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That’s the last of them. Exhaustion drags Vanyel down to collapse onto his bedroll, which he’s placed as close to the fire as he safely can without the risk of a stray cinder setting his blanket alight.
(He’d be warm then, but what an ignoble way to go. And if he survived, he can only imagine the song that would eventually come out of Bardic.)
Another border incursion - the latest of too many - has drawn him away from the fort and garrison, to the foothills of a mountain a few days’ ride from the nearest village. It’s not the middle of nowhere - it’s on the road that runs along Valdemar’s side of the border - but it’s close. Vanyel had come to deal with a magical construct reported by one of their patrols, and had found an entire nest of demons waiting for him.
And that last one nearly had me. He’s here to play target, tempting the Karsite mages away from less-defended points along the border, but some days he wonders exactly how much ‘playing’ he’s really doing.
His reserves have been emptied out so often that he’s more used to scraping the barrel than dipping into them. He’s bone-weary and aching from another long, cold ride back to the abandoned house he’s been squatting in, and he’s reached the end of the thread keeping him going through the day. Nothing short of another demon attacking could pull him out of the sleep that’s already wrapping around him like a fishing net, a heavy weight pulling him down into unconsciousness.
That’s what he thinks, anyway. Then there’s a flicker in his mind, so weak and distant that only combat reflexes save him from missing it; a dim light on a far-off horizon.
When he realizes what - who - he’s sensing, he rises back out of sleep in such a rush that he’s sitting upright before his eyes open. He’s too far away to make a connection unaided, but nothing - not exhaustion, depletion, or common sense urging patience - could keep him from flinging himself after that faint, barely-there candle flame.
Vanyel digs his fingers into the bedroll and his mind into the ley-lines, casting out for a node he hasn’t already drained dangerously low to battle blood mages and demons. He taps into one that has just enough - just barely enough, he’s pushing his limits - to bridge the gap, his consciousness straining across the distance.
He’s met halfway there, caught and cushioned and wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and affection that takes his breath away, gasping by the fire.
:Hello, love,: Tylendel greets him, weariness threaded through his mind, pale in comparison to the glad relief that swamps them both. :Did you miss me?:
◇
Vanyel can’t hold the connection for long—they have time for a confirmation that Tylendel is coming this way, that they’ll talk more soon, and then the energy that Vanyel is spinning between them stretches too thin, a fraying thread pulled taut at both ends, and the contact dissolves, leaving Vanyel shaking with overextension and an emptiness that feels more vast for having been briefly filled.
Tylendel is still leagues away—between the two of them, they can span quite a distance, and the lifebond amplifies their awareness of each other. Two days’ ride? Three? He’s also closer than he’s been for more than a year, and the only reason Vanyel doesn’t rush out into the darkness and ride to meet him is because Yfandes refuses to let him.
:They’re coming here,: she reminds him, as he paces beside the fire with clenched fists, wishing his body could cross the distance as easily as his thoughts and his heart. :You’re barely upright as it is, and I’m not much better. What are we going to do, gallop across rocky terrain in the middle of the night until you fall off and I go over a cliff? Think, Chosen.:
He already knows he’s not thinking clearly—too little food and sleep have blurred his judgement, but he knows Yfandes is right. It still might not have been enough, without the reminder that there was a danger to her in his foolhardiness, and the light, teasing voice in the back of his mind that threatens dire consequences if Vanyel gets himself killed trying to reach Tylendel in an idiotic moonlight charge.
That voice isn’t really there, but they’ve been lifebonded for nearly half their lives; Vanyel doesn’t need Tylendel’s mindspeech to know what he’d say. It doesn’t make the decision to wait any easier, but he’d already been fit to fall over before he’d summoned up the magic to touch Tylendel’s mind, and now he can hardly stay awake.
It thrums in his mind as he finally collapses again onto his bedroll, pulling the blanket over him with the last of his energy. His thoughts are still beating along with his heart, leagues away, as he drops off to sleep.
