He rests his forehead against the closed door, feeling drained. He'd left two weeks ago after a fierce argument, despite Taskin's objections, and now the door feels like a boundary his husband would rather he not cross. But he doesn't have much choice. The inn they are in only has a couple of rooms, and he'd gone as far as to confirm with the innkeeper that there isn't another bed available for the night.

He contemplates going out to sleep in the barn with the horses, but ultimately, that feels like a step too far. He doesn't want to rejoin Taskin without some sort of resolution, but he backed himself into that corner when he was gone for days and then came home in the middle of the night; it's late enough that he's quite sure his husband is already asleep.

As quietly as he can, Kevian opens the door, slides inside, and closes and locks it behind himself, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. There is no light, candle- or mage-powered, but the fire is still smoldering in the hearth, and that is more than enough for him to make out the lump in the small bed that is his beloved.

Taskin is curled up tight in a ball, mostly hidden under the blankets except for his dark hair spread out across the pillow. Trying his best not to disturb the sleeper, he sheds the day's clothes, pulls on a nightshirt and a clean pair of soft pants, and then lays out his bedroll under the window.

He's settled into it, no stranger to sleeping on a hard surface, awaiting sleep to come to him, when he hears it. Taskin's doing his very best to muffle it, to cry silently, but not succeeding. Kevian's heart clenches. Rolling over, he listens for a moment before he can't stand it. "Don't cry," he says helplessly.

A sharp intake of breath, and then a moment of silence; Taskin is holding his breath to try to be silent, but it only lasts a couple of heartbeats before he has to breathe, and the sound of him trying to catch his breath and silence his tears starts again.

"It's going to be okay, Taskin," he says, sitting up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"How?" his lover wails. "You d-d-don't even w-want to be n-near m-me!"

"No, my heart, that's not true," Kevian is on his feet and approaching the bed before he even consciously decides to do so. "I thought…I didn't think you'd want me near you."

"B-bec-cause of w-what I s-said!" Taskin just curls up tighter. "'m a bad husband!"

"No," he says firmly, and then climbs into the bed, pulling his distraught partner into his arms. "You're not. It's going to be okay, dearheart. I love you. We'll figure it out, okay? But not tonight. Go to sleep."

"P-promise? You won't give up on u-us?"

There are still tears running down his face as he looks over his shoulder, but the desperate, breathless sobs have subsided. "Yes, I promise, dearheart. You're stuck with me."

Taskin sighs, but it's exhaustion and relief that he can hear in the sound. "I love you too," he murmurs as he presses himself back into Kevian's embrace. The cleric doesn't respond, just drops a kiss on the top of his head, and fixes the blankets to cover both of them. Taskin drops quickly into sleep, but Kevian finds himself staring sightlessly at the window and the embers in the hearth.

He wasn't lying when he told Taskin he wasn't going anywhere, that the tribesman is stuck with him, but this isn't sustainable. He can't keep dragging his husband around a country that, at best, is wary of him, or at worst, hates him, while he takes whatever jobs the Temple throws his way, often things he finds distasteful and Taskin finds morally incomprehensible. Even turning down the worst of them, the things his partner would find reprehensible, he's found himself struggling with more and more of his assignments.

They have to find a place where his superiors are more understanding and open to him choosing his own tasks. Perhaps a harder sell, they have to find a place where Taskin can be accepted and valued - he deserves no less - but also a place he can Do Good. For Taskin, that's a moral imperative, and though he claims he wants to stay with Kevian and support him in his duties, it's slowly killing him. Kevian cannot allow it to go on.

-------------------------

Warm sunlight hitting his face wakes him, and despite the many hours spent staring blankly into space after Taskin had fallen asleep, he's the first awake. Taskin doesn't stir until Kevian tugs him closer, tucking his head under his chin. He snuggles back into Kevian with a murmur of protest when he's jostled, and then wakes slowly. He stretches to his full height, arms and legs outstretched, and then rolls over and tucks himself back into Kevian's arms, face pushed into his shoulder.

