He is, too, for several days. But then he has to go down to the archives for a completely legitimate reason - he needs some extra copies of a particular text that he is using in class, and that is where they are kept - and he finds himself at the end of the regular archive, facing a heavy door.
Beyond it, he knows, are the restricted archives - where only the librarians and those with special permission are allowed to be. Somewhere in that direction is Desily Treethistle's office…presumably. It is her domain, after all. He reaches out and rests a hand on the unmarked wooden door. To his surprise, it swings open soundlessly. In fact, it doesn't appear to have a handle or any locking apparatus at all.
Still, he hesitates. He had promised Kevian he wouldn't go poking around in the restricted archives, but Kev's reasoning had been that he wasn't supposed to be there, so he might be putting himself in harm's way or jeopardizing his job at Mycom. Surely, though, if they didn't want anyone to go past this door, it would lock? Post a sign? Spell the door? They don't seem to have done any of those things, and furthermore, there had been nothing about the restricted archives in the library rules that all patrons signed their souls away to.
He steps through the door.
On the other side, he pauses, waiting to see if anything happens. It doesn't. It's dark on this side of the door; the hallway he came from is lit with soft mage-lights, but nothing glows here. The air that washes over his skin is cool and dry, but not stale or damp. It feels, smells, and sounds like he would expect an empty library in a basement to feel, smell, and sound.
As he squints, he can make out the vague dark outline of what he assumes are bookshelves all around him, but it's dark enough that he can't see anything else. He reaches down to dig his light-stone out of his satchel, and a light flares into being above him, illuminating a circle of soft, warm light in a radius of about ten feet. It startles him and he freezes, glancing around, but nothing happens. Cautiously, he takes a few steps; a new light fizzles on overhead just as he is about to leave his current cone of light.
This is not the first time Taskin has been startled, occasionally flabbergasted, by the Empire's casual displays of powerful magic. His people are magical too, but they don't create things like motion-activated mage-lights in archives that don't even see frequent use! How many hours, days, must it have taken a mage to spell these? How often do they have to return to pour power into the latent spells? Taskin has no claim to great magical prowess; in fact, he is not a mage at all, but he knows enough to know that this casual display of power would come at a cost of manpower, if nothing else. He supposes he is in a city that is home to a college that caters to magic-users. Perhaps it is not like this everywhere.
He's been standing in the second cone of light long enough that the first has once again gone dark. There has also been no other sign of danger or even any sign that he isn't alone. Curiosity overtakes caution, and he walks into the stacks to his left, trailing his fingers over the spines of the books he passes. The shelves are floor to ceiling, and the aisles are narrow; you would not be able to pass another being in between two shelves without both of you turning sideways to squeeze through. The shelves stretch as far as he can see - further than makes sense based on the library above, unless this room is dug out past the physical confines of the surface floors.
Taskin glances at the end of a row to see where he is, and is pleased to see that this collection uses the same categorizing system as the library above. It is easy to turn and walk to the section on Mare'n. He will think about Kev's research and about the archivist in a few minutes; first, he wants to see what kind of 'special' texts Desily or her predecessors have accumulated about his country.
Taskin turns the corner around a shelf, thinking the section he is seeking will be down this next aisle. Instead, he comes face-to-face with a tiny, gray-haired woman. She's no taller than his chest, and her hair is pulled back into a tight bun that looks all the more wild because of all the hair escaping out of it, a halo of gray fuzz. Her eyes, though, are what really catch his attention - they're a piercing green that seems to bore into his very soul, pinning him in place.
"Where did you come from?" she demands, her voice sharp. "You shouldn't be here."
"Um, the hallway?" Taskin holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to intrude. The door wasn't locked, and I just...I was curious."
The woman's eyes narrow. "The door wasn't locked?" she repeats, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Are you sure?"
Taskin nods, feeling a surge of defensiveness. "Yes, I'm sure. I touched it, and it just...swung open. There wasn't even a handle on it."
