One could get dizzy, watching the movements of the glittering young mages in this ballroom. Too many of them are simply here to see and be seen - Kevian hates that tonight, he is here for the exact same reason. Unlike the majority of attendees tonight, he would rather be anywhere else.
A representative of the Senary had been requested at this soiree, so here he was. There was a tentative truce between the Mythlight College of Magics - Mycom, to this crowd - and the Powers That Be at the temple. It frustrated him, the tension, because it had little to do with any real disagreement of philosophy or beliefs, and more to do with both sides wanting to curry favor with the Emphir. Kevian's areas of study in magic had made him the obvious choice as envoy to Mycom, and no one much cared that he'd much rather be pouring over ancient texts than making small talk with glittering strangers. The only thing keeping him from being miserable is knowing that he's been approved to stay here and do just that, pursuing his own interests and research, until the Temple feels the need to recall him for some other purpose.
His eyes scan the crowded room, his gaze lingering on the clusters of scholars and mages gathered around the refreshments. Earlier, before he ran out of steam, he'd been mingling and chatting well enough to keep up with the most social of the college student crowd, but to no avail. His goal to wrangle an invitation to meet Desily Treethistle, the college's archive curator, doesn't seem any more in reach. Rumor has it that she possesses some of the rarest and most obscure magical texts in the empire, but a rare few ever meet her, much less get granted access to the library's most restricted areas.
It's growing late, and even the who's who of partygoers have begun to show signs of intoxication, each of his conversations less productive than the last. He makes his way through the throng, exchanging polite smiles and nods as he goes. Arriving at one of the heavily laden tables of sweets and drinks, he considers whether he wants to get tipsy alongside them and attempt to salvage his enjoyment of the night, or simply go back to his lodgings and collapse into his bed.
Accepting a glass of the fizzy ale-fruit drink that is all the rage with the mage students, he turns to watch the dance floor. Many of the professors and other dignitaries have begun to retire, and as a result of fewer adult eyes, the students are doing what most young people do with a lack of supervision - the dancing has become more sensual, the music more intense. The sea of unfamiliar faces now feels less like a foreign country and more like a minefield. That makes up his mind - it's time for him to head home.
He sips his drink, his gaze drifting over the room in search of a potential escape route that is least likely to leave him figuring out how to turn down some other young man or woman's intoxicated proposition. Deciding his best bet is to stick to the edges of the room, despite that it will take quite a bit longer, he sets off.
Later, he will try to understand what makes him pause, looking into the spinning and writhing masses again, and he thinks it was a laugh, something that wasn't quite familiar but tugged at the edge of his memory. No matter the exact reason, he does pause and scan the dancers. A familiar - but unexpected - face catches his eye. Taskin Dal, the Tribal scholar he'd met a couple of months ago on the coast, is spinning across the dance floor.
Kev is rooted to his spot, watching. The dance is a complicated one where the following partner is thrust away and reeled back in every few steps by the leading partner. In the base steps, as the following partner is cast away, they end up further and further away from the leader, taking a new partner for each set. That part is fairly easy; the more complicated part of the choreography is that if a dancer is interested in their partner, they execute a different set of steps. Partners who both try to stay together usually find themselves back with their original partner every other set, but if only one partner is interested, they might chase their quarry all across the dance floor.
Because he knows the steps, he can see that Taskin is flirting with three different partners, allowing himself to be 'caught' by the same leaders over and over again. Never enough times to indicate any sort of commitment, but toeing that line, and more than enough to signal his interest. Kev wonders for a moment if the Mare'n native realizes that he's flirting - but, no, there - one of the leaders tries to catch ahold of the tribesman and draw him off the dance floor, and Taskin deftly slips from his clutches, and suddenly his three partners are down to two, making his rejection of the now-pouting mage's advances clear.
The music changes key, warning that the song is going to change (and so, too, will the dance), and Kev watches Taskin lean in and brush a kiss on the cheek of the young woman he is dancing with. There's a hot spark in his stomach, his chest, but before it can bloom into anything else, the other boy is handing the girl he'd kissed into the arms of the other young man he'd been flirting with, and slipping off the dance floor before he can get caught up in the next song. The two partners he leaves behind are kissing each other now, buffeted on all sides by other dancers, laughing and comfortable in each other's arms. Bemused, Kevian realizes that while he was watching, Taskin had been propositioned by three different people, and one of those offers had been to join a threesome.