He slides a hand under Taskin's shirt and slowly runs it up and down the smooth expanse of his partner's back, patiently waiting for him to surface. It's not that he thinks Taskin's fallen back asleep - he can feel the minute shifting as he tenses and fidgets, like his whole body is telegraphing his whirling thoughts. But he doesn't want to rush him - whatever he's brewing up in his overactive head, Kevian wants to give him the time to find the words.

When he finally turns his head so he can speak, it starts with a sigh, then, "Can we just…wait? Have breakfast and maybe take a walk, and come back to this later?"

Kevian strokes a hand through Taskin's long, soft hair, and presses his forehead to the top of his head. "Whatever you need, dearheart."

"I just really missed you," Taskin whispers. "I want to spend time with you, before anything else."

"Alright," he squeezes him a little tighter. "Alright. I don't suppose our morning could include a bath, as well?" He hasn't had a good bath since he'd left this little town - his duties had kept him moving, always moving, while they were apart. Quick washes in basins and streams had been the best he could manage.

"There's no bathhouse here, unfortunately. I'll ask the innkeeper to send up hot water and a bath," Taskin chuckles, and lifts his chin to press a kiss to the corner of Kevian's mouth before deftly slipping from his grasp. "And ask her for some breakfast." He's just wearing a loose shirt, and he adds a tunic over the top, slipping out the door before Kevian can stop him, though he's halfway through escaping the covers to grab him when the door swings shut.

Sitting back against the wall, he has to count to ten. Twice. Then he reminds himself Taskin isn't leaving the building, and counts to ten again. After weeks here, he has to trust that his partner has an understanding of whether he will encounter any other people, and what will be shocking to the proprietors…but the indecent, pantsless way that he just left the room couldn't be anything but intentionally provocative.

Taskin wants something from him - something particular, based on his choices. He could have teased him in bed, perhaps, or in the bath. Instead his husband had chosen something deliberately naughty. The connection he wants from Kevian involves the application of hand to butt - not for discipline, but for stress relief and reassurance. He wants nothing more than to give Taskin exactly what he wants and needs, but a part of him is hesitant. Are they communicating well enough right now to safely play like that?

Climbing out of the bed, he straightens the blankets and tidies up a bit, so that he will not feel embarrassed to have a stranger come deliver hot water. He also takes the time to stage some things - clean clothes for both of them in easy reach, Taskin's hairbrush and the scented soap he saves for special occasions located, a soothing balm added to the bedside table.

The physical bath arrives first and he is surprised but pleased by the huge copper tub that is lugged into the room by two teen boys, likely sons of the proprietor. It doesn't hold a candle to an imperial bathhouse where one can float and spread out, but it will fit both of them in relative comfort.

The size means, however, that it will take some time to fill. He pulls out a book and settles in the chair by the hearth, pretending to be absorbed in his text. In actuality, he barely absorbs a word of it, though he flips pages convincingly. His time is spent, instead, in working through different scenarios and plans, persuading himself that he can give Taskin what he needs. The trickiest part is that sometimes, Taskin doesn't always realize what he's asking for, so he has to tread carefully. After several trips, when the lads have delivered enough steaming water to fill the tub, he tips them each a coin and a candy and settles to await his husband's return.

He doesn't have to wait long. Shortly after the boys depart for the last time, Taskin returns. When he hears the jiggle of the handle, Kevian sets his book aside and sits forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His partner backs in, using his shoulder and hip to push open the door so he can balance his load: a pitcher and a tray. He hums a little tune as he sashays across the room, placing both on a little table near the tub. Then he turns, and freezes, caught in Kevian's gaze like a fly in a spider's web.

Kevian crooks a finger at him, beckoning him over. "Come here, my heart."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Kevian replies, refusing to respond to the slight whine in the other man's voice.

He takes a step and then pauses, flicking his eyes to the tub. "We should bathe while this is hot," he says, trailing his fingers across the water's faintly steaming surface.

