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Thi’rill had been too young to make his own choices when he first joined the temple as one of the many children taken in to learn sacred hymns.
Years later, stuck ankle-deep in thawing mud, battered by the winds, soaked in freezing rain, he doubted he would have, if he had known where it would lead him.
Worst of all, he couldn’t understand what any of this was supposed to achieve.
He was obviously physically superior to every willowy mage he faced today. Years of combat training – that Thi’rill liked beside excelling at it – had prepared him for much of anything his fellow initiates could throw at him.
No. It was about magic. Be it fire, be it ice, be it tangled weave of time. Magic that they were throwing at him, for him to annul again and again and again to no one’s benefit. After all, the priests still couldn’t tell how he did it, and Thi'rill's own explanations meant nothing to anyone who couldn’t perceive the weave of magic the way he did.
He had already been fed up with this entire initiation yesterday, when the weather was even worse, but at least the ground had still been frozen then. Today the sticky, slippery mud, besides mental exhaustion and continuous backlash from annulled spells, put him on his last nerve. And of course his last remaining opponents were some of the most bothersome.
Ror’elna had the uncanny ability to begin and abort a spell in such a way that when he reacted to it, he got the backlash while she didn’t appear to. In the end – his head pounding, the taste of ichor strong on his tongue – Thi’rill physically threw her from the arena without being too careful about it. For all her advanced tricks she still couldn’t catch herself in time, and dared to throw him a dirty look about it.
With that, only Ered’lun remained – Ered, as he was called, because who named the boy who looked and smelled like sunshine after winter tides? He was the worst. Thi’rill liked him. More than liked him, maybe, although they had never quite gotten to talking, the scant few times they'd found privacy together. But Ered was fast. Quick-witted and quick on his feet. Weaving informal, impromptu spells so deep in himself they seemed to pour out of the very center of his being.
He liked to tease, Ered. All of it seemed a game to him as much as it was a chore for Thi’rill. Fighting Ered could boil down to a playful back and forth, which Thi’rill at the moment had no patience to enjoy – or it could turn into a harrowing, bloody battle of wills. Hours upon hours of this. This mud. This wind. The rain falling thicker and thicker with snow. All the eyes on Thi’rill waiting to see him endure.
Ered’s opening was a favorite of his: weaving thousands of small ice needles each of which constituted a separate spell. A tactic to maximize damage against Thi’rill and Thi’rill alone, because Ered knew him, damn it. Knew how to hit him so that it hurt.
Had the weather been beautiful and the day warm, if Thi’rill had slept a wink over the past few days – if he were not so very fed up with the harrowing trials of initiation – he would have thought twice about reaching quite so deeply into the other boy. But as it was, Thi’rill was seeing double with exhaustion; he felt his feet stuck as if frozen in the mud. He couldn't go on. Couldn’t fight.
But he didn’t want to lose.
***
Later Thi’rill couldn’t remember what he had done, only that it had been easy, and the flashes of what came after.
Confused silence from the sidelines as they both fell face first into the mud. Spitting the gods-forsaken mud out of his mouth as he climbed to all fours an indeterminate amount of time later. Hectic activity all around that made no sense to him, in the dull, muted moments before he came to himself.
Ror’elna with both hands on Ered’s chest, pushing… something into him. Her face pale, eyes wide. A healer touching Ered’s forehead, shaking her head at the Holy Mother. The Holy Mother herself kneeling in the mud, doing something… Ered’s body spasming like the dead did when the healers tried the rites of storm to revive them. Ered’s unseeing, unblinking eyes in his slack face. Ered’s rag doll form when he was dragged off the field.
Thi’rill must have done something, because there were suddenly hands grabbing onto him. Holding him still even as he tried to fight them. He tried to…
“Get him out of here,” someone said.
“Don’t let him…” someone else said, closer. Louder.
“Take him down!” a voice yelled.
“Now! Now!” Everything went dark.
