Exhausted, covered in mud, and his partner - his husband, now! - not speaking to him: not exactly how Kevian had ever envisioned spending his honeymoon.
Of course, until fairly recently, he hadn't imagined a honeymoon at all. While his order had no requirement for celibacy, marriage hadn't seemed like it was in the cards for him. His low appetite for bedroom activities seemed to repel many, if not mos,t of his would-be suitors when he was a teen, and his vows and dedication to his studies seemed to take care of the rest. By the time he was a young adult, he'd mostly resigned himself to his fate and filled his time with eager devotion to his duties.
Taskin had been a surprise. New to the Empire's shores, he'd just needed a friend. Then that friendship had bloomed into something much more important, and Kevian had discovered several new truths. First: his desire for activities of the flesh might still be lower than many others, but with the right person, they were not zero, or even close to it. Second: it was possible to love someone more than your life itself in practice, not just in theory. Third: it was much harder to disengage yourself from overly high expectations than it was to get tangled up in them.
When he thought the Temple was all he would ever have, he'd thrown himself into his words and his studies with a fervor that had quickly caught the attention of many higher-ranking clergy. He was willing to travel non-stop, to risk life and limb, to take assignments nobody else wanted, and to be constantly at their beck and call, far above anything his vows or Shadi themself would require of him. Now that he had Taskin, and his priorities had shifted, he was finding it hard to get free of the bonds he had willingly entered.
Of course, that isn't exactly why his husband isn't speaking to him, though they would never have been in this afternoon's situation if not for all of that.
No, the uncomfortable silence right now is because he walloped the older man's arse earlier, and has promised to finish the task when they stop for the night. Despite the cold shoulder, he intends to keep his promise, but that doesn't mean he isn't affected by waves of misery and frustration radiating from his partner as they ride.
The sun is getting lower and lower in the sky. He was hoping they'd make it to a town with a bathhouse or an inn that boasted washing facilities, because Taskin is just as muddy and wet as he is. The disadvantages would be that they won't arrive until quite late and, of course, spanking his husband somewhere where they don't have much of an expectation of privacy. Or they can stop somewhere soon and camp for the night; it'll mean cold bathing in a stream or pond and dinner scrounged over a fire, but privacy for them to talk, and sleeping sooner.
It'll matter more to Taskin than himself. He urges steady, placid Barley forward to match pace with Taskin's more spirited mount, so he can ask, "Do you want to push on to the next town, or bed down on the road?"
"I want to go back to Mythlight," Taskin says without lifting his head.
Kevian can't quite keep himself from flinching. Because they both know when he says 'Mythlight', he really means 'Gefin and Kuri'; there is nothing left in the city he left behind except that. As soon as he stops actively encouraging Barley forward, his horse falls back several steps, letting Taskin's Gryphon surge forward alone. He has not before doubted his place in Taskin's affections, but then again, Taskin had never before weaponized his other relationships like this.
Is he doing the right thing? He knew the road would be hard - harder even than what Taskin had faced in Mythlight. Some of the worst hatred and suspicion is found out here, on the road and in the smaller towns and communities that have never had their xenophobia challenged. Maybe it was selfish of him to agree to get married; if he had refused, perhaps Taskin would have settled for staying safe with their friends in Mythlight, or even returned to greater safety back in Mare'n.
Abruptly, the unflappable Barley throws his head up and snorts, dancing sideways to avoid stepping on Taskin, who has thrown himself off his horse and whirled around, eyes wide.
"I didn't mean that!" he reaches towards Kevian and then snatches his hands back, winding them into his hair. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. I want to be with you. Always you. I-I just…" the tears start flowing before Kevian can get down, yanking his husband into his arms and holding as tight as he can. The distraught man stifles sobs into Kevian's chest for several minutes before he gets out anything coherent. Kevian spends the time rubbing his back and rocking just slightly, but he says nothing; firmly of the opinion that these tears are better out than in.
"My decision now, my heart," he says when the worst of the storm seems to have passed. Easing Taskin back a foot or so, he wipes ineffectually at the wet tracks on his partner's face with his sleeve. "We're going to go ahead and stop. But we need to get off the road. Grab Gryph, alright; as soon as we can get set up, we can get clean, talk, and get some rest."