The woman's gaze lingers on him for a moment, as if he is a specimen in a jar or under a magnifying glass. A fluttering sound draws his gaze upward, and he follows the path of a glittering creature who drops from above to land on her, wrapping itself around her shoulders like a colorful stole. The faerie dragon rubs its head under her jaw; the motion is oddly catlike. She lifts a hand to stroke its knobby horns, appearing to listen intently. Then, she seems to relax, just a fraction. "I see," she says, and gives another intense, searching look in Taskin's direction. "Shine says she let you in, so you can stay…for now. I'll warn you, if you are here to steal or damage anything, you shouldn't mess with me."
Shine? Taskin can feel his jaw dropping and his eyes going wide with shock when he realizes she's referring to the faerie dragon, who is indeed a shiny pearlescent white color. He takes a step back at the threat, though he manages to make it just the one. She crosses her arms over her chest and continues to stare him down. As the silence stretches, he considers turning and leaving, if only he thought he recalled his path well enough to make a dignified exit.
"Hmph." She turns and stalks off without warning, suddenly enough that even the little dragon on her shoulder has to pump its wings to keep its balance. Taskin inhales shakily, only to sputter on a cough when she reappears, hands on her hips. "What are you waiting for, boy? With me."
He doesn't question it, just following silently as she navigates the shelves, leading him deeper into the archives. They arrive at another door, this one just as big and heavy as the one from the hallway, but covered in carvings of symbols and runes he doesn't recognize. The only thing he can read on the door is "Treethistle" in bold letters near the center. He'd guessed already that he had found Desily Treethistly, head archivist, but there is the confirmation. She pulls the door open and goes in, and he has to dart forward to follow before it swings shut. Inside, he pauses and blinks to let his eyes - and brain - adjust to what he is seeing.
The room seems to be a cave of books. The shelves stretch high to the ceiling at every vertical surface. There’s a desk in the middle, but he can barely make it out at first because it is surrounded by stacks of more texts. The dragon, Shine, flutters away and disappears over the top of one of the shelves, making him wonder if there is more behind the first set. Some of the piles of books are as tall or taller than she is - he thinks it's a wonder she hasn't been crushed by them falling.
She turns to face him, eyes piercing. For a moment, he would swear they were slitted like a cat's - or like her dragon's - but he blinks and looks again, and the pupils are round again, but narrowed at his intense observation. "What do you want from my archives, young man?" she demands, her voice low and gravelly.
Taskin takes a deep breath and tries to maintain eye contact with her. "I don't personally need anything, Elder," nervous, he falls back into the title of respect he would use at home, though 'ma'am' would have been more appropriate from an Eschien view. "My p-my friend, Kevian, has been trying to meet you and get permission to explore your collections for his research."
"Friend," she savors the word, and then scoffs. "If you cannot be truthful with me, little boy, you can go away."
Taskin's heart skips a beat at her words. What is the cleric to him? They're more than friends, though they are friends first. Calling him his lover reduces it to just the physical, though, which isn't the truth either. He stands silently there in the doorway for a moment, unsure of how to respond, or perhaps afraid to. But, how terrible it would be to get this close, and then lose this opportunity for Kevian because…what? Because he is uncomfortable with putting a name to his feelings? After a minute to consider what means more to him, his comfort or Kevian's desires, he tells her what she wants to hear.
"We are friends," he says first, unable to keep the reproach from his whisper. "But yes, we are also…more than friends. I would not dare speak to his truth, but I love him. I know he at least cares for me."
She laughs, and it's the first non-intimidating thing he's heard from her. "That's better," she hoists herself up to sit on the front edge of the desk, and it puts them about at eye level. "And who are you, other than friend and lover?"
"Taskin Dal," he answers promptly, and then feels his face get hot when she rolls her eyes and flips her hand dismissively.
"Not your name, foolish boy. Who are you?" When he just blinks at her, she clarifies, "You're not local. You're not even Eschen, for all you're seeing an Eschien boy. But I can't place your accent."
"How do you know Kevian is Eschien?" he can't help but ask.
"Oh, please. As if I haven't heard about the little Shadim trying so politely to wrangle an introduction to me, and an invitation to my archives. I simply wasn't interested in anything he had to exchange." This time, when she smiles, it's sharp and predatory. "But now you've entered the picture, boy, and you, I'm interested in."