***
Some whispered that it was a damn shame to leave the most powerful templar who had ever walked the temple halls in charge of minding the young ones, but Thi’rill was more than content with his role. In truth, he refused to take any other.
For two years after the fiasco of his initiation, Thi’rill had refused all human contact. He had simply melted into the surrounding wilderness, where he could reach no one and only the gods could reach him.
When he had returned – lured back by distressed calls of an unruly child lost in the woods at night – it turned out that most of his peers had simply moved on. Without the crushing weight of hopes and expectations put upon him, Thi’rill simply settled into doing what he found worthwhile: training with the older warriors and teaching the little ones to sing.
If some accused him of hiding behind the temple walls… What was the harm?
***
Delegations of mages visited the temple twice a year – once before winter to take back fresh initiates, and once after.
Last fall, Thi’rill had seen Ered among them. Observed him from afar, unsurprised that what had befallen him had done nothing to quench Ered’s sunny disposition. Always quick to smile, Ered was. He even smiled at Thi’rill. Waved at him and received a polite nod of acknowledgement in return before Thi’rill turned and walked away.
Ered didn’t contact him at all during that visit, and while it hurt to consider, Thi’rill gladly assumed he had simply chosen to forget what might otherwise have been between them, and had moved on. Brought the smell of sunshine with him into the life of someone who deserved it.
Now that the sun was high again, sunlight coaxing dormant plants to bloom, it was time to prepare the temple for the spring rites. The sharing of pleasure was widely encouraged as a show of worship, but despite this, the rites were still considered somewhat too scandalous for the little ones to participate in any capacity other than decorating the many altars. And maybe swapping a few playful kisses among themselves when the time came.
Thi’rill caught himself smiling more and more, sharing in the excitement of his little flock as they worked, draping ribbons and spring flowers over columns and stone arches. Despite his age, this would be the first spring rite he was able to spectate in. When he had come of age, he'd had too much work before the initiation, and no inclination afterwards.
Preparations finished, Thi’rill shepherded his charges into the dining area and left them there, under the watchful eye of older acolytes. He was humming to himself, paying no attention at all to his surroundings, letting the crowd carry him to the central atrium where the stained glass ceiling would make for an especially dramatic setting for the rites…
And then he was suddenly transported into a dark corridor, thrown face first into the stone wall; he felt an elbow digging painfully into his spine for good measure. Magical snares rendered him completely unable to respond in the moment, but canceling them would only take…
“Don’t you dare, you coward.” He recognized Ror’elna’s voice immediately but was shocked by how vehement she sounded. “Stay where you are and be grateful for me. He would have taken you in front of everyone.” She let up from his back, giving it a last painful jab with her elbow, and then he heard her opening a door. He stayed where she put him, still entangled and lost but with hope beginning to bloom in his heart.
“All yours. Do not make me regret it,” Thi’rill heard her mutter, then a door slammed shut.
He held his breath, waiting, listening to the other person breathing before he – Ered – said, quietly but clearly, “Riri…” and Thi’rill barked back, “No,” before he even thought about it.
“Thi’rill then,” Ered allowed, coming closer, turning him so that Thi’rill’s chin was no longer uncomfortably pressed into the wall.
“No,” Thi’rill insisted, unable to move but trying to step away regardless. He couldn’t take the intensity of Ered’s stare so close, focused solely on his face.
“You kept avoiding me,” Ered said, articulating the words slowly and carefully.
“I killed you. One would be forgiven for assuming that’s as much time as I wanted to spend in your company.” Thi’rill didn’t know why he was lashing out. It would have been better to remain impassive, try to solve this… whatever it was... peacefully. And yet.
Ered put his hand on a wall right next to Thi’rill’s face, leaned as close to him as he could – without quite touching him still – and muttered, “Hmm,” directly into his ear.
Thi’rill broke. He freed himself from the snares, not even noticing the backlash because of how uncomfortable he already was with the situation, and scrambled away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed a thin stained-glass skylight running down the wall. Noticed the decorations on the wall. This was one of the ritual rooms. Rooms for…
He turned back to face the other man, shaking with emotion he himself couldn’t name as he realized what exactly was happening.
