The words are entirely too cheerful for the sun having not even reached the window, and how late they were up last night at the festival. Taskin groans and rolls over to bury his face in the mattress, muttering, "Too early."
Kevian laughs and leans down to kiss the back of his neck, and then his shoulders. "We need to get on the road. I'm going down to grab some breakfast, give you time to get up and get dressed." He slides off the bed, and Taskin hears the door close behind him.
He really intends to only close his eyes for a minute and then get up, he really does, but he slides back into dreamland, awoken some time later when his husband yanks the blankets back and lands a hard swat to his - inconveniently bare - rear end.
Eyes shooting open, he rolls over with a yelp and pouts at Kevian, who just raises an eyebrow and says, "Up," in an uncompromising tone. With a dramatic sigh, Taskin just flops back on the bed, closing his eyes again. Every inch of him is sore from their tryst the night before - pleasantly so, but nonetheless, he just wants to sleep a few more hours.
"Dearheart, if we had the time to sleep, I would be right there beside you," Kevian's voice drifts from somewhere else in the room. "But we are on a tight schedule today to reach our next waystop by nightfall."
Sure, it sounds eminently sensible, but he can't imagine how an hour or two would make that much of a difference, so he curls up, tugging Kevian's discarded shirt from the night before over to use as a pillow. A smile starts to tug at his lips when the bed dips, and he rolls towards Kevian, thinking his husband has given in and is joining him for a nap.
He is horrified when, instead, strong hands yank him over Kevian's knee, bottom raised vulnerably high, and then a dozen searing swats are laid down, abrupt and hard enough to shock him to tears. Then Kevian rests his hand on the closest cheek, the threat obvious. Despite all of it, his voice is calm and nearly gentle when he says, "If you need a whole hiding to settle, stormheart, I can oblige. But I don't think a sore bottom will make today any more pleasant." As if to emphasize his point, Kev pats Taskin's still-exposed bottom, right where he will need to sit his horse all day, which happens to be where he landed all of his swats so far. Taskin squirms and whines quietly; he is sure that it isn't a coincidence. "Enough?"
"Enough," Taskin agrees, voice just shy of steady. He takes a deep breath as Kevian pats his very accessible rear, softly enough not to even aggravate the sting, and then helps him to his feet. Taskin melts into his open arms, burying his face in the wide chest. "What if they don't like me?"
"Then we look for something else," Kevian says easily. "This may be an excellent opportunity, but it won't be the only one. All we can do is both put our best foot forward. C'mon, my heart, breakfast, and we'll be on our way."
-------------------------
Taking a deep breath, Taskin follows the older man into his office. Lucius, the Head of School here at Lastar School, is tall and fairly imposing, with a face that has been nothing but vaguely friendly, though deep lines show it can be other things.
He's glad that his husband had insisted on an early departure the day before, so they arrived early enough in the evening to get a good night's rest. They'd been separated shortly after their arrival, Kev to speak with the Temple officials and Taskin to be toured around and interviewed by the man now gesturing him to a seat opposite a dark wood desk.
"Have a seat, please." He obliges, sliding quietly into one of the chairs. "What did you think of our school, Mr. Dal?"
"Just Taskin, please," he murmurs. "And it's quite an impressive institution, sir." He'd been able to relax and enjoy quite a pleasant conversation with Lucius as the man showed him around the school, but he finds himself growing tense now, faced with the formal portion of the interview.
"You come highly recommended, Taskin, from multiple sources I wrote to before inviting you here to speak with me." Lucius leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "But I can also read between the lines, young man, so I have to ask. Why did you leave a coveted and prestigious position teaching at MYCOM, to even have the chance to consider our little school?"
The joviality has faded from Lucien's face, leaving him looking stern and serious. Taskin takes a deep breath, steeling himself. It's not that he didn't know it would likely come up, but he had still been holding out hope that glowing references would dazzle his next prospective employer, and they wouldn't ask.