◇
It takes Vanyel a few, fuzzy seconds in the morning to remember, and then he’s stretching across the distance again, reaching out to convince himself that he didn’t dream the whole thing. Without Tylendel reaching back, without pulling magic from the node, he can only manage a fleeting brush of their minds, but it’s enough. He feels reassurance through their bond, and that same eagerness to be together again after too long apart.
He doesn’t know why Tylendel is here now, and it’s nearly sunset before Tylendel is close enough for a conversation that doesn’t drain both of them. Vanyel catches himself straining in that direction throughout the day, but he forces himself to be patient, to wait; there’s no sense in pushing himself now when it will be easier with time.
It’s still maddening, and he keeps himself busy with mindless chores, splitting firewood and storing water, hunting for fresh game among the rocks. He’s just passing the time, he tells himself as he airs out the blankets that badly need it, and washes Whites that are so travel-stained it’s hard to tell them from trainee gray.
:You’re nesting,: Yfandes corrects him, her tone rich with amusement. :Not that I mind the rest.:
They don’t have time to rest, not really, but Yfandes is right that they both need it. They’ve been on the border for longer than anyone had anticipated, and it’s taken a toll. Vanyel should have been pulled home months ago, but he knows why he hasn’t been; there simply aren’t enough Herald-Mages to replace him.
It’s why he hasn’t seen Tylendel in so long (fourteen months, eleven days, his mind whispers), and why Vanyel wasn’t expecting him now. The two of them haven’t been posted together in years, and the most time they’ve been able to spend together is on achingly brief stays in Haven, when their schedules and the fates align.
Randale tries to give them time, Vanyel knows he does, but Valdemar doesn’t have enough resources in this war to post two Herald-Mages in the same place, even if they are lifebonded. Especially when they’re the most powerful active Herald-Mages in Valdemar.
Tylendel’s presence is more than a candle flame now; it’s a beacon, slowly growing brighter as he makes his way north along the border road, toward the abandoned house - little more than a hearth and four walls, with a lean-to out back he’d built for Yfandes - where Vanyel has taken shelter. Vanyel imagines himself the same way; as a lantern in the distance, calling Tylendel home.
◇
By the end of the third day they’re close enough together to exchange news, which is just as grim as they both expect, though it’s made easier to bear by their shared connection and understanding. It’s still hard to be apart, and the frustration is compounded by the fact that neither of them knows exactly where Tylendel is.
:No idea,: Tylendel answers cheerfully when Vanyel asks. He shares his vision with Vanyel, but so much of the border looks exactly the same - rocks, dirt, more rocks - and Vanyel doesn’t know the area well enough to pin down his location. :Soon, I think,: Tylendel says optimistically, and the hope in his voice is something Vanyel tucks inside his chest to keep him warm on another cold night.
In the end, it’s another morning’s ride before Tylendel reaches them. They spend all of it in conversation, moving on from news to gossip of their friends and messages from the other Heralds they’ve seen in their travels.
:Tantras says to tell you…: Tylendel begins, and then there’s a start of surprise and recognition that shocks Vanyel into straightening from where he’d been seeking out anything like fish in the narrow mountain brook. He feels a bloom of warmth in his chest, and even before he realizes what it means he’s turned back toward the little stone house, and the road.
He arrives just after Tylendel and Gala do, Yfandes already there to greet them with her nose stretched out to touch Gala’s. Tylendel has hardly swung down from his saddle before Vanyel has caught him up again, the two of them spinning dizzily off-balance in a desperate embrace. Vanyel doesn’t want to let go; he doesn’t know how he can pry his hands away from Tylendel long enough for them to part.
“Van, ashke,” Tylendel whispers near his ear, and then they’re kissing, stumbling a few steps as they try fruitlessly to clasp each other more tightly.
Vanyel hears a mental cough from Yfandes, and then Tylendel’s laughter is puffing warm and soft against his lips as he breaks away. Vanyel leans into him to rest their foreheads together, and they both simply breathe.
“Gala says she wants her tack off before we get too carried away to remember, and she thinks we’d rather be interrupted now than later,” Tylendel shares. His hands are still warm and certain on Vanyel’s waist, and Vanyel is briefly conflicted about whether he’ll allow anyone, even Gala, to come between them right now.
