Chapter Text
I need you for an urgent matter, a message from Essek rings in Caleb’s head. He rattles off a short series of numbers Caleb recognizes as coordinates, then finishes by saying, sharp and breathless, Come alone. Nott watches him with keen eyes as he stills from the spell’s sudden intrusion, faltering for half a heartbeat in his stride. His own eyes scan the rest of their group in front of them, finding them all caught up in joyous conversation as they wander the city, shedding some of their hard earned coin.
He presses one finger to his lips briefly as he meets Nott’s gaze, then calls to the Nein, “Ah, if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. I shall meet you at the Xhorhaus later, ja?”
“Oh, I can come with you if you want!” Jester says, spinning to face him, skirts flaring as she hop-steps backwards. “That way you won’t be lonely.”
“No, that's fine.”
“You sure?” Beauregard asks. The Nein slow their steps, unconsciously coalescing to be a tight group circling Caleb.
“Yes, it’s—”
“He has to shit,” Nott so very helpfully interjects. Jester cackles delightedly while Caleb just sighs, too used to Nott to be even slightly embarrassed.
“Well, I think that’s probably something you can handle on your own.”
Caduceus’ slow, amused words make for an easy exit, and Caleb veers off to a different part of the city. The coordinates lead him to a series of towers not far from the Xhorhaus. Caleb knocks and a housekeeper opens the door immediately, as though she had been stationed there. She’s the only staff he sees as she leads him into the tower to the room where Essek waits.
Essek is already sitting in one arm chair, draped across it really, his full robes not at all hiding the wide spread of his thighs. He has one elbow rested on the arm of the chair, cheek propped against it; he looks more like an ill tempered prince than a high ranking intelligence officer. Then, Caleb supposes, spies have many faces.
Essek’s eyes flick to Caleb then close, his lips tightening in a scowl. He straightens in his chair, just a little, and throws a wide, choppy gesture at the pair of chairs across from him. Caleb sits at the diagonal, out of arm's reach. Essek is clearly agitated and Caleb would prefer to minimize any damage done to himself he possibly can, even if Essek heaves a sigh at his tense perch upon the cushion.
“I have a problem,” Essek says shortly, silver brows pulling tighter together. He does not directly look at Caleb as he speaks,much to Caleb’s surprise. When he doesn’t go into further detail, Caleb prompts, “Yes, you said,” and watches as Essek opens his mouth and aborts his next words without them ever falling from his lips.
There’s a long pause where, interestingly, Essek’s lavender cheeks colour a lovely warm purple. He clears his throat, waits a moment longer, stares hard at the fire, clears his throat again. The way he’s begun bouncing his leg does not go unnoticed. Finally, Essek asks, “How much do you know about drow biology?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
Essek tips his head back against his chair as he mutters under his breath in Undercommon. The movement highlights the slender length of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing with his breathless words. He’s… a lot more animated than he usually is, less reserved. It’s concerning.
Suddenly, Essek straightens fully, coming out of his sprawl to sit up properly, hands fisted white knuckled on his knees. He stares Caleb straight in his face, brows angry but cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he admits, “I fucked up,” and Caleb’s own brows raise. That is even more concerning, both Essek’s swear and his apparent mistake.
“I need... help solving the issue,” Essek continues. “You’re quite possibly the only person I trust for this.”
Those words, said with such intensity, make Caleb’s blood sing, doubly so when Essek runs an agitated hand through his hair, mussing it from its careful style. He looks unhinged compared to his usual presence, messy and emotional and… sweaty. It’s rather appealing, though Caleb would never admit it. Essek is his friend, in as much as either of them do friends, and he doesn’t want his aesthetic attraction to the other wizard to sully that.
Essek’s current dishevelment does not hinder Caleb’s aesthetic attraction in the least, especially not when he launches into a nervous lecture: “Essentially, there was a point far back in drow history where we had—a, a more rigid, erm, breeding cycle—” and Caleb heart stops before stuttering back to life, fluttering like a bird’s wing. “I’ve, ah, I was testing a spell and it— did not go as I had hoped.”
Essek’s cheeks must burn, so plum they’re almost pink. Caleb says nothing, all thought and breath stolen from him.
“I’ve—sort of triggered it, it seems.”
“You’ve—triggered it,” Caleb echoes, voice as neutral as he can make it while his face surely betrays his warring emotions. Essek squirms and shoots a pinched lip scowl at the floor.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, you’re—asking me for help to, ah, alleviate it?”
Essek buries his face in one hand, curled over the arm of his chair. Caleb can still see the violent flush to his pointed ears and the way he gnaws at his bottom lip. Worry crawls in behind Caleb’s ribs—he’s sure he’s said the wrong thing, despite Essek’s subtle flirting. He wouldn’t be opposed, not really, to—fraternization. Essek is lovely to look at and absolutely brilliant. With his affected air of mystery, how could Caleb not be intrigued?