It makes his skin prickle. For the first time since they had the conversation, he has to wonder if Kev was right - if it was dangerous to seek this woman out. If she's dangerous. He's come this far, though, and he might as well see it through. If he's going to be in trouble with his cleric, he already is; he knows himself well enough to know he won't keep this encounter a secret, no matter its eventual outcome. "I'm from Mare'n," he gives in with a long exhale. "Of the Treesong tribe."
"Ahhh, yes. I can see now." Desily studies him for more than long enough to be uncomfortable. "Very well," she nods slowly. "I will grant your Kevian access to my archives. I may even agree to help him if he is bright enough to make it worth my time." Taskin opens his mouth to thank her, but she holds up a hand and his words shrivel on his tongue. "In exchange, I get an equal amount of your time. Minute for minute, what time your lover spends here, you spend with me."
"Me?" his mouth is dry now. "What in the stars can I offer you, Elder?"
"Information about Mare'n, of course. Amongst other things. You won't come to harm, that much I will promise." Taskin hesitates, considering the implications of her words. He knows that Desily is secretive and reclusive, but he has heard practically nothing else about her. One thing he does know is that Kevian is not going to like the open-ended promise. She adds, "You'll just have to trust me, Taskin Dal."
"If he doesn't come…I don't owe you anything?" he clarifies.
"Now you're thinking," she says approvingly. "No, Taskin, you owe me nothing if your Kevian does not come. Though I will not prevent you from coming of your own free will."
"Agreed," he says finally, folding his hands behind his back and bowing just slightly. "Thank you for your time."
-------------------------
Taskin stands in the doorway between the small living space and the bedroom they share, watching Kevian clean up from their shared dinner. Nerves are gnawing at him like a hungry hound gnaws on bones. He can hear the soft crackle of the fire warming their small space, but it does little to quell the tension that simmers in his chest. He had agreed he would stay out of the archives, yet here he is, grappling with a secret that feels like a horse is standing on his chest.
As he waits for Kevian to finish, he chews on his lip. Will Kevian understand, or will his disappointment cut deeper than any blade? Taskin takes a deep, fortifying breath, knowing that he's going to tell his partner about his day, regardless of the consequences. Honesty is all that matters - now more than ever, since he's admitted (if only to himself) how much the younger man means to him.
Kevian dries his hands and hangs up the dish towel, extinguishing the light that is suspended over the kitchen before turning towards Taskin. Taskin doesn't move, and Kevian's eyes are searching as he steps over, expression shifting from warmth to concern.
“Are you alright?” Kevian asks, his tone gentle yet probing as he runs a hand through Taskin's hair. "You've been quiet."
Taskin swallows hard, the weight of his confession crashing down on him like a wave. He manages to meet Kevian’s blue-and-brown eyes, searching for understanding. “I-I need to tell you something,” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I met Desily today.”
A heavy pause follows, the room feeling more constricted with each passing moment. Taskin can hear his own racing heartbeat.
"One of your colleagues introduced you?"
Kevian, Liril bless him, both assumes the best and gives him an out, but he's already sworn to himself that he's not going to lie about the circumstances. He finds, though, that he can't look Kevian in the eyes and admit to his misdeeds at the same time. "No," he murmurs to his feet.
The aching silence stretches one breath, then two, three before his lover says, "I think we should sit down." He puts a hand on Taskin's shoulder and turns him around, steering him back into the bedroom and over to the bed. When he applies gentle pressure, Taskin allows his knees to fold and sits heavily on the end of the bed. It's a small room, but there's just enough space for Kevian to grab the chair that usually sits in the corner of the room and pull it over, sitting down in front of him.
"Alright. Tell me how you met Desily today, please." Kevian’s expression is hard to read, and Taskin shifts in place. He nods, more than ready to get rid of the weight of the encounter pressing on his mind.
"I was in the archives - just the regular ones, getting some books for class!" he is quick to clarify how he'd ended up below the library, because if he has nothing else going for him right now, at least he can honestly say he didn't start the day intending to go where he'd agreed not to go. "I happened to walk past the door to the restricted archives. I didn't intend to do anything, I promise. But I put my hand on the door, and it-it just swung open."
