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Snow was beautiful. A single spec of frozen water, multiplied by an endless quantity, transforming any landscape into a uniform sheet of glittering white. Every single time, it was a breathtaking sight to watch the gentle flutters engulf the world.
One of Claude’s fondest memories with his husband involved snow. Back during their academy days, Dimitri had taken him on a horse ride up north. It had been his first experience with snow, much to Dimitri’s disbelief. Dimitri had set out a blanket, beckoned him close, and then asked for silence. It was then he learned that falling snow made sound. The soft patter was only made sweeter by Dimitri’s shy confession; how the quiet song of snow was one of the few things to bring him peace during restless nights back in Fhirdiad. Before the war, before they became men together, they had just been two boys bundled together against the cold, wrapped in a blanket of peace. Despite coming down with a miserable cold the very next day, Claude looked back on that memory fondly. His husband was like snow — blanketing, engulfing, beautiful, gentle, and hiding a soft song for only Claude to hear.
Blizzards were nothing like the peace of snow-flurries. Blizzards too resembled his husband back during the war: ruthless, relentless, wrathful, consuming, and howling endlessly. To the people of Faerghus, blizzards were an expected phenomenon: merely a part of life. Claude disagreed, as he typically migrated to Almyra during the coldest part of the season. Faerghans were a hearty people though, prepared to weather out the worst life had to offer without complaint. He liked to think he had tamed Dimitri’s own blizzards, though in truth that calm was born of Dimitri’s drive to better himself more than anything.
Shops closed, windows barred shut, and every hearth filled with wood and flame. Waiting out the cold was a yearly activity, one granting the people time to slow down and reflect upon their year. It allowed families to bond with one another — so his husband claimed. Dimitri insisted blizzards could be fun, citing many childhood memories spent with his father as proof. Castle Fhirdiad was fortified against the cold, as fortified as any place could be. Thick tapestries held heat within the halls, cheerful fires blazed in every room, and every crevice was tightly sealed and safeguarded from the chill. If anywhere in Fhirdiad was warm, it was surely the castle.
And Claude was miserable.
“You’re still shivering,” Dimitri murmured, rubbing his large hands up and down Claude’s side. “Should I fetch another blanket for you?”
“No!” he snapped, squeezing his body as close to Dimitri as possible. His husband radiated heat on a good day, but Claude was just so cold. “Don’t you dare disturb the blankets. You’ll let out all the heat.” What little heat there was.
“You can’t be cold. I’m hot, Claude.” Dimitri gestured to the blankets cocooning them together. “You’re wearing my warmest furs, with four blankets on top of that. We’re sitting right beside the hearth. I’m beginning to sweat. How are you still cold?”
“Shut up. You’re just as weak to the heat as I am to the cold. Nngh, I hate Faerghus, how does anyone live here?”
Dimitri slumped. “I’m sorry, beloved.”
He sighed, breath puffing out as frost. “No, I don’t hate Faerghus. I just hate the cold.” Dimitri relaxed, slipping the hand outside of the blankets underneath in order to rub his other side. Yelping, he squirmed away from that hand. “Cold! You’re not helping!”
“My hand isn’t cold, you’re just—” Dimitri didn’t finish his false statement, sighing. “You may feel warmer if you wore clothes, dear.”
“Nope. Can’t feel your warmth through clothes. My own body heat isn’t cutting it, I’ll freeze without you.” His statement was supposed to sound flirtatious, but it came out whiney.
“I suppose we’re ‘wearing’ enough layers in the form of blankets. Perhaps you would like another bath?”
“No.” Claude didn’t care that he sounded like a petulant child. He was cold. Stupid Faerghus, stupid cold, stupid snow. “I’ll get all nice and warm, then as soon as I step out of the bath I’ll freeze to death. I can’t even spend forever in the bath, because the water gets cold too fast!”
“I’m sorry, my love,” Dimitri murmured into his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You should try to sleep. When you awaken, perhaps it will be warmer.”
“It’s too cold to sleep!” Claude whined, burying his face into Dimitri’s warm-ish chest. “I’m not going to make it. I’m dying. Too cold. Bury me in Almyra, where it’s warm, like a reasonable place! ”
“Oh no, how tragic,” Dimitri cooed into his ear, not sympathetic in the slightest. “Alas, I shall inform Almyra that their king could not withstand a single blustery evening.”
“Blustery?!”
“Perhaps I could warm you up another way.”
