome with the old fear, overwhelmed with memories-
Then Yves dashed forward, diving under Signy’s sword, and nearly got her back before she slid aside, experience and strength on her side. Runar shouted along with the cheers rising from the crowd.
It wasn’t much longer before Signy ended the fight, throwing an arm around Yves shoulder. »Yves!« she shouted, and the crowd picked up the shout, and Runar thought his heart would burst with pride, and with the wild happiness on Yves’ face.
*
Yves felt his heart tremble — not with fear, not only — as the ship set sail, carrying him back.
He would go back.
With the sword waiting for him in the deckhouse.
For the moment, once the coast had disappeared from view and the last waves goodbye had been exchanged, there was nothing much to do. They were sailing before a favourable wind, and the new trainees weren’t on the first shift, so they could have a moment to smell the air and get a grip on the excitement fluttering in their hearts. Yves wasn’t much different… and yet, wholly.
He went to stand by the bow. The place brought back memories. Here he had cowered, a year and a half ago, desperate for a mercy he didn’t believe in.
Now, though, he got to look out across the waves the ship cut through under the expert guidance of the sailors, and smile when Runar took his hand.
»Are you alright?«
»Yes.« He watched the water, squeezing Runar’s hand. »It’s… I don’t know how… what it will be like. Over there.«
Runar hummed his compassion. »Whatever happens,« he said quietly, »I’ve got you. We’ve got you.«
»I know.« He leant against Runar. It was true.
The weeks at sea passed uneventfully; once the ship was becalmed for a few days, but not so long as to threaten their provisions; Brandr had taken to ignoring Yves wholly.
But eventually, a faint coastline appeared on the horizon.
The warriors not immediately occupied in guiding the ship towards a quiet beach where they could resupply, and start scouting, grabbed their gear.
Yves stood by the bow, between Signy and Runar, watching the land he had left behind become clearer.
His hand closed around the hilt of the sword Björn had made for him.
One day, the iron handle of the cooking pot broke, spilling soup right into the fire it had hung over.
Yves found, to his surprise, he was more annoyed than frightened.
He had a cold dinner and set the pot by the door to take it to the smith in the morning. It seemed simple.
But when he woke up and picked up the pot and went on his way to the village, he found his grasp tightening with every step. He had never really had much interaction with the smith, not since… he arrived, he’d just seen him around. He seemed a calm and kind person, nothing at all to be worried about.
Yet when he stood before the workshop, its open door spilling heat onto the path, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to their last encounter.
Truly, he owed the smith his thanks. He had been nothing but helpful to him, and Yves had never even talked to him again. That was silly, too, and it would seem sillier to catch up with it now.
For a little while, he just stood there, listening to the clanging of the heavy hammer from within, distracting himself with the flight of the handful of birds circling above without really seeing them.
Then, he took a deep breath, and knocked on the doorframe.
The smith didn’t look up from the iron he was hammering, but he shouted, »One moment!« and finished up his work, thrusting the as yet shapeless metal back into the forge. He was smaller than Yves remembered, but not by much.
»Yves!« When he finally looked to the door, surprise was plainly written across his face. »Good to see you about! How can I help you?«
Yves hesitated. He had thought about what he wanted to say, but a little voice in the back of his head still insisted he was being ridiculous. It mingled with the lingering fear of asking for help, of bothering anyone.
»I wanted to thank you,« he finally managed. »I never quite did. For — you know.« He briefly touched a hand to his neck. Even that was enough to summon a memory of the horrid collar.
It was gone now.
»’course.« Björn smiled — he had such a kind smile, much like Runar’s. »We do what we can to help one another out. I know you were scared. Are you well now?«
That also seemed a silly question, so many months later; but after all, it was Yves’ fault they hadn’t had this conversation sooner. And yet… he found it easy to return the smile.
»I am. Thanks.« He awkwardly lifted the pot. »I was also hoping you could have a look at this.«
»Of course! Give it here.« The pot seemed small in the smith’s hands, but maybe that was because Yves hadn’t seen it in Runar’s for so long. Björn took one quick look at the break, tutted, and put the pot on a shelf. »That shouldn’t be much trouble. Do you need it for lunch? Otherwise I’d rather finish those up, and you can have it back by evening.«
»That’s fine.« Yves wouldn’t dream of rushing him. »Do you… need anything? The chives are coming along nicely.« A lot of the town operated on the assumption that everyone contributed their share to the community’s well-being, and Yves’ part was, mostly, to weave — though he had started to spin, as well, and like everyone helped out in the fields when needed — but it was always polite to offer, wasn’t it?
Björn smiled. »Sure, wouldn’t mind some.«
Weeks passed, and Yves found himself stopping by the smith’s workshop more and more often when he came by. He brought him herbs from the garden, and they chatted — from a few words to whole coversations about Yves’ garden (no, Runar’s garden) or Björn’s craft.