Caleb’s gut clenches pleasantly just the slightest bit when Essek releases his bitten lip with a wet pop, inhaling deeply as he sits up again. He doesn’t quite make eye contact with Caleb, cheeks like royal velvet, mouth shiny and plump.
“That—if it were that simple…” Essek shakes his head and shoves his hand back through his hair again, slumping in his chair. “I rather hope your brilliant mind will do a better job sorting through what went wrong. I am—not quite of the right mind.”
It would be a lie if Caleb said he wasn’t disappointed, at least not a little. The brief moment where he felt desired for the first time since, well, before, had his tattered heart soaring like a kite. Still, the knowledge that he’s the only one Essek trusts to have the ability to suss out a solution warms him, sitting in his gut like a fine wine, a luxury he can’t quite grasp.
“Of course,” Caleb says, “That makes far more sense.”
Essek breathes a small sigh of relief, subtle enough that Caleb wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching him so closely. He holds tight to the image of Essek’s winter pale lashes dusting his flushed cheeks like fresh snow, maybe a little more enamoured with the sight of Essek painfully unguarded than he should be. It’s endearing, maybe, seeing this man, so usually composed, almost manic from horny duress.
He reminds Caleb of being a teenager, full of physical urges with no ability to act on them.
Caleb wonders, privately, what Essek has done to ease this issue so far. He’s a little ashamed to find himself thrilled with the idea of knowing, seeing, what Essek has done for himself in this state.
He doesn’t get long to dwell on thoughts of soft, unknowable flesh laid bare. Essek stands with a flourish of his robes, still regal even while so ruffled. Stands, Caleb notes, and strides off through a door, leading Caleb to scramble after him into the depths of his tower with the sharp clack of fine boots echoing around them.
Caleb clears his throat, carefully considering how to broach the topic, his mind stuck; he has a personal interest but there’s practical application for—“What have you, ah, tried already?”
Essek’s steps falter, just a bit, only noticeable from the sound of his shoes.
“Not much. I am—not particularly able to perform magic so mostly phy—physical relief and the like.”
Caleb swallows thickly, heat flaring in his face and his groin at this tantalizing hint of something so secret. He should not press, but he does, hating how his voice gives him away, breathless as he asks, “And how long has—this lasted so far?”
There’s a pause, then Essek murmurs, “Three days.”
Caleb’s eyebrows dart up, breath hitching, surprised and impressed that Essek lasted so long. His agitation makes a great deal more sense knowing it’s been days of—endless arousal, he supposes, if he understands things correctly. He remembers all too clearly what his youth was like.
Essek spins with another flourish once they reach his study, the long, trailing half sleeves of his robes flapping as he gestures broadly. He’s shorter than Caleb, significantly more than he had thought, and slight without his mantle. Delicate, if he had to put a word to it, and Caleb hates how he can’t help his eyes roaming the hidden skin in front of him.
“Do make yourself at home,” Essek says, bordering on bitter, “Any help you can offer would be much obliged.”
Caleb takes a tentative step towards the desk piled with papers sitting in the center of the room as Essek all but throws himself into a nearby chair with a suggestive groan. He keeps half his attention on the drow, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he carefully picks through the mess of notes in front of him. They’re not like Essek’s spellbook proper, scattered and scratched out thoughts crammed across multiple sheets, diagrams scrawled here and there.
His runes are sloppy, crawling into each other like Essek had hardly lifted his pen between them, and his equations are much the same, towers of numbers and variables veering off into scratches and scribbles. Caleb recognizes bits and pieces but, as with the rest of this interaction, he feels much like he did in his youth, looking too far forward into subjects he didn’t have enough of a foundation to understand. He likes this little peek into Essek’s process however; it’s nice to see that the man doesn’t keep himself to such strict standards all the time, even if he’s meticulous in copying his finished products into his spellbook proper.
Caleb only realizes he’s lost track of Essek when the man sighs heavily next to him, too close, startling Caleb out of his focus.
“Anything?” Essek asks, looking up at Caleb with beseeching amethyst eyes. Caleb gives him a soft half smile that tries to be reassuring.
“Ah, well, not much unfortunately,” he admits. “I’m afraid I do not know enough about dunamancy to fully understand your notes on this new spell. I am at a loss for how to undo what has been done. I have—thoughts, but I do not think I could assemble them quickly enough to be of use.”