Turning away from the dance floor, he scans the wings near where Taskin had left the dance floor. He spots him after only a moment; the other man has picked up a glass from a nearby table and is drinking deeply, propped up against a pillar. Without giving it a second thought, Kevian walks in that direction.
"Taskin Dal," he lifts his voice just enough to be heard above the din of music, dancing feet, and conversation. "I hadn't expected to run into you here."
Taskin turns, his eyes locking onto Kevian's. A hint of surprise flickers across his face before he breaks into a warm smile. "Kevian. I might say the same."
His smile is the same as the one Kevian hasn't been able to put out of his mind since they met in Nightpoint. Warm, a little shy, and honest. Taskin wears his every thought and expression out there for all to see, instead of hiding behind a polite mask. Kevian finds it…safe. There is no guesswork in deciphering what Taskin is feeling. He realizes as he comes to stand next to the other man that his first instinct is to pull him into an embrace, which is totally inappropriate for someone he's met only once. A stranger, in anyone's book!
Anyone's book, that is, except apparently his own. Taskin doesn't feel like a stranger, and the fact that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about him all these weeks supports that. Uncomfortably, he has to acknowledge that the hot spark earlier watching Taskin dance had been the seed of jealousy.
Shocking, because he hasn't desired anyone in a long time, and never out of the blue like this. Kevian doesn't have a lot of intimate experience, but the few times he's experimented, it has always started as a friendship, and then that friend would propose something more, and he'd obliged. Both encounters had been physically satisfying in the end, but neither time had he even considered feeling jealous of his partner's older partners - before, during, or after.
Taskin reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, startling him out of his musings. His eyes linger on Taskin's face, taking in the way the other man's smile widens. He feels a strange, liquid sensation in his belly, something he has never felt in anticipation, only in the middle of intimacy. As he stands there next to Taskin, he becomes acutely aware of the proximity of their bodies, the points where Taskin's fingers are resting on his arm.
Taskin, too, seems to be savoring the moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. He takes the last sip from his glass and then sets it on a nearby tray, his gaze never leaving Kevian's face. The air between them is charged with a newfound awareness, a sense of possibility that neither of them seems willing to ignore. Thinking back, Kevian realizes that he had felt this same anticipation several times the first night they'd met, but one or both of them had backed off before it ever became anything else.
As they stand there, the music and laughter of the party fade into the background, leaving only the two of them, suspended in the moment. Kevian can feel the tension building, a slow-burning fire that threatens to consume him. This time, neither of them seems to be backing off. Taskin is holding his gaze in a way he didn't back in Nightpoint, and then in a movement that seems almost imperceptible, he leans in, his voice low enough that Kev has to strain to understand. "Kevian, I have to ask... would you like to come with me? To my lodgings, I mean."
Kevian's heart skips a beat as he processes the question. He knows exactly what Taskin is asking, and he's surprised to find that he's considering it. More than considering it - he's tempted, so deeply tempted. Unlike his own offer months ago, this is not just an offer of a bed for the night.
Taskin's eyes seem to bore into his soul, searching for an answer. Kevian can feel his pulse racing, his body responding to the implicit invitation without waiting for his mind to process it. He takes a deep breath, trying to think. Is this a good idea? They barely know each other.
"What about the others?" he forces out, despite the part of him that wants to scream 'FORGET the others!'.
Taskin's expressive face cycles through a range of emotions. Confusion, understanding, and then something Kev can't read. He leans in, putting his mouth right next to Kevian's ear, pressing his body against Kev's. "You were watching me dance? Did you like what you saw? Gefen and Kuri are very pretty, aren't they?" he laughs, and the warm air in Kevian's ear makes him shiver. "They are very attentive, they make great lovers, and the two of them together…"
Kevian's entire body goes still, his heart pounding in his chest. He fiercely fights down the urge to growl something possessive at that, that hot flare back with a vengeance as Taskin's teasing words make him imagine the other man between the two admittedly very pretty students he'd seen him dancing with, kissing and touching and…in a voice that's barely above a whisper, Taskin adds, "I don't want them tonight. I want to be with you, Kevian. I want to touch you, and be touched. I want-"
"Stop," he cuts him off, and he intends it to be commanding, but it's breathy and desperate. He can feel the weight of Taskin's words, the desire and longing that underlie them. He knows, in this moment, that he's interested, that he wants to explore this spark that's ignited between them, and that if he does, nothing will ever be the same. "Don't tease. Yes, if you mean it."
"Oh, believe me," Taskin grabs his hand, and before he can think about it anymore, he's being tugged along towards the exit. "I mean it."