With a jerky nod, Taskin steps away and turns to his horse, who, despite his wild eyes and shifting feet, and being let loose, is standing only a few feet away. One of the many benefits of the horses bred by the tribespeople of Mare'n - they're loyal and highly intelligent. It would take a lot more than dropped reins and some tears to get Gryphon to leave Taskin, despite how uncomfortable the young horse is with what is going on.
He was quite the wedding gift, from Desily to Taskin. Her gift to Kevian had been less flashy, but no less generous.
As they move off the well-traveled road and into the trees, he keeps a steadying hand on his partner's back and relies on Barley's complete disinterest to settle Gryphon. Relies, too, on the familiar steps of setting up camp to help settle Taskin. He builds and lights the fire and rigs a shelter while Taskin takes care of the horses, and then he leads the way down to the deep, burbling creek. It's going to be cold, but they can't stay as dirty as they are. Laying the bundle of clean fabric he is carrying on a dry rock some ways from the water, he strips off.
"Kev…" Taskin hesitates, hands on his waistband, but Kevian just shakes his head.
"Let's get clean, then we'll talk," he says, pushing away Taskin's hands to unlace his trousers and then his boots.
"Talk, or…?" Taskin mumbles, letting Kevian relieve him of his boots and then his pants. His gaze remains fixed on the stream, determinedly not on Kevian.
Kevian acknowledges his nerves silently, running his thumbs back and forth soothingly across Taskin's hip bones before sweeping upwards to remove him of his shirt and tunic. Standing as he does so, he uses it as a reason to run his hands slowly up his husband's sides, which is enough to bring gray eyes to his, however briefly.
"Yes, I'm going to spank you, dearheart," he concedes, eyes steady, but lets a small smile escape also. "You need me to, and I'm not going to let you down. But we'll talk first. I promise."
A smidge of tension drains from Taskin's shoulders.
"That's it. Just breathe," he reaches around and lands a swat on his husband's now naked rear, more affectionate than chastising. "Creek. Clean. Let's go," he suppresses a smirk at the squeak it earns him and follows his partner in.
Bodies are easy to get clean, and without having to speak, they decide to leave the cleaning of their muddied clothes until the next time they have access to a washing house, but that leaves hair. Both of them like to keep their locks long, and right now, that means long and tangled with drying muck. He makes as quick work of his as best he can and fixes it in a loose knot on top of his head, and then looks over to find Taskin staring off into space, starting to shiver, and his hair yet a mess. Still in silence, he reaches out and guides the slighter man to stand in front of him, bending him backwards so he can use his cupped hand to pour water over Taskin's head, and then uses his fingers to comb through until it is also clean.
Climbing out of the creek, he dries and dresses quickly and then slides one of his own shirts over Taskin's head when the other man emerges. It's too big, but it'll do the job of getting him dry and a little warmer, and he's likely not going to want to be wearing much else when they're finished. Kevian's resolve to make sure he reconsiders risking his safety like he did today hasn't faded, though the talk to understand both his actions this afternoon and his outburst earlier might be just as important.
Placing one hand on the back of Taskin's neck, using the other to gather up all their things, he guides him the short distance back to their little camp. He's confident that the tremor under his hand is nerves, anticipation, not fear. Despite that, he squeezes gently as he takes a seat on their bedroll, tugging his love down. Taskin settles, kneeling, facing him, one leg on either side of Kevian's lap.
And he waits.
"I don't want to leave you and go back," Taskin says, at long last, tears in his eyes. "I want to be with you, always. I'm sorry I lashed out. I just…" long, nimble fingers fiddle with the buttons at the top of Kevian's shirt. "You already spanked me. I can't believe you - and then we had to ride all day!"
Yes. That is the petulance born of disbelief that had spurred the hurtful words from earlier. The handful of swats he'd delivered right after the debacle had been heartfelt, and while he has no doubt they'd made an impression, there was not even a hint of pink left by the time they undressed to bathe. It wasn't the brief spanking that had sent Taskin spiraling, but the abrupt delivery and the lack of immediate care afterward. Kevian had hugged him and dried his few shocked tears, then he'd plopped him back on Gryphon, and they'd ridden onward.