“I am not having sex in this weather.” Especially not with how insufferably smug and warm Dimitri was acting. Stupid inhuman Faerghans, stupid inhuman heat-resistance…
“It may warm you up…?”
“And it’ll dislodge the blankets! No!”
“Blankets can be re-lodged, dear. I can wrap you back up as soon as we’re finished.”
“Absolutely not. The heat will have already escaped! At that point you’d be bandaging a corpse. And if I actually do get warm, it’d be like the bath idea all over again! I’ll be warm for two seconds, then I’ll be sweaty, and then the sweat will freeze to my body, and then I will die. At that point you may bandage my corpse with blankets. It won’t help. Because I’ll be dead.”
“Only two seconds? Have more confidence in yourself, beloved, you last longer than that.”
“I won’t ‘last’ at all in this weather! And by that I mean I will physically perish. Again.” Ducking his head under the blankets, he shivered into Dimitri’s chest and sulked.
“Okay, okay, it was just a suggestion.” Dimitri, the utter devil, chuckled at his predicament. “I’m truly sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. You’re just so… cute, like this.”
“Not cute,” he mumbled into Dimitri’s chest, “I’m miserable.”
“And cute. I haven’t seen you this bratty since you stayed with me two winters ago.”
“Clearly I never learned my lesson. You’re coming to Almyra this summer. I’m going to laugh at you. Laugh.”
“Think warm thoughts, dear. You’ll warm up eventually. Er, I hope.”
He grumbled into Dimitri’s neck. Silence. With nothing to distract him, the cold was even more biting. Rolling over, he pressed his back to Dimitri’s chest, searching for anything entertaining. The bookshelf caught his eye, but that would require Dimitri getting up, which was unacceptable. “Can you reach that book?” he asked, poking a single finger out of his blanket cocoon towards the table beside them. He couldn’t see the title, but anything was better than silently shivering.
“Mmm. Shall I read to you? This is an old favorite of mine, I was rereading it recently.” Despite his misery, despite the cold, he couldn’t help but adore his husband’s earnest little smile. “‘Loog and Kyphon, Lance and Sword Entwined.’”
“Ooo. Is this nonfiction or fiction?”
“Nonfiction, told in the manner of a story. This tale is primarily about their exploits after the war.” Dimitri propped the book between the crook of Claude’s folded arms. Despite the layers of blankets cushioning the book, his shivering shook the book itself. “I can’t read if you keep shaking like this.” Claude made the effort to still himself. Dimitri wasn’t being petty by pointing it out — with only one eye, reading was trickier for him than it used to be. Reading shaking words was liable to give him a migraine. Unfortunately, Claude was shivering for a reason, and his body refused to cooperate. One of Dimitri’s (admittedly somewhat warm by now) hands left the blankets in order to steady the book. Dimitri’s other arm moved under the blankets to wrap around his chest, reinforcing his crossed-arms-turned-bookshelf and hugging him in one smooth motion. His husband never failed to make him feel small in the best possible way, safe and enveloped.
The story began with a summary of the struggles faced by King Loog von Blaiddyd. After winning Faerghus’ war against Adrestsia for independence, all was not well in the kingdom. The first King of Faerghus took his closest knight and began a two-man campaign to defend his land from the remaining strife plaguing the people. No other was so close to Loog as Kyphon, the king’s right-hand.
‘…and indeed, the pair were close. Two men, forged together into one warrior by the strife of war, spent day and night with one another.’
Claude snickered past chattering teeth. “Day and night? Their poor wives.”
“It’s not literal. Ahem.” Though Dimitri rolled his eyes, he often told Claude that his penchant for ‘running commentary’ was enjoyable. Still, he resolved to stay quiet for a bit.
‘Though independence was won, not all was well for the new king. Faerghus was war-worn, the Adrestian menace having left their scars upon the land. Appointing his advisor Pan to run administration in his stead, King Loog took his most trusted knight, Sir Kyphon, and set out across the land to right the woes of the people. Besides the three, none knew of the king’s plan to enact justice by his own hand, not even his wife. Queen Tailtiu was furious upon learning of her husband’s departure, until informed that Sir Kyphon was with him as well. Knowing her husband was safe, she smiled sweetly and bid her lover and brother to enjoy their nightly skirmishes.’
Dimitri cleared his throat, tapping at a lengthy footnote. “These are excerpts directly from historical writing, typically letters. Not only does this tell a story, but history too. Let’s see, this one is from one of Queen Tailtiu’s many correspondences with Kyphon’s wife.”