Yfandes intrudes on his thoughts with a reminder of one of their past reunions, where Vanyel had been so distracted by Tylendel that he’d forgotten to take care of her, which turns him hot with remembered embarrassment. He wishes he’d been thinking of anything so prurient, but honestly, his only desire is to hold Tylendel in his arms and never let go.
:Your only desire, ashke?: Tylendel is wound into his thoughts now so thoroughly that he hears Vanyel as clearly as if they’d been mindspeaking. :Either we’re getting old, or I’m losing my touch.:
His presence in Vanyel’s mind is crisp apples and late summer sun, pouring over him like thick, golden honey. His eyes are warm, and his hair is a riot, as always, errant blond curls in disarray from long days of travel on the road. Vanyel feels the ground drop out from under him, the same swoop in his chest that he remembers from when he was sixteen.
“Never,” he promises, and steals just one more kiss before he finally lets the world pull him away.
◇
There’s more to do than remove Gala’s tack, and neither of them are any good at shirking responsibility, but the commonplace acts of unloading saddlebags and brushing road dust from Gala’s coat are made easier by the simple fact of sharing the work between them. They bring up more water from the brook, and Vanyel starts a stew for the evening meal. Neither of them have eaten much besides travel rations in days, so they take time out for a midday luncheon before Tylendel announces that he and all of his clothes are going straight into the brook for a wash.
“I swear I have grit everywhere,” he complains, fingers snagged in the messy tangle of his curls. “Even between my teeth. Please tell me you have soap.”
Vanyel has set wards around the house, but he strengthens them as he washes out Tylendel’s Whites, which are nearly as badly off as his own, while Tylendel splashes and curses the freezing icemelt running down from the mountains.
He’s not the only one shoring up their defenses, either; he finds mage-traps just outside of his own perimeter, hidden snares that he recognizes at a single touch. He's careful not to set them off. His own protections are shields and alarms—Tylendel's will be knives waiting in the dark.
After that, they finally find themselves back in the house with nothing left to do, and Tylendel just gazes at him for a long moment, wrapped in one of Vanyel’s clean blankets and still shivering from the chilly water.
“I think we’ve waited for long enough, don’t you?” Tylendel asks, and he’s hardly finished before Vanyel is across the small room and they’re in each other’s arms again, mouths hot and frantic.
Vanyel breaks away with a yelp when Tylendel’s icy fingers find their way inside the laces of his tunic, but then he’s moving to help, stripping off his outer layers and sliding into the enveloping warmth of the blanket around Tylendel’s shoulders, now wrapped around them both.
He hesitates just before they’re skin-to-skin, and Tylendel catches him at once, breaking off from their kiss to tilt Vanyel’s chin up so their eyes meet. They’re tangled together in more ways than just the physical; it doesn’t take more than the space of a shared breath for Tylendel to find the root of Vanyel’s insecurity, and to wash over it with a wave of reassurance and love.
“I know what border duty looks like,” Tylendel reminds him, pulling Vanyel closer for a moment. “Let me see you, vain peacock.”
That’s all it takes for Vanyel to shed the last of his clothing and his inhibitions, and soon they’re sinking onto the joined bedrolls in front of the fire, still kissing, still wrapped up in an embrace that neither of them is in a hurry to break.
Tylendel’s skin is warm now, from the blanket and Vanyel’s body heat, only his hair still wet from his dip in the brook. Vanyel shivers as a drop of cold water falls from the tip of one of Tylendel’s curls to land on his breastbone, as Tylendel’s lips stray down his chest and back up again, lingering first over his heart and then on his pulse-point, sucking a flush into the hidden crease at the hinge of his jaw.
Another icy drop follows, and then Tylendel is licking the water from his chest as Vanyel groans and wraps his legs around Tylendel’s hips, pulling him closer. His fingers bury themselves in Tylendel’s hair, combing through damp curls and shuddering with each new cold droplet on his skin, chased by Tylendel’s hot mouth.
