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Caleb shuts the door against the afternoon sun, sealing them into comfortable privacy. The curtains on his windows are likewise shut, but light seeps through them anyway, casting the room in a warm, muted glow. Dimmed daylight will gather here for hours; like a little bubble of sunset just for us, supplies his mind. He is too glad to resist whimsy. Essek's visits always make him so.
Behind him, there is a rustle of fabric. He turns to see.
"The beans outside are looking well," Essek states as he begins to unbuckle the fastenings of his coat. One nacre button of his collar loosens, then two, then three. A daring fourth slips open, revealing nothing but more fabric, but the sight warms Caleb anyway.
"So," Essek murmurs, mouth curling into a small grin, "it seems you are an accomplished mage, a slayer of god-serpents, and now a capable gardener. Impressive, as always." His eyes flick up. The warmth in his tease kindles the heat in Caleb's chest further. He is so very glad of this man's presence. It is a gift, each time.
"Well, they were your seeds," Caleb replies, watching the fifth button slip from its looped fastening. "I merely grew something from a base you gave me. A pattern for us, it seems."
A sixth and seventh button follow the fifth. Beneath them, Essek's next layer becomes clear: a pale cotton robe he often wears to warmer climes. It looks very good on him, Caleb remembers. Almost sheer, in the right light. He does not resist the urge to draw his eyes down Essek's form, half imagining the intimate drape of cotton, half marveling that such a regard is welcomed at all. It is new, what they have together. Still taking to the sunlight. Only beginning to flourish, Caleb hopes.
Essek spots the path of his gaze and raises his brow. He cants his chin to give Caleb a lovelier view, smugness playing around the edge of his mouth. Eight buttons, now.
"You give me much in return, but you are right. It is, ah, something of a pattern," he replies brightly, with such charming condescension that Caleb fights the urge to lean in and kiss it off his face — another new, precious indulgence he is allowed. After a moment, the smirk threatening Essek's expression makes itself known. "Though I confess your garden is among my favorite of our collaborations."
Nine buttons. The coat gap runs down to his navel, where fine, dark fingers have paused in its undoing. When Caleb drags his eyes back up, the smirk on Essek's face has transformed to something sweeter, hotter.
Caleb does lean in, then. Essek's mouth opens easily under his. They linger in the threshold of the doorway, drinking deeply of each other's company. Novelty and scarcity have ensured they are always a little parched of each other's presence.
"Mine, too," Caleb says when he pulls back. Essek has a freshly-kissed look about him, mussed in attractive places, flushed in others. The pale vee of his robe catches the glow of the room and blooms to gold, like Caleb has caught a bit of sunlight in his embrace. His fanciful heart decides it is true. "I did not always believe it, but...it is good to grow things. Even simple ones. To give them time, a little nourishment, care." He rests his head to Essek's, taking a moment to breathe him in. "To reap the harvest of patience. A worthy collaboration, I think."
Slim fingers fold gently around his hand, guiding it down until pearl and cloth greet his palm. The nacre buttons are cool and smooth, easily undone. He slips a tenth out of its fastening and counts: there are a dozen more below this one, waiting for his touch.
He lets out a shaky breath at the thought: Caleb has lived, again, and Essek is here, warm in his arms, basking in his touch. There is much for them to share, now that they have time to share it. Much to learn of each other; the air between them is ripe with the promise of golden hours, gathered just for them.
"Worthy?," Essek muses, quiet and close. His face is soft when leans up for another kiss, which Caleb is happy to give. "Yes, perhaps it is."