"It will still be hot when we're ready," he assures him. "And if not, I can handle warming it back up with a little spellwork."

Taskin takes a step, and then another, inching towards him. "Are you hungry? The pastries and breads are to die for. The innkeeper's husband makes them from scratch." He turns as if to go to the breakfast tray, and Kevian clears his throat, injecting a little more sternness into his voice.

"They'll be just as delicious when we get to them. What I want right now, is you, here." He points at the space just between his knees. Taskin's eyes flit from Kevian to the bath to the tray of pastries; he watches him consider and discard several distraction salvos before he finally creeps forward into grabbing range. Kevian reaches out, placing his hands on either side of Taskin's hips to guide him into place between his legs.

"Thank you, my good boy," he praises him, just to enjoy the red flush on his face and the way he bites his lip, giving a little wiggle of happiness at the praise. "Now, why don't you explain what possessed you to go out like…this."

He slides his hands down to just below where the tunic ends, which is about halfway down Taskin's thighs; barely covering his rump and his privates. Scandalously short, since his partner has nothing on underneath - a good breeze or even bending over would expose his everything to everyone.

"I…I didn't mean anything by it," Taskin murmurs. "Rica and Hamond have become friends, and there's never anyone in the kitchen at this hour."

"You were reckless," he counters, voice laced with mock disapproval even as he strokes his partner's thighs with his thumbs. "Anyone could have seen you."

"Reckless?" Taskin's brow furrows, "No, I was merely-"

"Merely?" Kevian cuts him off, sliding his hands - and Taskin's only layer of protection - up another inch. "Leaving our room half-naked, flaunting yourself, and tempting anyone who sees you to want more? I know exactly what you were doing, my heart."

"Oh," Taskin's pupils have blown wide, his fingers reaching out to lightly grasp Kevian's shirt as if he needs it to steady himself. Kevian has to fight to suppress a smirk. "What was I doing?"

"You were telling me what you needed," Kevian says, and slides his hands up again, lifting the hem of the tunic to where it just skims covering him. Now when he strokes his thumbs, it's a place along the inner front of his thighs that he could never touch in public, and Taskin is swaying towards him, eyes sliding closed. "My good boy. My good, naughty boy."

His lover's eyes fly open at that, and he lets out a surprised squeak as Kevian tugs him forward and drops him over his left knee. "What I think, dearheart, is that you're feeling a little insecure, and a lot nervous, and you want me to prove that nothing has changed between us." Going over his knee has bunched up Taskin's tunic enough to show the lower half of his bottom, and Kevian pats the exposed cheeks a couple of times before he carefully folds Taskin's tunic up to the middle of his back, ignoring the way he wriggles and whines.

"Well, stormheart, nothing has. And nothing will. Even if you are quite," he lifts his hand and emphasizes the word with a lightly stinging smack to the closest cheek, "naughty." He adds a swat to the far cheek. Pausing, he rubs where he just spanked. "I'm going to give you what you need. And then we'll have a bath, and breakfast, and we'll talk about how we go forward. All right?"

"No!" Taskin throws his hands back to cover his butt. "I don't want a spanking!"

"I don't think that's true," Kevian gathers up his wrists, pinning them gently to the center of his back, causing him to kick his feet against the wooden floorboards and growl. "But even if it is, I think you need one, hmm? So unless you're going to use your word, I'm going to get started."

He waits long enough to make sure, but Taskin doesn't use his stop word. He tugs against Kevian's grasp, kicks his feet, and whines for Kev to let him up, but he doesn't use the magic word, so he gets started.

Without speaking, he starts to spank all over the slim bottom bent over his knee, using a cupped hand and a predictable circuit. He wants to build up a sting, making sure Taskin is feeling it, but he knows this is going to take some time, and he doesn't want to do too much, too fast, and end up having to spank him harder than he needs to.

For the first few circuits, Taskin doesn't do anything but whine and mutter. Kevian can feel the tense muscles in his back and his stomach, but that's expected. Taskin is undoubtedly feeling vulnerable and unsure, especially with their arguments weighing heavy on his mind, but a sound spanking is likely exactly what he needs to feel safe and secure again.