He risks a glance upward, and his cleric's features are still and expressionless, like a stone sculpture. "I know I shouldn’t have gone in, Kevian. But it wasn't locked, there wasn't a sign, and I-I just had to see for myself. I thought I'd just - just go look at what they had on Mare'n, and if nothing happened, if nobody cared, then…then we'd know it was safe for you to come back later and do your research."
"Go on." There is a hint of disbelief in his voice, as if he is trying to process what Taskin had just said. It makes Taskin feel as if his justifications are being weighed and found wanting. The last thing he wants is to go on.
"Um, well, there were no alarms or anything, so I started to explore the archives. But before I could find the section on Mare'n, I ran into Desily." Quite literally - they'd almost collided. That doesn't seem pertinent to the story at this point, though. "She was, um, surprised that the door wasn't locked. I don't think she believed me, at-at first, but then a little faerie dragon flew up and she said the dragon let me in, s-so I could stay."
Aware of himself anxiously wringing his hands, he tucks them under his thighs before he continues. "She took me to her o-office, and we t-talked. She admitted she k-knew you were looking f-for her, but, um, she said you didn't have anything to trade that she wanted. I…I do, though, I guess? So she's agreed you c-can come and study in the archives."
"What does she want from you in exchange?" Kevian interjects, his tone a mix of frustration and worry. “What did you agree to, Taskin?"
"N-nothing bad!" he defends himself. "I just had to agree to talk to her for an equal amount of time as you use the archive. She s-said she won't harm me!"
"You don't know anything about this woman!" Kevian growls. "You have no way of knowing if her promise is trustworthy or not! You don't even know how she defines 'harm'!"
"If she wanted to hurt me, she could have done so already," Taskin mutters, mutinous, upset that Kevian doesn't seem even a little bit excited to have finally been granted what he has been striving to get for months.
"Yes, she could have!" The audible frustration is undercut by the faintest tremor of fear, and Taskin realizes that was very much the wrong thing to say. "Anything could have happened to you down there. I might never even have known where to look or what happened to you. You could have just disappeared from my life forever. I don't know what I would have done if that happened, Taskin."
Taskin says nothing, his throat tight. Somewhere deep in his chest, hope flutters to life that Kevian might share his feelings, given that clear declaration of feelings, but he can't focus on it yet because he is too focused on swallowing down his guilt for this.
“Do you remember the consequences I promised if you disobeyed me on this?” Kevian asks, his tone softening but carrying an unmistakable weight.
Taskin’s stomach knots. “Yes… but I didn't m-mean to-.”
“You did mean to,” Kevian interrupts, eyes searching Taskin’s face. “You could have turned back at any time. You weren't kidnapped or taken by force.”
Taskin feels a mix of dread and anticipation. “I don't want to be spanked. I think it was necessary.”
"Say the word, and I'll go," Kevian says, his voice steady and unexpectedly gentle. "I don't want to, because I love you. But if you want me to stay, I keep my promises, and I said I would discipline you if you did this."
Taskin swallows hard, feeling tears prick his eyes already. "I don't…I don't want you to go. I love you t-too."
His admission earns him a glimmer of a smile; Kevian puts a hand under his chin to lift his face and kisses his forehead. His touch is so gentle that Taskin is drawn to lean into his hands, seeking more pressure. His lover allows it for a moment and then draws away. Sitting back, he scoots his chair back until he can't anymore, bumping into the wall.
"Come here," he says, his tone leaving no room now for argument. The realization of what is come washes over him, and he has to take a deep breath before he can stand and walk over to his partner. Kevian puts a hand on each of his hips, drawing him a step closer to stand between his knees. “I'm not spanking you because you disobeyed me. We're both adults, and I don't want to control you that way. But I won't let you put yourself in danger, and doing so will always land you over my knee. Do you understand?" Kevian says softly, and the steadiness of his partner is grounding for Taskin even as he is mentally flailing at the knowledge of what is about to happen.
“I trust you.” Taskin nods slowly, knowing in his heart that that is true.