"I did very much enjoy the teaching I was doing at the college," he says slowly. "But I ran afoul of the Marquise of Rone. She did not appreciate that in learning about the ways of my people, some of my students saw reason to question the infallibility of the Empire."
"Your teachings were so inflammatory as to attract the attention of the Marquise of Rone?" Lucius asks, sounding extremely unimpressed.
"No! It wasn't like that." Taskin can feel himself flush. "I had her son and her niece in my class, so I guess it hit close to home for her. She tried to have me killed and threatened to withdraw her support from the college if they did not remove me. I resigned."
Lucius studies him, dark eyes impassive, long enough for Taskin to want to squirm. At long last, he nods slowly. "As it happens, I am aware that Eliana of Rone is an uncompromising Imperialist, and not a great human being either."
They share a smile, and Lucius' expression fades back to friendly. "I'm sure you realize, Taskin, that we do not have need of a full-time instructor of Mare'n language and culture." Taskin's heart starts to sink, his smile to falter, but the Head leans forward, interrupting his spiral. "But, let me assure you, I believe I have a position here that would be perfect for you."
Taskin's heart skips a beat. He hadn't allowed himself to hope, not really, that this opportunity Kevian had found would work out. Not until now. Still, he does his best to school his face and tone of voice to calm. "Really? That would be wonderful," he replies. "What position is that?"
Lucius smiles at him as if all his work to conceal his enthusiasm is for naught. "We are in need of a teacher for our 'Comportment and Manners' class," he explains. "As I told you earlier, we pride ourselves on cultivating strong, independent thinkers amongst our students. I believe someone with your life experience and unique position as an outsider to the Empire would be the perfect fit. Additionally, it's a position that requires patience, understanding, and a strong sense of morality - qualities that I am led to believe, and am inclined to agree from our conversation this morning, that you possess."
"Thank you," Taskin ducks his head, feeling a spark of excitement at the prospect of having a vocation again. Of teaching again - he has been adrift without a purpose, and he had truly enjoyed teaching, before. This position will give him the chance to do good again, and it sounds like it will also allow him to stay true to his own values and beliefs. "I would be honored to join your faculty."
"Excellent," the Head claps his hands together once and starts to stand, pushing his chair away from his desk. "Let me show you where your rooms will be, then."
"Wait, Archfather," he extends a hand to halt him, and then winces. "Or, um, is it more properly Firstfather?"
"Archfather would be in regard to my role amongst the Neferim, Firstfather, if we are speaking directly about my role as Head of School. But just Father is fine in everyday conversation, or even Lucius, if we are to be colleagues."
"I am interested, Father, but I will have to speak to my husband first." He takes a deep breath and stands as well. "I do sincerely hope his discussions this morning went as well as mine, so I can accept your offer, but we are only interested if there is a place for both of us."
"Well, you're as good as hired, then," Lucius laughs, a surprisingly musical sound, but quickly stops when Taskin just looks back, confused. "Son, any temple would be clamoring at the chance to bring Kevian Spelloyal into their fold."
"Oh," with a tilt of his head, Taskin considers that. He knew Kev was good, great even; his services were certainly in high enough demand everywhere they have traveled. The type of acclaim Lucius speaks of, though, is another beast entirely. His fingers tighten on the back of the chair he used to be sitting in. "I'd still like to wait and speak with him," he says as firmly as he can manage.
"Of course, young man, of course." A bell sounds, its steady toll audible even through the thick walls with doors and windows closed, and Lucius smiles again. "Excellent timing. That's the call to midday meal, I am sure we will find your husband there, and if not, I will help you find him after we eat."
-------------------------
"Why are you scowling so fiercely, my heart?" Kevian envelopes him from behind, resting his chin on top of Taskin's head. "Shouldn't we be celebrating?"
True to his new employer's assumption, he'd been reunited with his husband at the luncheon meal, which had been simple but filling. There'd been introductions all around - Kevian to Lucius, Taskin to several other probably important Temple personages whose names he's already forgotten, though their faces are seared in his mind. He'll have to ask Kevian again who they are when they see them again, so he doesn't embarrass himself or Kev.