With that in mind, he starts to bring his hand down a little harder, still aiming for more sting than anything else. He keeps his swats to the softest, roundest parts of his partner's bottom, only landing a few smacks lower, intermittently, to keep Taskin's attention. Each time he does swat his thigh, or the underside of a cheek, the man in his lap gives in to a spate of disgruntled, and frankly adorable, kicking and squirming.

"Kev! Not th-ERE!" he whines, straining against Kevian's firm hold on him.

"Yes, there," Kevian spanks again in the exact spot, drawing a yelp from the man over his lap. "And here…" he brings his hand down on the opposite sit-spot.

"Ow!"

"And here…" This time he targets Taskin's inner thigh, conveniently exposed by his lover's aggrieved kicking.

"No!" Taskin crosses his ankles, pressing his thighs together.

"Even here." He inserts his foot between Taskin's ankles, using it to pry his legs apart, and lands a swat on the inside of the other thigh.

"But mostly here," he returns to spanking circuits around his husband's rapidly pinkening bottom, increasing speed and strength. "Until I'm sure you understand how much I love you, and that nothing is going to change that."

"OW! OwOWowieeeeeeee Keeeeeeev," Taskin begins to squirm, voice distinctly wet. "I do understAAAAAAAND!"

"Hmmm," he finishes his pattern and pauses to consider, gliding his hot palm gently over Taskin's pink cheeks. As soon as he stops spanking, his partner goes quiet, except for the sound of his gasping, slightly hitched breaths. But, they aren't there yet - Taskin is still too tense, holding on to his composure stubbornly. What he needs is a good cry. Kevian would love nothing more than to gather him up, right now, for a good cuddle. But he knows that isn't what his lover needs right now - he needs a firm hand and a reminder that Kevian will never let him fall.

He doesn't want to draw it out all night though, so he reaches out and collects Taskin's hairbrush from the nearby pile of bathing ephemera. "I don't think you do, not quite. But don't worry, my heart, we'll get you there."

Without a warning tap, he swings the hairbrush down on the fullest part of Taskin's bottom, a flick of the wrist to get the benefit of the brush's fierce sting with little chance of bruising.

Taskin gasps the first time the hairbrush falls, and yelps at the second. Each swat flattens the mound it lands on, sending a delightful ripple through the cheek, and leaving a dark pink oval behind when he lifts the brush again.

"Let go, my heart," Kevian says firmly. "Don't fightt it. Let it out. Let me take care of you."

After the first six, Taskin is whimpering and trying to squirm his way off of Kevian's knee and out of range of the hairbrush, but he holds him tight. .

After twelve, he's flinching instead of trying to escape, and his gasps and yelps have turned into hitched breaths, just this side of tears. Each time Kevian brings the brush down he does so slowly, deliberately, building in intensity. He watches Taskin's reaction like a hawk, gauging, adjusting.

By the end of eighteen sharp swats, Taskin is giving a little choked sob with each smack. His legs tremble, and then finally he gives up, slumping over Kevian's knee.

"That's it, my heart. Let yourself relax, let it wash away. I'm here, everything's going to be alright." His voice is a soothing mantra, calming Taskin's storm. Carefully moderating his force, he lands the last six swats all on the lowest, most tender part of his husband's sore bottom. With each smack, he can see the tension draining from Taskin's body, and he is completely boneless by the time Kevian sets aside the hairbrush (not far away, it will see its intended use soon enough) and starts to rub gently at the cherry-red cheeks.

"There," he says softly, releasing Taskin's wrists so he can stroke his hair with his non-spanking hand as they both catch their breath. "That should do it." Taskin's sobs subside, replaced by quiet tears. "Okay, dearheart, you can come up when you're ready."

"You," his partner bites out, and Kevian chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound.