Yves hadn’t, once he shed the worst of his fear, found it hard to get along with most of the village. Runar’s family had taken him in warmly. But as time went by, he started to feel like he had a friend.
Content | Flufffffffffffff. Kissing. Nudity (charged but not explicitly sexual)
Notes | Look at they <3
Heads up since it might be coming up soon, any explicitly sexual content will be posted to @secretsmutcorner c: I'll tag the taglist as usual and make sure everything is properly tagged and that, but just so you know.
Runar woke in his bed as if from a comforting dream. He was home.
Something was wrapped around him, and it took him a moment to realize it was Yves’ arm — Yves, snuggled up to his side, the dark waves of his hair spread out over the pillow.
Last night’s memories all came crashing down at once.
They had kissed. And now Yves was holding him.
It felt surreal. It felt like he was still dreaming. Sweet Yves, finally happy, and he had chosen to take all his newfound confidence and use it to kiss him.
Runar didn’t know what it was — he was holding still to not disturb Yves, but maybe the way his heart leapt in his chest was enough, with him so very close — but Yves opened his eyes, shifted too look up at his face, then withdrew, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.
Don’t go. »Good morning.«
»Good morning.« Yves looked away, and Runar wondered if he regretted his boldness. Maybe it had been just the mead from the feast. Maybe it had all been a mistake.
»Are you… alright?«
Yves’ eyes snapped back to him. He took a breath before he answered, »I feel silly. Jumping on you like that.«
»I’m. I’m glad you did.« Runar didn’t blush easily, but now he could feel heat creeping into his own cheeks as well. »But if you’d rather we — we speak of it no more-«
»No! No, it’s not like that.« Yves crept past him and fled into the kitchen area, busying himself with breakfast.
Runar followed him, careful to leave him enough space. »What is it, then?«
It was a while before Yves paused to speak; Runar waited patiently. »It still seems hard to believe, sometimes.«
That I love you? He couldn’t ask that. It needn’t be about him.
»It’s… most of the time I know — where I belong. I belong here.« He looked at Runar, as if to challenge him, and Runar felt his heart stumble once more.
»Yes, you do.«
Yves glanced away. »But, you know. You’re a brave warrior. You saved me. And I…« He took a deep breath, almost a sigh. »I’m only me.«
»Yves-«
»I know. You’ve said it all before.«
»I’ll say it as often as I need to.«
A small smile appeared on Yves’ lips, though a spark of worry remained in his eyes. »Let’s take it slow. Like you said. I’m… I think I need to get used to it. Being… Trusting. Like that.«
»Yes… that makes sense.« He wanted to ask something else, but he didn’t know exactly what it was that loomed at the edge of his mind. Did Yves feel safe? Obviously. Did he want to continue this, whatever it was? It seemed like it. »Do you want that?« he simply asked, finally.
This time, Yves looked him frankly in the eye, and the smile was still there, beautiful and unassuming like a dewdrop in the sun. »Yes. I think I do.«
Yves helped him redress his nearly-healed wound after breakfast, his touch sparking against his arm. Then, as usual after returning from their journey, Runar had to go and check in on everyone else who had been injured, and see if anyone else needed his care.
Unlike last year, Yves didn’t go with him. He had his own matters to attend to. He missed him, a little, but the loneliness was far outweighed by the sweet knowledge of how far Yves’ roots here now reached. He wouldn’t be losing him anytime soon — even if…
But he forbade himself the thought. They had only just started.
As days passed by, they settled into a new routine. It was much like their old one, really, but the small differences there were felt like the world.
Kisses goodnight. Soon, kisses goodbye when they parted ways in the morning; and then cuddles and kisses in bed before getting up. Flowers from the wayside — Yves started it, coming home one day with a distinct flush on his cheeks and the last heath blooms. Little touches of hand to hand.
When they went to bed, they touched more. First under their nightshirts, but one night, Yves simply pulled his off.
Runar watched him like a wonder of the world before he even remembered to copy him. He felt Yves’ eyes trace his shape, equally flattered and flustered, but he couldn’t blame him, because he was taking in every detail of Yves’ body as well.
It was covered in scars, more than his own. He found his fingers tracing the lines on Yves’ back before he even thought about it.
»Lots of scars, huh.« Yves looked away, but he didn’t flinch.
Runar quickly switched to rubbing his back just so. »You didn’t deserve any of that.«
Yves chuckled, and Runar was rushed with a wave of pride. »I deserved this one.« He pointed at the wolf bite marked out on his shoulder. »For being stupid.«
»No, you didn’t.«
»I should have trusted you.«
»You were scared.« Runar paused, then added quietly, »It was warriors like us who hurt you. Of course you were scared. I shouldn’t have left you alone that day.«
»Not… like you.«
They were kissing again, hands on bare skin and mouths exploring one another, and for a moment Runar was tempted to take the next leap.
But they had agreed to take it slow, so they only kissed and cuddled and went to sleep skin on skin.