“I am often asked if I am angry with the absence of my husband. A foolish question indeed. I love that man. When we were wed, I already knew I ranked third for his love: To our Kingdom does he love above all else, and to my brother his soul and body is bonded and melded. I am pleased to bear his sons and assist Pan with ruling (a man whom I love as well, as my dearest friend), and I accept the love Loog feels for me shall never burn as brightly as his love for Kyphon. I would have it no other way, and indeed, could never find a better partner for my company than any other. My fortune is favorable that Kyphon deigned to share him at all. My dear friend, with our husbands both away, I invite you to castle Fhirdiad so we may keep one another company. Do bring your pegasus saddle again, darling. There is no other I enjoy riding with as much as you.”
Claude waited for Dimitri to finish the passage. “Wow. I was joking about that ‘poor wives’ thing. Were Loog and Kyphon, y’know, Really Good Pals?”
Dimitri tilted his head, completely missing the innuendo. “Indeed, they were best friends. Ahem. Though Loog and Kyphon were rarely by their wives’ sides, it’s said that they were all quite happy with their arrangement.”
“That’s not what I…” he trailed off, burying his chilled face into the blanket. “Just, keep going.”
‘King Loog and Sir Kyphon roamed the lands and dispatched evil; from bandits, to roaming giant beasts, to Adrestian loyalists. They worked together as one body, one soul, one mind: none stood a chance between their combined might.’ Depicted on the page was Loog and Kyphon, back-to-back, facing down bandits, giant beasts, and red-clothed soldiers all at once. Loog’s spear was turned around to stab behind him, skewering an Adrestian besetting Kyphon. Kyphon’s blade likewise was held backwards, jabbed an inch to the side of Loog, piercing an oncoming bandit. None of it looked plausible or sane, but it was a story book. In the background, drab peasants cheered over the corpse of a beast. ‘This outing was merely the first of many for the righteous king. So consumed with his need to protect, he rarely remained still. Upon returning to the castle, Loog’s disquiet was unsated, for his people still suffered.’
Turning the page, Claude nearly burst out into laughter. Loog and Kyphon were depicted together, rolling in the dirt in a downright scandalous position. Dimitri didn’t notice his suppressed giggles, continuing. “This one is another excerpt, a letter from the captain of the guard.”
“The King and his Blade have returned to Fhirdiad, oh how the Goddess Shines upon them both. More lively indeed with the king home, as it always is — won’t be long before he is off again. For now, do spread word that the third training room is off limits. It is the King’s favorite, after all. I await the day His Majesty requests a bed installed in that room, for how often the pair bond there (nightly, it seems). If that door is closed, none may enter. Ensure the staff and recruits understand this. You share my shame, no need to subject others to the same. Though their forms are equally enlightening, I dare not test their benevolence. Do ensure that none walk in upon the lion sheathed with his blade, my fri—”
Thumping his face into the book, he lost it. “Bahaha! ‘Sheathed?!’ Gods, sheathed?! I thought this was a storybook, not a raunchy novel!”
“Excuse me?! Oh. Claude. Not like that. It is metaphorical. Do take your head out of the gutter.”
“How am I supposed to interpret that?”
“The language was very different back in those days.”
“Haha! Not that different! Seems that a Faerghan king taking a male lover isn’t as unique as we thought it was!”
Dimitri’s face was turning red. “Claude, please. This is my favorite childhood story.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll keep my ‘dirty’ thoughts to myself.”
“You’re the one who is too cold to do anything ‘dirty.’”
Indeed, he was still uncontrollably shivering. “Tch, just had to remind me about that.” Sheathed… “A-actually, Dima, that sounds like a lot of fun.” He wiggled his hips, applying pressure to a very specific spot. Dimitri inhaled sharply. “Your blade is warm. And my scabbard is cold. Won’t you sheathe your warmth within me?”
Dimitri gulped, eyes dilating. “I thought you didn’t want to…?”
“I’ll just stay right here, and you right there. Don’t you dare disturb the blankets though! Now… won’t you warm me from the inside, my lion?”
“V-very well,” Dimitri said, cherry-red blooming across his cheeks.
“Mmm, keep reading.” He pecked a kiss to his husband’s neck, then began nibbling. Dimitri groaned. “Don’t mind me. Just hardening your blade.” Swirling his tongue around one of the hickeys, Dimitri groaned again. The length beneath him began to stir.
‘Again strife drove the pair into the countryside. In war, they had become men together, taking one another’s boyhood, but now—’ “Claude.” Progress paused as he buried a laugh into Dimitri’s neck.