That's part of why he's frowning. He's no longer sure what will embarrass his partner - after what Lucius had said earlier, he finds himself wondering if Kevian is profoundly more important than he had been allowed to see, over the past few years.
After lunch, Lucius had brought them here, to their quarters. Which are more than adequate - a bedroom, a washroom, and a third little room that will make a sitting room or study; small, all of it, but just for them. But it's…too empty. Desolate. That's the rest of the reason he's glowering.
"It's just…kind of dismal," he murmurs, leaning back into the familiar embrace.
"We've only just arrived," Kevian gives him a little squeeze and nuzzles the side of his face. "It will take some time for this to be home, dearheart. But we will make it one."
"How can you be so sure?" There's nothing here except a bedframe, a single dresser, and a sad little table with two chairs that looks like it may have been carved at the same time the temple was built. It does not feel like a home.
"Because I will make it so, my wild one. You just have to have a little faith."
"Isn't that your department?" Taskin folds his arms over his chest as Kevian spins him around, tipping his chin up.
"Mm, perhaps, but as I have faith in the gods, don't you have faith in me?" Kevian asks, tone light and teasing. "Though you do work for the Temple now. Perhaps you need a refresher on the Six? We could start with my patron." He leans down, nibbling seductively at Taskin's neck.
"First of all, you told me yourself not to equate the Shadim with sex," he answers, resting his hands on his husband's shoulders but making no move to push him away as he whines, "and we don't even have sheets for the bed!"
"We'll borrow some, or I'll go buy some in town. We can lay our bedrolls on it for now," Kevian slides his hands up under Taskin's tunic and pulls it over his head, and then rests their foreheads together. "It's not like we don't have any belongings, dearheart. I'll send for the things Gefin and Kuri are keeping for us as soon as I can."
"And," he's lowered his hands to the laces of Taskin's breeches. "Just because I don't serve Shadi through sex, doesn't mean I haven't learned a few things from my fellow Shadim."
"Oh?" Grinning, Taskin reaches for Kevian in turn, starting to loosen the laces on the side of his overrobes. "Are you going to prove that to me, my sun?"
Grabbing Taskin's hands and stilling his movements, Kevian pretends to have to think about that. "I think you should earn that, hm? Keep your hands here," he puts them on top of Taskin's head. "If you move, I'll stop."
He shivers in anticipation, watching as Kevian reaches once more for his waistband.
His pants are pooled on the floor, and his shirt is halfway to joining his tunic on the floor when they are both startled by a knock on the door. He jumps, and Kevian curses softly before leaning in to whisper, "If we're very quiet, maybe they'll go away."
His skin tingling, his brain buzzing pleasantly, Taskin wants nothing more than for whoever is at the door to go away, so he not only freezes in place (though he'd been doing little more than squirming) but also holds his breath, eyes closed. It doesn't work; the knock comes again, the sound somehow managing to convey irritation.
"Damn," Kevian sighs, and lets Taskin's shirt fall back down to cover him. "I'll go see what they want. Don't go anywhere, whirlwind, I'll be back to finish what I started."
"Don't take too long, or I can't make any promises," he pouts, frustrated in more than one way; only to squeak as his lover nips at his neck and lands a stinging swat at the same time.
"Don't move," he growls as he heads for the front door.
Which is an order he manages to follow for a couple of minutes. First, he doesn't move at all, hoping it is just a case of someone delivering a message or the wrong door. When the murmur of voices doesn't dissipate, he blows out a disgruntled breath and sits down on the bed, closing his eyes and practicing some breathing exercises to tamp down on the raging desire he'd been left with.
Whoever had been at the door isn't leaving. Or maybe Kevian is just being too polite. With that thought in mind, he shoves off the bed and strides to the bedroom door, slipping into the front room. Two faces turn towards him - Kevian's, and an unfamiliar woman. Older, almost comically short next to Kev, gray hair tied into small, tight knots all over her head. She's studying him as intently as he's studying her. As they gaze at each other, her wrinkled face slowly eases from annoyance to something he thinks might be amusement.