It wasn't that he hadn't given him any care, but it hadn't been anything like their usual. His justification had been that the few smacks to his bottom were barely anything either, but clearly Taskin hadn't seen it that way.
"I'm sorry, my heart," he answers the accusation. "I responded out of fear this afternoon, and I scared you."
"I'm not scared," Taskin lifts his chin, hands stilling, and for a moment all Kevian can see is the tenacity and pride that saw him through a lifetime as half an outsider to his own people, in a world known for being harsh; the tenacity and pride that brought him to the shores of the Empire to gather information on a people who might well be willing to kill him, just to prove himself useful to those same people. For a moment, he is shown none of the nurturing nature and vulnerability that Taskin has offered him since they met.
Except he knows that both sides are true, and Taskin only hides the softer side when he feels he must. Kevian will never shame him for that vulnerability, nor for the times when he feels he cannot show it.
"Startled, then," he says easily, pushing hair out of the man's face. "Or unsettled. Whatever you want to call it, I didn't follow the usual routine. I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry I swatted you, and I'm not sorry I'm going to finish what I started. Taskin, what in the Six were you thinking?"
Dark hair hides Taskin's face again when he drops his face. "What those men were doing was wrong," he argues. "Someone has to stop them."
"You know I agree that it was wrong," Kevian sighs. "But they were haderyn, not children. You should have walked away."
Taskin sits up straighter, chin lifting in defiance. "And let them commit cruelty without consequence?" He looks at Kevian, eyes dark. "They were wild things, Kevian. But not unthinking. Not unfeeling. They didn't choose to be trapped and used like that."
"What were you, even you and I, going to do against a score of men? We would have both died for nothing, Taskin," Kevian runs a hand through the man's dark hair, frustration pulling at the edges of his patience. "You know they are worth a king's ransom on the black market, don't you? They would have disposed of the two of us without a second's thought." He leans forward, their foreheads coming to rest gently together. "It's a different kind of cruelty. A kind that bleeds into everything, swallows humanity, and spits back up monsters. And I know you do not understand it, but that is why I asked you to walk away, until we could get some help."
He sees the shift in Taskin's expression, the way his shoulders slump slightly, the flicker of understanding in his eyes. It's a step in the right direction, but it’s not enough.
“They needed saving,” Taskin insists, voice barely a murmur. "Part of my responsibility is to my Tribe, and that is all living things.”
“You cannot protect others if you are dead. You made me a promise that you would not risk your own life and limb," Kevian answers just as softly. Then the crackle of the fire is the only sound. Taskin avoids his gaze, tracing the edge of his shirt again with careful fingers. They both sit with the memory of earlier in the day. Of how Kevian had steered him away, promising they'd find help for the haderyn in the next town or city large enough to boast a detachment of the Eschien Imperial army or Temple Guard. Of how Taskin had protested, and gone quiet, and then when they stopped to rest midday, snuck back the way they'd come while Kevian was napping.
Kevian doesn't know if Taskin had had any sort of plan. There was no path to success in the endeavor, not the two of them against the whole score of mercenaries. He'd woken and, after getting over the shock of finding him gone, caught up to him. Just before the scholar would have revealed his position to the mercenaries, he'd tackled him, sending them both flying down the muddy bank into the ditch and four inches of wet.
There they'd lain, his hand over Taskin's mouth, until the danger of discovery passed. When he was sure they would not be overheard, he'd yanked his partner over his knee, brought his hand down hard two dozen or so times, clasped him tightly to his chest until his heart started to settle, and then dragged him back to their horses.
And now here they are.
Gently, he uses both hands to lift Taskin's face to his. "This is not the first time you've recklessly risked yourself, even after promising me you would not," he says, voice firm with resolve. "And you went behind my back to do it. I am going to give you a stronger reminder of how I feel about it. I want you to cut me a switch."
Taskin's gray eyes go wide, searching his face for any chink in his resolve. "A switch?"