“I swear that book is saying they took each other’s virginity.”
“No! It’s about the innocence that war steals.”
“Sure, sure.” Sucking on Dimitri’s neck again, he began working Dimitri’s length free. “What happens next?”
‘—but now, they faced their gravest threat yet: The Witch of the Northern Wind. Riding off on a single shared horse’ — “Claude, stop snickering” — ‘King Loog raced against time. For the witch had cast an evil curse on him, one to weaken his body and soften his blade.”
“Mmm, softening his blade? Sounds awful. Your blade sure isn’t soft.”
Clearing his throat, Dimitri ignored him and continued. ‘Sir Kyphon took on the curse in his king’s stead. Kyphon refused to allow his most beloved friend to succumb to such a foul death, and so too did Loog refuse to allow his dearest partner to falter under this curse. As they rode, Loog held Kyphon in his lap, singing softly to him and stroking his hair to ease his beloved blade’s suffering.’
“Will you sing to me, Dima? Maybe that’ll ease my suffering.” He arched into Dimitri’s hand as it rustled through his hair.
“I’m reading to you. Is that close e-enough?” Dimitri’s voice wavered more and more with every sensual word of the book, his length hardening. Or perhaps it was Claude’s ministrations working his length up. “Ahem.”
‘Every night, Loog made camp for Kyphon, despite Kyphon’s protests. The knight was loath to allow his king to serve him, but Loog serving Kyphon was the same as Kyphon serving Loog: two hearts intertwined, the suffering of one was suffering for both. Though Kyphon was weak, Loog did not cast aside the rusted sword. Loog cherished Kyphon’s blade, his most loyal companion, slicking his blade with the finest of linseed oils, wrapping the blade in the finest silks, and holding the weapon close to his breast. Though the work was tedious, Loog spared no effort for his cherished blade.’
“Sounds like Loog and Kyphon were pre-tty close, Dima,” he purred, tilting his head to the bedside table. Dimitri knew what he wanted, wordlessly retrieving oil for him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wheezed as the freezing bottle touched his hand. Dimitri hastily took it back, rubbing it between his palms. “Linseed oil. We could use linseed oil too.” Sword oil worked well as lube. Claude would know.
“Please Claude, it’s just a metaphor.” Despite Dimitri’s denial, he had been growing harder and harder with every word. “Since Kyphon was sick, Loog made sure he was cared for, just as one might care for a blade.”
“Tenderly and lovingly?”
“W-well, yes! Please Claude, if my ancestor was truly doing something lewd with Sir Kyphon, he would have used olive oil like us.”
Claude hummed, tapping his lips. “Olive oil comes from Adrestia, Dima. In this story, Faerghus just ended a war with Adrestia. I doubt they were importing any oil. So, linseed would be the next best thing.”
“I am not listening,” Dimitri grumbled, cheeks ruddy and cock twitching.
The oil, now somewhat warm-ish, was poured into his hands. “Keep telling me the story, Dima.” He gasped as his finger entered himself. “Mm… can’t wait to be warmed up by you, my blade.”
‘Loog worshiped his beloved blade, bestowing the greatest comforts man can provide man. These two halves of a single soul recognized one another closer than brothers, more intimately than wives, more faithful to one another than the archbishop is to the Goddess. They worshiped each other as such, loving one another in ways only the closest bond permits.’ The page illustration was of one man holding the other man in his lap beside a campfire, deceptively innocent.
He gasped again, interrupting his husband. Biting his lips as he slipped another finger into himself, he barely halted a tiny moan. “Dima, they worshiped one another. Remember that time you worshiped me, and—ah!” Scissoring his fingers, he couldn't finish the sentence as he stretched himself open.
“Y-yes Claude, I do, and you certainly deserved that, but please do not compare that to this book! I don’t want to associate this story with such crude thoughts.”
“Aww, you eating me out until I was sobbing is ‘crude’?”
“No!” Dimitri pouted. “Please stop twisting my words, dear.”
Chuckling, he bobbed his head. “Sorry. You make it too easy — oh that’s good.” Claude worked himself open hastily, biting back more moans. Dimitri loved it when he was noisy, but he hated making uncontrolled noises (until he was too lost in pleasure to care). Soon he was going to be really filled, driving him to work faster. A third digit slipped into him, and this time he couldn’t bite back his moan, already imagining Dimitri’s hot length inside of him.