Essek’s gaze drops, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he slumps against the table. He’s so close Caleb can smell him, incense and ink and something faintly, surprisingly, sweet. His droop has his shoulder brushing Caleb’s arm. Caleb’s ribs tighten around his lungs like a vice, not daring to breathe lest he disturb the drow next to him. He pointedly does not dwell on why.
“Well, I suppose it’s to be expected,” Essek sighs, miserable and throaty. “I had hoped—I know you know more than you let on, but…” He trails off and shifts on one foot, turning to rest his hip against the table. That flush is still on his face, warming his winter dusk cheeks, and very prettily so. He’s very careful about it, but Caleb can see how rapidly his chest rises and falls too, even hidden under his many layers. Caleb focuses in particular on how Essek still bites his bottom lip, chewing it dark and shiny wet.
Essek lifts his gaze to smile at Caleb, looking far too heartbroken as he thoughtlessly brushes a loose strand of Caleb’s hair back behind his ear.
They still. The pause lasts eons. The pause lasts seconds. The pause lasts just long enough for Caleb to stop thinking, then he crashes into Essek, cupping his narrow face in his hands to pull their mouths together. For a moment, Essek is frozen and Caleb regrets nothing more than having done this. He lingers, unwillingly, just long enough for Essek to melt against him with a moan, delicate violet hands already pulling at Caleb’s clothes.
Caleb lets him, lets Essek tear his scarf off and shove at his jacket, urging him to strip there in Essek’s study. He has absolutely no idea what has gotten into him, what he’s gotten into, utterly flabbergasted by the turn of events. It had been the same with Astrid, back then, though he had been the one to tuck hair behind her ear. And, he supposes, there was a lot less fervor in her response. Caleb is sure he already has a love bite clearly visible above the collar of his shirt, sucked there as Essek’s nimble fingers yanked at Caleb’s trousers.
“We should, ah, perhaps retire somewhere more private, ja?”
Essek freezes before stepping away, avoiding eye contact as he smooths down the front of his robe. He’s breathing hard, faintly trembling from arousal.
“You, you wish to, ah, continue?” Essek asks the floor, and Caleb makes the mistake of thinking about his answer. Essek goes tense at the quiet that falls between them, Caleb’s mouth part open but silent, and Caleb finds he hates the sight of sorrow-tinged rejection painted all too clearly on Essek’s unguarded face.
“I do,” he says far too late, voice soft. “I just worry about our—positions, and your current situation.”
Essek’s brows furrow and his shoulders creep up. He looks young— far younger than the century and then some he has under his belt, like a fresh faced boy just turned man, trying to navigate his first dalliance.
“I am well enough to—consider the possible favourable outcomes of such activities,” Essek says firmly, but still aimed at the floor. It’s only with his next words that he glances at Caleb, lips pulled into a wry grin as he says, “I did say I trust you, didn’t I?”
“Ja, you did.”
Essek gestures and sighs. “I suppose if I cannot figure out a solution, even just the theory, in three days on my own, and if you cannot grasp the theory well enough to come to a solution with your current level of knowledge, then perhaps the next thing to try is a more—practical application of—” He gestures again and Caleb fusses with the cuff of his shirt, swallowing hard. “Hopefully, involving another will prove more fruitful than pleasuring myself all alone.”
And the way Essek finishes his thought, low and raspy, sends shivers down Caleb’s spine. He’s obviously trying to get to Caleb and it’s working, so very well.
“There are always many avenues to explore while considering any problem,” Caleb says. His eyes have joined Essek’s on the floor; he remembers his youth and his fumbling tumbles but his youth was still long ago and he hasn’t had much cause for trust like that until the Nein. He reaches out and gently lays his hand over Essek’s where it rests between them on the table. “Is this what you want, truly? Me?”
“I—yes, I’m just not pleased it’s like this.”
Essek still sounds bitter, but he leans in until he presses solidly against Caleb’s arm, their hands clasped between them.
“I do have a—fondness,” Essek admits a moment later, “for all of you, but I have a special fondness for you in particular.”
Caleb can’t tell if he’s exhilarated or terrified, his stomach churning at Essek’s words. He had suspected; he’s been half expecting an invitation to a private dinner for a while, but it’s still a punch to the gut to have someone—
Essek continues, flipping his free hand, flicking his nimble fingers like spellwork. “I can only guess at your—feelings, of course, but I like to think I’m capable at reading people—”
“Liebling, I am very okay with taking this excuse to finally kiss you.”
Impossibly, Essek's cheeks darken, dimpling as his lips curve upwards. Caleb's blood sings, burning with endless possibilities as he chooses his next words carefully.
"What is it that you would like to do, Liebling?" he asks softly, ducking to look into Essek's face. Essek looks away, cheeks dark as midnight, but squeezes Caleb's fingers in his own.
Caleb has no idea what he’s doing.