“Then let’s get this over with,” Kevian replies, his gaze steady. "You have your stop word, and I will honor it even in this, but I am trusting you not to use it unless there is something seriously amiss; not just because it hurts and you want it to stop."
The implication that it is going to hurt and he will want it to stop makes Taskin shiver in Kevian's hold. Kevian's hands move from his hips, hooking into the waist of his pants and pulling them, along with his underwear, down to his knees. Instinctively, Taskin tries to pull away, protesting, "Wait, t-those can stay!"
He's not strong enough to make it more than a step before Kevian has lifted him bodily across his knees, centering his belly over his left thigh so his bottom is placed perfectly over his right. "I spank naughty bottoms, not pants. Your pants didn't make this bad decision."
It's not at all the same to be over his knee on this chair as opposed to the bed. He feels precarious, unmoored, and most of all small and vulnerable, his front half dangling into the open air on one side of Kevian's legs and his own legs free to hang off the other side but unable to reach the ground. Only Kevian's arm, wrapped securely around his waist, holds him in place.
Taskin's breath catches in his throat as Kevian's hand comes down on his exposed bottom. The first few smacks are a shock, the sting spreading across his skin like wildfire. It is different from their sensual spankings - Kevian is spanking harder from the start, his hand cracking down with a force that makes Taskin's eyes water.
The smacks rain down on his bottom, covering every inch of his skin. Kevian is methodical, spanking down one side and then up the other. He doesn't just spank his upturned cheeks either, making sure to move his hand down to spank the crease where his bottom meets his thighs, and even his upper thighs themselves. Taskin finds himself unable to keep still, legs jerking with each smack, his body trying to escape the pain. But Kevian's arm holds him firmly in place, keeping him exactly where he put him, no matter how hard he squirms.
It's taking all of his willpower not to beg and cry, especially when Kevian lifts his right knee and spends a moment focused on the lower portion of his bottom, the most sensitive area where he will surely feel it when he tries to sit down. He feels the lump in his throat growing bigger and the tears building behind his squeezed-shut eyelids, but he hasn't yet begun to cry when Kevian stops unexpectedly, strong hands lifting him to his feet. He blinks a couple of times to clear the threatening tears, ready to apologize, but before he can, Kevian speaks.
"Go get me your hairbrush."
His eyes go round as the moon. Kevian has never spanked him with anything but his hand. "Kev, you don't ne-"
Before he can finish his thought, his partner has grabbed his arm to turn him slightly to the side and landed one smack to the bottom of each sore cheek, hard enough to lift him to his toes and make him cry out as each lands.
"Hairbrush. Now."
He doesn't hesitate again, except to kick off his pants and underwear when they threaten to trip him after the first couple of steps. His bottom is throbbing, and his legs are trembling as he walks over to the small table that holds a basin for their bedroom ablutions, and beside it, his hairbrush. Slowly, he reaches out to pick it up. The smooth wood is cool against his hand, but the weight of it makes his stomach feel like it's turned inside out. The spanking is already terrible; he doesn't need this! He turns back to Kevian, his eyes meeting his partner's steady gaze, pleading.
Kevian's expression doesn't change, resolute and stern, and his eyes seemed to bore into Taskin's very soul. "Good, my heart," he says. "Now, bring it over here so we can be finished."
He forces himself to walk back over only by sheer force of will. His resolve gives out just after he makes it within arm's reach, but Kevian takes pity on him, pulling him close and tipping him back over his knee, centering him once more over his right thigh. He reaches down, his body a reassuring weight over Taskin's, and Taskin hands him the hairbrush with trembling fingers.
The hairbrush rests against the fullest part of his bottom, cool surface almost a nice feeling, and then it leaves and comes back down with a crack Taskin wasn't expecting. He jerks and then cries out as the feeling rushes back into the spot. It's like being stung by a whole swarm of bees at once, stingy and sharp, but it also leaves a hot ache behind.
It lands on the other side, creating a matching burning spot, and Taskin cries out again.
"I'm sorry!" he cries immediately and doesn't even make an attempt to contain his pained yelp each time Kevian lands the brush. His lover has returned to his careful pattern, working his way down Taskin's cheeks, letting the brush overlap just the slightest bit each time. Taskin has no more care for his dignity or anything except making sure Kevian knows he won't do it again, and he cries and kicks and wiggles with every swat.