"Is this why you are here, in the middle of nowhere, little spark?" She looks up at Kevian, arms crossed.
"I'm where I need to be," he answers placidly.
"If you believe that, why have you kept it a secret from me?"
"I am not…" he huffs out an annoyed breath. "I am no longer your dimali, Bryony. I don't have to report my every move to you."
"It is certainly my business if you are wasting your talents in some backwater conclave, young man," she snaps.
How dare this tiny woman speak to Kevian like that? Bristling, Taskin steps towards her. "Don't speak to him like that in our home!"
" 'Our?' " she says the word incredulously. "How many secrets are you keeping from me, Kevian Spelloyal?"
Kevian clears his throat before Taskin can tender another response. When he looks over, his husband's eyebrows have nearly disappeared into his hairline.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Propping his hands on his hips, he growls, "She's the one who…" he trails off as Kevian hooks an arm around him and tugs him close, kissing the side of his head before he murmurs into his ear.
"My heart, perhaps you'd like to go get dressed before we finish this conversation."
"What? I…" When the realization hits that he's confronting this stranger in just a long shirt - that currently covers all of him, but wouldn't, in a slight breeze or if he moved the wrong way - he flushes darkly and turns his face into Kevian's shoulder.
It's not even that he's ashamed or particularly self-conscious about his body, because he's not; he knows when he looks good and uses it to his advantage in all of his various physical relationships. But something about being unaware of his state of undress - and the underlying feeling that this person is more than just some annoying Temple bureaucrat - is mortifying.
Ducking around Kevian, he takes a moment to take a deep breath before slipping his trousers back on. He reaches for his tunic but then changes his mind, throwing it back onto the bed. He wants the mental armor of a pair of pants to confront the stranger in his new home, but he won't be forced into the formality of getting fully re-dressed.
Returning to the front room, he finds both his husband and the woman sitting at the rickety old table. There's not a third chair, but Kevian immediately holds out a hand, and Taskin takes it, allowing himself to be tugged down into his partner's lap.
"Bryony, this is my husband, Taskin Dal. Taskin, Bryony Talbot, my guardianatus."
"Guardianatus…that is essentially your mentor?" Taskin turns the unfamiliar word over in his brain and on his tongue.
"Yes-" Kevian starts to say, but he's interrupted by a grumpy 'harumph' from the woman across from them. Taskin can hear the annoyance in his voice when he says, "I'm sorry, what?"
"I practically raised you, my boy, or have you forgotten so quickly?" she says sternly. "Don't insult your paramour's intelligence by trying to distill a guardianatus and shadimali relationship to something as mundane as a 'mentor'."
"He's not my 'paramore', Bryony, I just told you he's my husband," Kevian starts, heatedly, but pauses when Taskin shifts on his lap and puts a hand on his arm.
"Do you have a problem with me?" he asks, careful to keep his voice calm and quiet in contrast to their high emotions. He's not calm - he can feel his heart racing at the thought that someone so important to Kevian (the first such person he's met) doesn't approve of him - but he can put on an excellent act.
"By the Six, no. I don't even know you." Her gaze is dismissive when she glances at him, and he has to resist the urge to shiver. "What I have a problem with is my protege - one of the most promising young mages this Empire has ever seen - squandering his talents in a backwater Temple for the sake of common infatuation."
Oh. Well, when she puts it like that…Taskin doesn't have words to respond, just drops his gaze and stands, deftly avoiding Kevian's grasping hands as he tries to keep hold of him. "It was a pleasure to meet you, but please excuse me. It's been a long morning, and I'm sure you want time alone to catch up," he hears himself say, voice level. He moves quickly towards the bedroom, which is his only option for escape since he isn't exactly dressed to leave their quarters and socialize with his new colleagues.