“Enough, I want,” Vanyel pants, feeling hopelessly young and undone the way he only ever is with Tylendel, hips bucking impatiently to get the message across.
“Gods, I can see your ribs,” Tylendel murmurs against Vanyel’s chest, and Vanyel tenses only for a moment before Tylendel says, “Stop that,” and rises up to kiss him again. “You’re beautiful,” he promises. “You always are.”
“’Lendel,” Vanyel insists, rolling his hips up again, but Tylendel shakes his head, sending water droplets in a scatter across Vanyel’s throat and setting off a full-body shiver.
“Not yet,” he says, flatteringly breathless from the very little they’ve actually accomplished so far. “We’re both too...I want to take my time with that, with you, and we’re both...it’s been so long…”
He doesn’t need to explain with words; Vanyel can feel his thoughts even as he speaks, the bright urgency of their desire for one another more pressing than the separate longing to be inside Vanyel and joined. They both reach together between them, untangling and rearranging their limbs until they can slide against each other in a haze of sharp pleasure, pushing into the tight circle of their clasped hands.
“I’ve thought of this, so many times, nights when I was alone,” Vanyel manages, and the groan that’s only half-stifled against his shoulder bolsters him enough to continue, “I pretended it was your hand, your fingers, when I…”
“Vanyel,” Tylendel gasps, and then they abandon words, losing themselves in waves of sensation until they’re cast up, panting, on the shore.
Vanyel relaxes the tense grip of his leg over Tylendel’s thigh, and they sink gradually into the warm nest they’ve made of blankets and bedrolls, muscles slowly unwinding as they catch their breaths. It’s almost too hot now in the cocoon of the blanket, with their hearts racing and sweat drying on their skin, but it’s the first time Vanyel has felt truly warm all the way through in a very long time, and he wouldn’t give up a second of it.
◇
They spend a long time not talking, just drifting in shared awareness and closeness, relearning one another. Tylendel’s fingers trace each of Vanyel’s new scars—it feels like he’s collected more than he remembers since they saw each other last. In turn, Vanyel rolls over him and presses Tylendel down into the blankets, kissing down the knobs of his spine until his palm covers the jagged pink mark over Tylendel’s ribs.
“I felt this one,” Vanyel murmurs, remembering the streak of pain that had lit up his nerves when a bolt of mage-lightning had breached Tylendel’s shields.
Tylendel sighs quietly and doesn’t try to shift away. “I know you did. I could feel you there with me.”
He hadn’t been, of course; not really with Tylendel at all, not then and not afterward, torn between desperation to be sure Tylendel was all right and his own problems at the border. Duty had won out; the towns in the area were undefended and the magical attacks were growing worse every day. He couldn’t have left them. He still regrets staying.
“Hey.” Now Tylendel does move, rolling over and reaching up to pull Vanyel back down against his chest. “I can hear you feeling guilty.”
Vanyel sighs and resettles, listening to the steady thump of Tylendel’s heart. “Not guilt, exactly. We’re both going to keep making the same choices.”
“We’re Heralds.” Tylendel’s tone is lighter than the feelings Vanyel can sense flowing freely between them. Neither of them are shielded against the other, and it’s a relief not to be guarded against someone, to just let everything else go.
Vanyel squeezes Tylendel’s shoulder in acknowledgement. “More like, sorry those are the choices we have to make. That there are choices at all.”
Tylendel takes Vanyel’s hand and winds their fingers together, raising them to his lips to kiss Vanyel’s knuckles. “I remember a time when you never would have believed it. You couldn’t understand why any of us were giving up our lives to serve Valdemar.”
It’s far from the first time Tylendel has teased him about it, but Vanyel still feels his cheek warm against Tylendel’s chest. “I was selfish. I still am selfish.”
“Mm. You could be more selfish.” Tylendel’s fingers play with his, loosely tangling and stroking the pads of his fingertips. “You might be in better shape if you were.”
“Duty.” Vanyel sighs the word over Tylendel’s skin, and feels the muscles shift as Tylendel curls up to kiss the top of his head.