“Did it even occur to you it’s not about you, Ered?” He could hear the same unnamed tremble in his voice as he spoke. “Who am I, if in anger I can…”
Rather than being taken aback by his outburst, Ered laughed, and to Thi’rill’s horror, fell to his knees. Light as a feather he slid forward, gently pushing his knees between Thi’rill’s feet.
“Not about me at all,” he said, hands touching Thi’rill’s shins first, then sliding up slowly and intently.
“You can’t… I won’t…” Thi’rill stammered, caught between pushing the other man away and holding still, denying Ered a reaction.
But Thi’rill’s hands moved of their own accord, fingers combing stiff and awkward through the sun-colored tresses. He watched the spell compelling him as it rose, watched it take shape and come to effect. All the while Ered smiled up at him, his gaze resolute with mock-innocence.
“You can stop me anytime,” Ered said, shamelessly nuzzling back into the touch he'd brought upon himself.
“You think I won’t because it’s you?” Thi’rill demanded, clenching his hands into fists, pulling the other’s hair until he groaned in pain and bared his throat.
“I want you…” The words fell like a whisper from Ered’s half-open mouth, but almost immediately he found his focus again, glaring up to add, “Do your worst. I’m not afraid of you.”
You should be, Thi’rill despaired in the privacy of his own mind, but on the outside he merely let go of the other man and made to move away from him again. Too late. Ered’s hands had already wandered high enough to draw Thi’rill out of his loose linen pants, and bring him to Ered’s mouth to be smothered in fluttering, gentle kisses.
His lips brushing against Thi’rill’s rapidly growing erection, a mischievous look on his face, Ered said, “You think too much, Riri.” At the incredulous look Thi’rill gave him in response, he added “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Quietly but directly against the swelling head of Thi’rill’s erection – as if to make sure Thi’rill was paying as close attention as possible – he muttered, “Only you can forgive yourself, you know?”
Ered was right, of course, but he was also extremely distracting at the moment. It was having this conversation or enjoying the hot mouth wrapped around him, and Thi’rill might consider himself to be exceptional in most aspects, but not so much he’d put talking about gods above actual worship of them.
He planted his feet more firmly on the floor, and when that wasn't enough to keep his knees from giving out as he thrust into Ered’s hot, willing mouth, Thi’rill allowed himself to rest his head on the wall behind him.
Ered wasn’t practiced, Thi’rill could tell. His teeth snagged at him in places and he choked every time he attempted to take Thi’rill deeper. There was a certain charm to his inexperience. They'd never had much time together, and didn't get far when they made love in their youth. They'd never done this before, for one.
Despite all his training, Thi’rill couldn’t keep his breath stable, couldn’t keep himself stable; he arched up, trying to get deeper and deeper into the velvety heat engulfing him. Then he felt Ered getting even closer to him, felt Ered’s hot, hard member rubbing against his shin, and he lost it. Didn’t even give the polite warning, just came inside Ered’s mouth, embarrassingly quick and helpless.
But Thi’rill was a trained warrior, and even in the throes of passion he knew not to take his eyes off his target. He watched how Ered’s eyes went wide and he froze with surprise as Thi’rill’s seed flooded him. Ered tore away, but wasn’t coughing or choking, just… For a moment he seemed lost, unsure what to do. His fingers went to his mouth. His full mouth. He was still holding…
“Show me,” Thi’rill demanded. Ered’s unfocused eyes moved to him like he didn’t quite understand. “Open your mouth, Ered. Show me the…" And when the other man did, Thi’rill grabbed him by the ears and smashed their lips together, uncaring that his own spend mixed with Ered's saliva was leaking down his own chin.
Kissing like that – mouths open, everything too wet, breath heavy with his own taste exchanged between them as they kept licking each other's tongues – Thi’rill finally found his mind going pleasantly blank. Nothing mattered as much as his lover before him – and his lover, he noticed, had yet to be satisfied.