"Yes." his tone leaves no room for argument, and he holds out the small knife he'd slipped into his pocket. "About this long," he gestures, "and thinner than your little finger. There's a good tree right over there." He points it out, having already scouted its location earlier when they were making camp. Taskin takes the knife and holds it as if it might bite him, but climbs to his feet and pads barefoot across to the indicated spot, where he reaches into the foliage and slices off the first branch he grabs.
Swallowing a sigh, Kevian holds out his hand, a universal gesture for 'bring it here'. He hopes it's acceptable; he'd like to get this over with. They both need some sleep.
It would be hard to stomp in bare feet on the forest's soft ground covering of leaves and detritus, but Taskin manages to give the same feeling with every tense step on his way back over, thrusting the little branch out at Kevian, who takes it calmly.
"Thank you. Now this is how one prepares a switch. Pay attention please, if I have to use one on you again, I will expect you to prepare it," he divests his husband of the knife as well and sets to work after giving the branch an experimental swish to make sure it is green enough not to break apart immediately. "First trim it down to the appropriate size, about here. Then we must remove all the twigs and knobs, like this," he works quickly, running his fingers across the implement each time he thinks he's finished until he comes up smooth.
"It should feel like this," he guides Taskin's hands to explore the newly smooth surface and then presses it into his hand to keep. "Hold onto that until I ask for it."
Taskin whines at that, wordless, but doesn't resist being tugged back down, tipped over Kevian's knees this time instead of straddling them. The cleric slides his overly large shirt up to the middle of his back to bare his target and starts bringing his hand down all over the sensitive skin. Not hard - he's going to let the switch do most of the work - but he wants a warmed-up canvas to start with. He doesn't intend to be harsh, just to leave a lasting impression.
When the man over his lap starts to squirm and make small noises of protest, and his creamy bottom has turned a nice pink, he stills his efforts, cupping his warm hand over the nearest round cheek for a couple of breaths. "Hand me the switch, please."
Taskin trembles slightly as he reaches back, offering up the implement. "Kevian…" he pleads, but the younger man ignores the plea. He takes the switch in his right hand and uses his left to tip Taskin further across his lap, bringing his bare bottom into the perfect position, and then pulling him tight and close to his side.
"I will not lose you to your own recklessness or stubbornness. I love you more than life itself. You nearly threw that away today.”
He lifts the switch and brings it down at the crest of Taskin's bottom, not brutally, but with a deliberate snap. A moment of silence, and then Taskin cries out, more shock than pain. Kevian lays a stripe just below the first, and then another, leaving just enough time in between each stroke for the last to fully take effect. His husband's shocked yelp quickly turns into desperate kicking, wriggling, and something near a howl with each thwip of the switch, but Kevian doesn't stop until he's worked his way methodically from the fullest swell of his bottom to his thighs, a neat ladder of parallel lines, dark pink against the sweeter pink his hand had left.
It's a stinging reminder - sharp, swift, not meant to inflict lasting harm but to sear painful, vivid awareness into Taskin's memories. The welts will be gone by morning, though no doubt soreness will linger through the next day. Taskin is collapsed over his lap, sobbing out apologies and promises to do better. A storm, its fury and fight appeased by the penance and the wash of tears. His storm.
"Shhh, my heart, all is well," he throws the switch off into the woods and starts rubbing Taskin's back, soothing him through the flood of tears and emotions. "Come up here, hm, and let me hold you. My good boy, all is forgiven." He lifts the smaller man from his thighs to his arms, laying them down on the bed roll. Smoothing the long shirt down over his sore and sorry bottom as gently as possible (because he knows his husband will be horrified if he wakes up with his naked bottom exposed to the gods and everyone, even if they are totally alone) he settles Taskin draped over his chest like a warm human blanket and whispers sweet things until he's asleep.
Before Kevian joins him in sliding into slumber, he takes a moment to send a prayer to Shadi, his patron, that perhaps they can have a few uneventful days after this. And just for good measure, he sends a plea up to Taskin's Liril, as well. He doesn't think it's too much to ask to have a few quiet days to honeymoon with his new husband without his job, a threat to Taskin's life, or the need to administer a not-fun spanking to interrupt, and he tells the gods so before succumbing to sleep himself.