“You’re going silver,” Tylendel observes, letting go of Vanyel’s hand to comb fingers through his hair. “Faster than I am.”
It’s true, but Vanyel suspects that Tylendel won’t be far behind him. “Node magic.”
He doesn’t want to ruin this fragile moment, but he also doesn’t know how much time they have left, and it’s gnawing at him, a constant feeling of sand slipping through an invisible hourglass. Vanyel props himself up on one elbow and looks down at Tylendel. His own fingers brush away a curl from Tylendel’s face, which promptly springs back to fall over his eye again.
“Not that I’m complaining -”
“You’d better not be.”
“- but what are you doing out here?” Vanyel finds Tylendel’s hand again and squeezes it, searching Tylendel’s face with worry and questions in his eyes. How long do we have? Why have they sent you up here? Are you my replacement?
And, already making his heart clench at the thought, Do they think I could leave you here alone, fighting my battles, while I ride back to Haven?
Tylendel’s expression changes to aching sympathy and understanding as he follows the thread of Vanyel’s thoughts. It settles into feigned innocence before he answers. “Didn’t I tell you? They’re posting us together.”
Vanyel’s face is frozen in complete disbelief. He can’t even form words to voice his incredulous denial. Tylendel’s head falls back and he lets out a bright peal of laughter that startles Vanyel out of his skepticism. When was the last time either of us laughed?
“It’s true, Van, I swear it. I don’t know how long it will last, but right now, you and I are partnered. At least until we take down that blood mage that’s been giving you so much trouble.”
“But…” Vanyel still doesn’t have words. Thankfully, Tylendel doesn’t need them.
“Apparently,” Tylendel drawls, looking impish and delighted at Vanyel’s bemusement, “we’ve been out here longer than they like, and the Council is worried that one of us will snap one day and accidentally turn a border town into a smoking crater. They think we’ll be positive, restraining influences on each other.”
There’s a brief and diverting thought by one of them about restraining influences; Vanyel struggles free of it to exclaim, “We’re too powerful and dangerous alone, so we’re better off together?”
“You sound just like Savil.” Tylendel’s smile dims a little in the next moment, mirth subdued. “Basically, I got this -” he twists slightly, giving Vanyel another glimpse of the mage bolt burn “- right before you got that -” he taps the claw marks scarred across Vanyel’s chest “- and some people in Haven got the idea that we might be, and I quote, ‘suicidally reckless’. They think posting us together means we’ll bring out the best in each other.”
“We do,” Vanyel agrees, and covers Tylendel’s hand over his heart where he’s started to stroke the scars, muted pain rising through their bond. “We also bring out the worst in each other.”
Vanyel has a tendency to brood, and Tylendel to sulk, and both of them to lash out. Tylendel can be domineering, and Vanyel too dependent and closed-off by turns, and Vanyel suspects the only reason they haven’t turned manipulative is because they’re both empaths. Tylendel isn’t wrong, though. There’s no one Vanyel will work longer or fight harder for than Tylendel. There’s no one else who reminds him with every breath of the reason he’s out here, waging this bloody war.
Tylendel makes him feel...more. More himself, the good and the bad. More of everything, whole and entire.
“I wasn’t about to tell them that,” Tylendel replies, recalling Vanyel back to himself. “They were sending me to you.”
Vanyel shakes his head, still disbelieving that they’re really going to be together, fighting side-by-side instead of apart. There’s a fear, deep down, that if they’re given this now and it’s taken away again, he won’t be able to choose duty over remaining by Tylendel’s side.
Tylendel senses his thoughts and sobers, drawing Vanyel back down against him. “I know,” he says quietly. “I’ve thought it too. You’ll have to trust me, when I can’t trust myself. And I’ll trust you.”
◇
“I’m impressed,” Tylendel allows, grinning over the battered and chipped bowl recently filled with Vanyel’s rabbit stew. “This is actually edible.”
Vanyel pokes him with a toe, not having anything handy to throw. He doesn’t really mind the teasing; his heart feels lighter every time he sees Tylendel smile.