Thi’rill almost pushed Ered down, but somehow – he didn’t want to think on the why of it right now – he didn’t want to tower over his lover, didn’t want to smother him, didn’t want him prone and passive and…
So he pulled Ered on top of himself, pulled him until the other man was straddling his arms, then his neck and finally his head, close enough for Thi’rill to take him into his mouth just like that.
The satisfaction was immense. At first Ered whined because he was hitting Thi’rill’s tongue at an uncomfortable angle, making his own member bend and spring back again, but soon he just took Thi’rill by the head and… used him. Moved him how he wanted, where he wanted. His trembling thighs were hot and sticky against Thi’rill’s cheeks, his hands grasping at Thi’rill's hair.
When they finally developed a rhythm they could both deal with, Ered even brought his fingers to Thi’rill's mouth to feel himself slide over Thi’rill’s tongue, adding to the mess on Thi’rill’s face, choking him by pushing one finger in beside himself.
Ered didn’t last long, however. He wasn’t made of stuff any sturdier than Thi’rill, yet he managed to slow himself, to take a deep breath and make Thi’rill look up into his eyes before Ered spent himself in Thi’rill’s throat.
Thi'rill swallowed everything down at once, and – because two could play the game of getting what they wanted, no matter what anyone said – kept suckling on Ered long after Ered squirmed with oversensitivity, eager to be left in peace.
Thi’rill did not let him go, and soon Ered got hard again. Thi’rill himself had nearly come untouched a few times from all Ered's begging to let up, stop, slow down.
Thi’rill didn’t. He kept milking his now-reluctant lover for all he was worth, luxuriating in Ered’s short, pained whimpers as he forced Ered’s hips to keep fucking into Thi’rill’s throat. Ered wouldn’t fight him, not really. He would have to do actual damage to overcome the sheer power of Thi’rill’s wide arms, and he wasn’t. Thi’rill knew that about him.
No, Ered will cry and scream and beg if that was what Thi’rill wanted from him. And this did more to settle Thi’rill than the previous years of quiet, peaceful service. Thi'rill acknowledged now that he'd been a fool, to try to give this up in his misguided attempt at penance.
There were so many better ways to seek absolution.
***
The sun tumbled down low by the time she felt a familiar tugging at her wards. She actually left many in her wake, absolutely unwilling to suffer another moment of her best friend’s moping over his idiot boyfriend.
Ered had never recovered from the time his attempt at a conversation send Thi’rill running for the hills. She would have to be naive far below her age to assume they had done any talking now, but that was not the point.
The point was timing and – crucially – a witness.
They were of course sickeningly cute together – they always had been, especially at the start when they thought they were being discreet – but not too bright. This is why they considered themselves presentable enough to leave, despite being visibly and obviously sticky.
Ah, but they were also holding hands and done that thing where they flushed every time their eyes met, and maybe she won’t have to be as brutally efficient about putting this situation to rights as she planned to be.
“Does either of you have anything to say?” She asked, mockingly polite. Her arms folded across her chest, head up so as not to be mistaken for someone who might show leniency, one foot tapping out an inpatient rhythm on the stone floor.
“No.” Thi’rill said with some effort. His voice was raspy and lower than usual. Good for him.
Ered of course made for the very picture of satisfaction. He clung to Thi’rill’s arm, looked up at him with an adoring expression on his face that he probably wasn’t even playing up, the sap.
“Ered.” She barked to bring his attention to the matters at hand.
“Huh?”
“Do you have something to say. Now. On this evening of spring rites, Ered’lun of Western Coven?”
“What? No! No. Thank you. No.” He sputtered, but he also smiled at her, visibly grateful.
“Good. No more hiding in the woods ok? You’re not a baby.” She pointed to Thi’rill with one jabbing finger as walked away, leaving the love birds behind.
The atrium was bound to be cleaned up by now, the feast probably about to start. Nothing quite like food to lift the spirits.
end.
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