Silence. He waved Dimitri to keep reading, but his husband was too busy staring at him like he was a feast. For now he allowed it, preening under the attention. Attempting to still his shivering, he removed his fingers and lifted his thighs. Dimitri’s jaw slammed shut and Claude’s jaw fell open. He really should have gone with four fingers, but dammit, he was impatient. Dimitri was big. Every single time, he thought he would no longer be surprised by the size. Every time, he was reminded just how massive his husband was. Dimitri’s hot length slid home into him inch by tantalizing inch, his body shaking now from the stretch instead of shivering from the wretched cold.
“Hoooo,” he breathed out, panting as the last of Dimitri’s giant cock filled his insides. “Dima.”
“D…do you, want me to move…?” Dimitri was equally breathless. A tiny, involuntary twitch of Dimitri’s hips made him heave out another breath.
“N-no, hold still. This is fine.” Closing his eyes, he laid the back of his head against Dimitri’s shoulder and focused on breathing. With each inhale, Dimitri’s length shifted ever so slightly. “Good boy.” Lulling his neck, he kissed Dimitri’s jaw. “Keep reading.”
“While we’re—like this?” Dimitri gasped, the hand around his arms gripping tightly.
“Mmmm… I know you can manage it. It’s story time, Dima. Finish the story.”
“Of course.” Dimitri pressed a kiss to his head, then frowned. “Apologies. I’m just rereading this last page.” Claude huffed out breath after breath. Every word that Dimitri spoke he felt inside of him. As soon as Dimitri returned to reading, it was going to be an exercise in discipline to stay still. Dimitri released a long groan. Claude felt it through his core as they moaned in sync. “C-Claude, oh Goddess, you’re—you’re—you’re—!”
“Heh, I know I am. Let’s hear it.” What compliment this time? Beautiful? Handsome? Wonderful? Tight?
“C-Claude, I think you’re right. Loog and Kyphon were lovers.”
He snickered at his naive husband. “Told you so-oooo…” He heaved out a lungful as Dimitri’s hips shifted. What right did Dimitri have to be so big? Every right in the world. “C-calm down, my lion. No need to — hoooo — get upset that I was r-right all along. ”
“If you want us to stay like this, you must stop wiggling. Your hips are driving me insane.”
“You say that every day.” He resisted the urge to shimmy his hips just to make a point.
“I mean it this time.” Dimitri slumped forward, letting go of the book in order to wrap both arms around him. He yelped and tensed. One of Dimitri’s hands was cold! His tensing (Dimitri’s fault!) made Dimitri groan again and squeeze his body. “You minx.”
“You’re the minx. A really big minx. Hnnngh.” Holding still was almost impossible. His body demanded that he move, but he didn’t want to rile himself up any further. He wanted to get warm, finish the story, and snuggle with his husband until they fell asleep (while warm). Squeezing Dimitri’s arms, he breathed deeply and forced his lower half to relax. “What were we talking about again?”
“Loog and Kyphon were lovers,” Dimitri repeated, tone somewhere between horrified, mortified, distraught, and breathless. “I’ve read this so many times, how did I never know…?”
“It’s okay, Dima. It’s not like they shared bedchambers or anything.”
“They did,” Dimitri whispered, staring off into the distance. “There’s a special room in this very castle where Loog and Kyphon spent their nights together.”
Claude wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh so bad, but if he laughed that would jostle Dimitri, and Dimitri would jostle him, and if he wanted to be bouncing on Dimitri’s cock he’d be doing it already. It was too damned cold for that and he needed the end of this love-story, dammit! Even though he was really tempted to start bouncing on his husband’s cock. Taking a few deep breaths (hyper aware of the heat inside of him with every breath), he calmly asked, “What was the platonic explanation for that?”
“…They slept in the same tent during the war, and saw no need to change their rooming situation. It was so they could protect each other. Furthermore, the room was closer to their favorite training room.”
“Romantic,” he gasped, finding Dimitri’s (no longer cold) hands and holding them. “Kinda like us, mm? We’re good friends, sharing a room… connected and bonded.” He shifted his hips slightly to drive his point home (and drive Dimitri’s point against his inner walls).
“I can’t believe it. They weren’t just roommates. My childhood is a lie, Claude. This, this entire scene here, this is a sex scene, isn’t it. Dear Goddess.”
“Shh, don’t tattle on yourself to the Goddess, she doesn't need to know that two-thirds of Faerghus’ founding fathers were boning. By the way, told you so.”