"Time certainly hasn't softened any of your edges," he hears Kevian say behind him. "But that was particularly unkind."
"Oh, Kevian, honestly," Bryony says defensively. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
"I might, but Taskin doesn't. Heck of a first impression, Bryony. Look, just go, alright? I'll find you later."
-------------------------
It's nice that their quarters have a large, lovely window that looks out onto a secluded courtyard, but it will definitely need some curtains. He places that as a priority just below bedding.
Soft footfalls herald the arrival of his husband, but he doesn't move or turn around, even as Kevian's arms close around him from behind. "I'm sorry, dearheart. I should have warned you that Bryony is something of an acquired taste. She likely has no idea how hurtful she was."
"But it's true, isn't it?"
"What's true?"
Taskin doesn't answer right away. He's still organizing his thoughts, and anyway, there's a lump the size of an orange in his throat. Kevian spins him around, eyes dark and worried.
"Taskin, what's true?"
"You let me believe you're just another mage," he accuses softly. "But you're not. And instead of being out there being the best at whatever it is you're the best at, you're hiding out here in the middle of nowhere…for me."
"Oh, my heart, no," Kevian strokes his face, runs a hand through his hair. Taskin's face must reflect his disbelief, because he sighs and goes on. "Okay. What kind of mage am I?"
"You…study magic." It's not that Taskin doesn't know what Kevian does, but it's always seemed a little too…theoretical to dive deeper into. Taskin is not a magic user; there are things in his husband's study of magic that are just too arcane for him to bother knowing.
"My study of types and users of magic around the world is more of a personal interest, dearheart. Something to pass the time, and contribute to my craft. The skill that sends me all over the country, the one Bryony is so up in arms about, is not that." The cleric backs up to the bed, drawing Taskin with him, and then tugs him down to sit with him. "Dearheart, I am a healer, of sorts. And yes, I am good at it. Very good. I can help some where many other healers have failed. But that is only because of Shadi's help. I am a cleric of the narrowest definition - one who works directly with their god."
"That doesn't make me feel any better!" Taskin sits back from his husband, glaring fiercely at him. "If I am keeping you from being out there, helping people, what kind of person does that make me?"
"You're not keeping me from anything. Not everyone who needs help needs me - I am not a healer of bodies, or even of minds, not in the way you might think. I work with those who have sickness in their magic. Trust me, my heart; if they need me, they will find me, no matter where I am. Many of the jobs I was taking before, they didn't need me, they could have been helped by anyone."
He takes the time to study Kevian's expression and sees nothing but the truth, so he allows himself to start to relax slowly into his husband's warm and soothing presence. "Promise?"
"I promise." Kevian smiles warmly at him. "The reality is, the Powers that Be have gotten used to using me for a lot of situations where my expertise was not necessary. Before I had you, I had no reason to turn them down."
Taskin lays his head on Kevian's shoulder, and snuggles in when his partner puts an arm around him. "What about your, um, guardianatus?"
"Bryony will come around, my heart. She's not great with people," he gives Taskin a little squeeze at that, as if he can sense when Taskin thinks 'No kidding??', "and she needs time to adjust."
"I just don't like the idea that someone important to you dislikes me," he admits, and after a moment's hesitation asks, "She is important, right? Why haven't you talked about her?"
"Bryony and I were already estranged. She is…frustrated…that I have turned down many offers of prestigious, politically advantageous postings in noble houses since I produced my Master Work and left her direct supervision. She doesn't understand that I want different things out of my life than she does. But, yes, she is very important to me."
Taskin can hear the love in his voice, and stays quiet, hoping he will go on. After a few moments, his patience is rewarded.
"I was Bryony's shadimalis from the time I was eight until I was in my twenties…not too long before I met you. You know I was raised in a Temple orphanage - I was there from the time I was too young to remember until I was given over to Bryony. She's the only parent I ever knew. She's my mother, teacher, mentor, and friend. But you, my heart, are my everything."