"Why am I spanking you?" Kevian asks, his voice steady yet serious.
"Went in-in the arc-c-hives!" he cries. "Didn't l-listen! I'm sorry!"
"That's true, but neither are the reason I'm spanking you. Try again."
The no-nonsense tone that Kevian says it in gives Taskin a clue - he won't stop until he gets the answer he's looking for. Taskin wants it desperately to end, kicking desperately each time the brush lands as if it will change anything. It doesn't - it lands exactly where Kevian wants it every time, never varying from his careful pattern.
"I p-put myself in d-danger!" he wails it. "I'm s-sorry! Kev, s-so sorry!"
The brush doesn't stop falling, but it slows, each subsequent crack landing with a few seconds in between, or to emphasize Kevian's words. "I expect you to be safe."
"I w-w-will, I promise! I'll listen s-so-so well, I swear it! P-please, please stop!”
Kevian ignores his desperation, covering every inch of his bottom and thighs. “I don't want to control you, but when we agree on something, I expect you to uphold your end. There can't be any dishonesty in a relationship like this.”
Taskin’s cries become more ragged and despairing, and he gasps, “I k-know! I promise I’ll l-l-listen! P-please Kev, h-hurts."
The strokes of the brush slow and then stop as Taskin dissolves into wordless tears, becoming limp over Kevian's knees. To his dismay, even after the hairbrush stops falling, the pain continues to build to a crescendo. He’s overwhelmed by the intensity and just lies there as Kevian drops the brush to stroke a hand up and down his back, deep and soothing pressure. Taskin's body is wracked with sobs, and his legs hang limply over Kevian's knee. “I’m sorry, Kevian! I’ll do better!” he cries, utterly at Kevian’s mercy, enduring the punishment.
He drifts off to that quiet place that he sometimes finds himself after a spanking or any other bedroom play they engage in, not emerging at all until Kevian's hand stops rubbing his back and he lifts Taskin off his lap. He carries him over and sinks them onto the bed, himself sitting against the wall and settling Taskin as gently as he can in his lap.
His bottom is throbbing and burning, and he whimpers whenever Kevian has to move. Taskin squirms for a moment to try and find a more comfortable position, but eventually gives up, turning his head into Kevian's neck and letting his tears soak the shirt under his face. "I love you," Kevian whispers into Taskin's ear as he holds him close. "But I won't let you put yourself in danger."
-------------------------
When he wakes, Taskin is face down on the bed. Kevian is managing to read a book he's propped up between one hand and his knee, because his other hand is stroking down Taskin's back over and over like clockwork. He notices that he's naked now, his shirt stripped off to allow his lover access to the bare skin of his back. The room is warm enough that he's not cold, so Kevian must have built it up for that exact purpose.
His eyes are crusty and itchy from the tears he'd shed, and when he tries to move, the reignited fire in his bottom threatens to get him started again. "Hey, easy, go slow." Kevian puts his book down immediately, using both hands to steady Taskin so he doesn't fall on his burning rear as he tries to scramble upright.
"It hurts," Taskin says. He doesn't know whether he's expressing his shock, complaining, or asking for help, so he's glad when Kevian seems to be able to interpret just fine. He pulls him against his chest, kneeling over Kevian in a straddle so he doesn't have to have his rear touch anything. His expression is still stern, but his eyes are soft.
"I know, dearheart, and it's going to for a while." Taskin can't help the tears that spring up at that, but Kev is prepared, pulling a damp cloth out of a bowl that's resting just in reach, and wiping his face free from both the fresh tears and the uncomfortable crustiness remaining from the old. "If you push me to a discipline spanking, my heart, I will always make it count. I don't want you to be afraid of me, but I do want you to have a healthy dread of discipline."
Their eyes lock while Taskin thinks that over, and then with a weary sigh, he collapses onto his lover's chest. "I understand," he murmurs. "And I could never be afraid of you, but I very much don't want to be spanked like this again. It's a good deterrent."