“I was going to try for fresh fish, but then you were here, and…” And nothing else mattered. Vanyel would have gone hungry before giving up a minute at Tylendel’s side right now.
Tylendel laughs, and it takes Vanyel off-guard again, his stomach swooping. “Van, I love you with all my heart, but the day you catch, scale, gut, and cook a fish unaided is the day Companions fly.”
Vanyel pokes him again, but there’s a familiar tug at the corners of his mouth, a soft and too-long-absent smile. “I have been out here for a while on my own, you know.”
“I know.” Tylendel’s smile fades, regret and acceptance in his eyes in equal measure. He licks the rim of his empty bowl - they’ve both been out here for a while on their own, Vanyel thinks - and sets it aside to crawl back to Vanyel in their makeshift nest of bedding. There’s no point to keeping separate bedrolls; they both know Tylendel is going to end up sprawled across most of it by morning, and Vanyel will be curled in a corner toward the warmth of the fire.
They haven’t bothered to dress. The Companions have food and water in plenty, and when he’d checked on Yfandes earlier, she’d made it clear she doesn’t expect to see him for another day. Tylendel is warm all over when he wraps around Vanyel, from the fire and the stew and the blanket draped around his shoulders. Vanyel is somewhat surprised to find that he’s comfortable, too.
“I’m sorry they haven’t kept us together,” Tylendel says, surprising Vanyel again. He’d thought Tylendel’s mind had been going down a different path, but instead of pushing him down to kiss him, Tylendel wedges himself in against a pile of pillows and heaped blankets, and guides Vanyel back against his chest.
Had he thought he was warm before? Now he feels warm all the way through, with Tylendel’s arms around him, and the heat from the fire on their faces. Vanyel closes his eyes and tries to commit this moment, this feeling, to his memory, for all of the nights to come when he’ll need it.
“They can’t,” Vanyel sighs. There’s been too much war, and not enough Herald-Mages. Too many accidents, too many deaths.
“You’re more right than you know.” There’s something in Tylendel’s voice that Vanyel nearly chases with his empathy, before reminding himself that there’s no need, that this is Tylendel and he can just ask.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Vanyel twists around just enough to catch Tylendel’s gaze, his own questioning. “Is this about Savil’s theory?”
“More than a theory, now. They’re all but sure of it. Herald-Mages are being hunted, and Mageborn in Valdemar are dying under suspicious circumstances before they can be Chosen. If Savil’s right, every one of us is a target.”
Vanyel shivers, and he leans back harder against Tylendel, involuntarily seeking the reassurance of his embrace. Is that why they’ve sent you now? So that when we die, at least we’ll go together?
Tylendel tweaks his nipple, bringing Vanyel abruptly back to himself. They’re not sharing their minds as intimately as before, but Tylendel doesn’t need to hear his thoughts to recognize Vanyel’s moods. “I don’t plan on giving them the satisfaction, ashke.”
“What does Savil think? Are they picking us off one-by-one, going for the easier targets first, or is it more opportunistic?” And who is ‘they’? Vanyel had heard some of Savil’s concerns in letters, but he’s never been as close to his aunt as Tylendel, her star protégé and the nearest thing she has to a son.
“No one knows for sure. But one thing’s certain—they’re going to get more than they bargained for if they take on the two of us together.” There’s resolve in Tylendel’s voice, a dark warning that Vanyel has seen more in both of them since they went to war. He knows what Tylendel is capable of, but he also knows how gentle Tylendel’s strength can be, how he’d rather be helping people than fighting mage battles. That hint of danger perversely makes Vanyel feel safe.
“You’ll be watching my back, will you?” Vanyel asks, making it lighter than he feels, arch and seductive.
Tylendel knows what he’s doing, he’s sure, but he rises to it anyway, his breath warm on Vanyel’s neck before his teeth gently nip at Vanyel’s earlobe. They don’t quite make it all the way to playful and amorous; there’s still something too-serious in Tylendel’s eyes when he meets Vanyel’s gaze and answers, “Always.”