"Of course, my heart, I can get you up." He lifts his lover into his lap, settling his hot bottom between his thighs. Leaning forward, he sticks his fingers into the bath, and determines it's still warm enough; that is, it's not the scalding hot water both of them prefer, but that would not feel nice to Taskin anyway, or not on his bottom anyhow.

The tears are still rolling down his husband's face, fresh and wet, but he's breathing easier. Keeping his movements slow and his hands gentle, Kevian stands Taskin up and pulls the tunic and shirt over his head. Then he has to let him go to take his own layers off; letting go draws a sad little whine from the older man. "I'll be quick, I promise," he runs his hands through his lover's sweaty, tangled hair and presses a kiss to the side of his head. "Just gotta shed a few layers and then into the bath we go."

As promised, he strips off his own clothes and steps into the bath, lifting Taskin easily over the edge with him, and then settling them down into the warm water. Despite him not re-warming it, Taskin hisses his protest when his rump sinks under the surface, but Kevian kisses him again and strokes hands down his sides to distract him until he settles, before starting the soothing and connecting process of washing both of them. He takes his time, his partner half-asleep against him and not batting an eyelash as he manipulates his limbs and body to reach all their parts. If he was a cat, Taskin would be purring.

He gets a brief sleepy protest when, after washing his hair, he reaches for the hairbrush; but he shushes him and uses the implement for it's intended purpose - slowly and carefully untangling and brushing out his husband's long dark hair. Then he wrings the extra water from the locks and twists it up into a bun on the top of his head to braid later. He pulls Taskin back against his chest and wraps his arms around him, hooking his chin over the older man's shoulder.

"Are you ready to talk, my heart?"

Taskin grumbles and squirms, before settling back against him with a sigh. Kevian reaches out to where the breakfast tray has been laid and picks something at random, breaking it in half and handing part to Taskin before nibbling on his own. Then he waits for his partner to say something, unsurprised when it's an apology.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I shouldn't have accused you of not caring about all of the injustices here. I know it's not true."

"Already forgiven. I'm glad you don't believe that of me," Kevian squeezes him briefly. "I'm sorry I left while we were arguing. It wasn't a set of orders I could refuse."

"I don't like being left behind by myself," Taskin admits, and it's the first time he's said it out loud. Kevian's heart clenches. "I'm lonely."

"I'm sorry, Taskin. I don't want that. I never wanted that." What Taskin hadn't said - and what he didn't have to say out loud - is that he was likely worrying about their argument and beating himself up the whole time, in addition to being lonely. The spanking will have taken care of that guilt, but Kevian doesn't want it to happen again.

"We can't go on like this," he says quietly.

"What else can we do?" Taskin mourns. "You have your vows, and obligations."

"I'll never get out of some travel," he agrees, "but I don't have to accept as many tasks and travel as extensively as I do now. We need a home base, a place where you can make friends and pursue your passions."

"I thought we had that in Mythlight."

"We should have had that in Mythlight," Kevian sighs. "The Marquise threw a wrench into that plan, I'm afraid. But there are other pockets of tolerance and forward-thinking around the Empire."

The tribesman squirms around to kneel up, so they can face each other. "You're talking about places further from the capital," he says.

"Usually, yes. People are less brave directly under the eye of the Emphir and his armies."

"But…" Taskin shakes his head. "That would ruin your career. You advance because you're seen, and the leaders of your temples hear about your work."

"I told you before, and I will tell you again." He puts both hands on Taskin's face, to keep their eyes locked together. "You are more important than my career. We are more important."

Taskin frowns, unbelieving.

"I have pursued acclaim and position in the Temple because I thought it was the best way to do good. When I made that plan, I could never have imagined you, my heart." Taskin's eyes widen and he smiles down at him. "You are good. And you have made me rethink everything I know about doing good versus causing harm. We will find a place where we can both do good, and where my superiors will use me for good, and not just for power."

"That sounds like paradise," Taskin says, and then lays himself back down on Kevian's chest, heaving a sigh. "I fear, though, that I will believe it a fantasy until you prove me wrong."