"I'm glad you're not afraid of me, my whirlwind, because I was also serious when I said I loved you."
"I know. Or, well, I know now. I wasn't sure, before." Taskin pulls back just enough to give him a tremulous smile. "I love you too, even when you're a heavy-handed bully."
"I won't swat you for that," Kevian laughs, "but only because your poor bottom can't take it. You might want to tone down the sass while you are recovering, lest I decide to ignore how sore your little cheeks are."
Taskin giggles, and presses a kiss to his partner's jaw. "I trust you, Kev. In that as much as anything else." They're quiet for a moment, Kevian's hand returning to stroke deep pressure up and down his back (though it stays away from his rear, no matter how he squirms; apparently his lover has decided he's going to experience the full effects of his handiwork). Just before he drifts back to sleep, Kevian breaks the silence.
"We need to talk," he says, his voice firm but gentle.
Taskin slowly opens his eyes, nodding but with a bad feelings. Kevian's hand finds its way to Taskin's hips, his touch warm and comforting even as they hold him in place again. "I am glad for the chance to speak to Desily and look at her books, even if I was displeased with your methods. But Taskin, my heart, you do realize the temple still won't let me stay here forever? Whether it was because I couldn't do my research or if it's now because I can and I finish, eventually, I'll be sent away."
Taskin's feels as if his world has tilted the wrong way, leaving everything sideways. His eyes snap to meet Kevian's, a hint of fear in their depths. "What does that mean for us?"
Kevian's gaze held Taskin's, his eyes searching. "We both feel there's something between us, Taskin. Something more than just a casual acquaintance. But we also know that my duties as a cleric, and your mission to learn all about the Empire, are going to make it impossible for us to be together all the time."
Taskin feels sick, and his face twists in a mixture of frustration and longing. "I don't want to give up on this, on us. Not yet."
Kevian's hand squeezes the back of Taskin's neck. "I don't either. I've never felt like this with anyone. But we have to be realistic. We can see each other whenever possible, and make the most of the time we have, but I don't think we should see each other exclusively. I don't think you'd be happy."
It settles something deep inside him, to be so effortlessly seen. It is true, he would be miserable if he couldn't find someone to have companionship with when they are apart; but he would do it, for this man. He would bear the gray days and long, lonely nights if Kevian asked him to. His eyes search Kevian's face, looking for reassurance. "And you're okay with that? Sharing me, when we can't be together?"
Kevian smiles a little wistfully, stroking his face and carding his fingers through his hair. "Believe it or not, my heart, but I'm not all that interested in sex. It's nice, with you, but I wasn't missing it before we met and I won't miss it when we're apart, even as much as I'll miss you. To be quite transparent with you, I think it would be a good idea for you to fill that need with others as well as myself even when we are together. I believe your appetite is much bigger than my own, as well as more varied in taste."
"You won't be jealous?" Taskin says cautiously, afraid to believe he can be this lucky. When he realized he was falling in love with an Eschien, he thought he would have to conform to their monogamous nature to keep him. To find Kevian might be more like a tribesman when it comes to this, well…it feels too good to be true. "What if I find someone else I also feel…more than casual about?"
"I want your needs to be met, whatever that looks like. As long as you are coming home to me in the end, and respecting the rules we set in our relationship, I will be happy."
Taskin can't help it, he leans forward and kisses Kevian as deeply as he can. When they break apart to breathe, he says honestly, "I will always come home to you, I think. You are like the sun, the brightest star in my world. But, I am afraid of how much I will miss you when we are apart."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," his cleric says softly. "For now, let's just take things one day at a time, and enjoy the time we have together."
Taskin's bottom is still miserably sore and burning, but his heart is full. He leans forward again, but stops just short of their lips touching. "Perhaps I could use a distraction," Taskin says, his voice a soft invitation mixed with a hint of mischief.
Kevian smiles knowingly, learning forward to meet him in the middle and kiss him softly, teasingly. With a gentle touch, he brushes a lock of hair away from Taskin’s forehead, their gazes locking with an intensity that ignites a spark of warmth in Taskin’s chest. "Then let's forget the world outside for a while," Kevian replies, his voice low, filled with promise.