Vanyel’s mouth is too dry to swallow, and he doesn’t want to think any of the things spinning around in his head. He kisses Tylendel instead, more gently than it feels like he’s done anything in a long time, and rests his head on Tylendel’s shoulder. They’re safe for tonight; there will be plenty of time to worry tomorrow.
◇
They doze for a while, drifting in and out, weariness catching up to both of them in spite of their efforts to stay awake and not let any time slip past them. Vanyel curls against Tylendel’s side and their hands wander, seeking comfort and assurance that the other is still there, Vanyel thinks, more than arousal.
Eventually, however, Tylendel’s fingers turn more distracting than soothing, his fingers lightly plucking at one of Vanyel’s nipples like it’s a lute string, and the mischievous tint to his aura suggests it’s intentional.
“You should sleep,” Vanyel suggests, far more reluctantly than he’d meant to, but Tylendel has been on the road for days, and badly needs to rest.
Tylendel arches an eyebrow that promises a half-dozen witty replies, but he doesn’t bother with any of them, just rolls over Vanyel and kisses him.
Vanyel should be embarrassed by how eagerly he welcomes the curl of Tylendel’s tongue, and the calloused hands that slide down his sides, making him shiver. He’s left that shy, modest lover he used to be a long way behind, however, so it’s only a moment before he’s rolling them both to sit astride Tylendel’s hips.
Tylendel stretches beneath him like a cat, hands above his head, dark-gold hair under his arms and skin tanned from the sun, every inch of him lean and muscled. Vanyel’s mouth goes dry again, and for a moment he just stares, knocked sideways all over again with the knowledge that this is his.
Tylendel lets him look, drinking in Vanyel in turn, and then his hands reach for Vanyel’s hips, fingers tripping lightly up his sides. “See something you like?” he teases, and Vanyel still can’t speak, just shakes his head because ‘like’ isn’t the word he feels right now, expanding his chest and unfurling down his spine and curling his toes. It doesn’t even come close.
“You need a haircut,” is what he finally says, and he’s rewarded with another slow, warm smile. That same curl is back over Tylendel’s eye, and Vanyel brushes it away so carefully his fingertips barely skim over Tylendel’s face.
“You’re looking fairly shaggy yourself,” Tylendel teases, his voice as soft as the look in his eyes. “And gorgeous.”
The mood shifts, so fast that Vanyel can’t tell if it’s him, or Tylendel, or both of them together. “’Lendel,” he manages to choke out, and then they’re wrestling each other down into the bedding, mouths open and hot against each other, grasping with hungry, desperate hands.
It’s almost grappling more than it is lovemaking, and Vanyel is grateful that Tylendel doesn’t reach for him mentally, doesn’t drop his shields and deepen their connection. As much as he craves that intimacy, this is something they need, too: This sweet, vicious intensity they stoke in one another without blunting their sharp edges. Vanyel wants to be taken apart and to let himself loose in equal measure, and Tylendel is the only outlet he can trust himself with. He’s never felt this safe with anyone else, with Tylendel’s teeth biting into his shoulder and Vanyel’s fists clenched in the mussed tangle of his hair.
When they finally join - and who takes who could be argued either way, with Vanyel’s heels digging bruises into the backs of Tylendel’s thighs, and the snap of Tylendel’s hips punching Vanyel’s breath out of him - it’s rougher than they usually are until it isn’t anymore, until they’re rocking together and whispering nonsense, until even that’s past and there’s nothing but the soft sounds they draw out of each other and the catch of their breaths.
Vanyel is going to feel this tomorrow, he thinks as his heartbeat calms afterward, bathed in sweat and muscles aching. He’s glad they won’t be riding anywhere just yet. Tylendel and Gala will take at least the next day to rest, before the four of them move on to meet the next border incursion.
Tylendel’s finger slips under his chin and tilts Vanyel’s face up toward him. He doesn’t offer a copper for Vanyel’s thoughts, or tell him to stop planning for the trouble ahead before they have to face it. He just leans in to close the short distance between their lips, and brings them both home.