“Yes… I suppose you did.” Dimitri began pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek. “I should know better than to doubt my brilliant husband. He’s very clever, you know. Keenest mind in all the lands. Stunning too. And, mmm, feels incredible.”
“Yes, yes, enough about your amazing husband. I’m sure he’s flattered.” If Dimitri was trying to stop him from squirming, this was a bad method. Nothing made him squirm and hide his face quite like an endless train of earnest (embarrassing) compliments.
“He’s also very cute. Adorable too.”
Squeezing Dimitri’s hands again, he brandished his best set of pleading eyes, which his husband had no defense against. “Keep reading? Your ‘brilliant husband’ wants to know what comes next.” It was a merciless tactic, yes, but it worked. After a final kiss to his cheek, Dimitri continued reading.
‘Loog refused for this to be their last adventure. Finally, the pair came to the Wind Witch’s hut. Within, they found not the Witch of the Northern Winds, but the Maiden of Western Winds. She was the witch’s daughter, trapped within her own home, unable to bring the warm western winds to the land. Without the warm wind, crops withered throughout Faerghus. King Loog promised to free the Wind Maiden under the condition that she cure his beloved friend. The maiden informed him that there was no cure. Loog stepped forward and replied: “There is nothing I would not sacrifice. If he requires my sword-hand, I will place it in his and forfeit it forever. If he requires my eyes, I shall pluck them from my skull. If he requires my heart, then there truly is no hope, for he already has it.” The maiden’ — “Claude, I love you, b-but please stop snickering” — ‘The maiden had no other answer for him.’
“Does this have a happy ending?” Claude interrupted.
“Relatively speaking, for a Faerghan tale.”
“That doesn’t inspire me with confidence.”
‘The witch entered the hut, trapping Loog and Kyphon within. “And if his life requires your kingdom, King Loog?” she asked. Loog was willing to give up everything that was his — but his kingdom did not belong to him; it belonged to the people, and thus was not his to give away. Though it broke his heart, Loog was forced to shake his head.’
“Dima, how do you read this as platonic?”
“The bonds between friends can be just as strong as—! A-ah, s-sorry.” Dimitri bit his bottom lip as Claude struggled to relax, shoving his hand against his mouth to prevent noises from escaping. On any normal day, he already loved seeing Dimitri passionate. In this context, the louder and more passionate his husband got, the more he felt it. Clearing his throat and taking many deep breaths (that Claude felt, Gods, he was going mad), Dimitri continued.
‘Through his will, Kyphon persisted even as the witch’s curse rusted his body. The fire between these eternal friends could not be quenched by any magic. The maiden bestowed upon them a magical brew to heighten their connection. The witch looked on with smug arrogance. Loog’s internal flame warmed Kyphon, burning brightly through each body as a fever. The king was determined to break the curse, and so he submitted his own physical form and took the curse into himself as well. United as one, connected with body and soul, their bond broke the witch’s curse, proving their love and loyalty for one another.’
Claude was the one to interrupt this time, forcing his body to remain still even as Dimitri hardened further throughout the paragraph. The impossibly big length got bigger. “You, haaah, you really like this section.” Melting like butter against his husband, even as he panted and struggled to heave enough air into his lungs, he was so perfectly warm.
Dimitri’s face radiated heat. “I can’t believe I was read this story as a child. It’s so… explicit.”
“And lovely?”
“Very lovely,” Dimitri murmured into his hair, kissing the crown of his head. “But not as lovely as you.”
“Dima.” He hated it when Dimitri got this cheesy (but also loved it). “What d’ya think the ‘magical brew’ was? I’m guessing an aphrodisiac.”
“Claude!” Dimitri’s cry began as an admonishment and ended in a moan. “Claude, oh, you feel so wonderful.”
“Mm, maybe I can whip up my own ‘magical brew’. Does that sound like fun? Gotta say, being a scabbard is great.”
Instead of blushing, Dimitri just looked down at him like a giant (warm) sap. “My scabbard. The most beautiful, accomplished, witty scabbard in all the lands. The sort of scabbard that sparks legends. Mine.”
“H-hey now, don’t get sappy on me!” Dimitri wasn’t sappy so much as possessive. Gulping, he couldn’t help but smile as his husband hugged him tightly. “How much is left of the story?”
“Not too much now.” After kissing his head, Dimitri turned the page. Kyphon was back on his feet, dancing wildly with Loog.
‘The two bonded friends survived the curse, recovering by the grace of the Goddess and the strength of their bond. One man could not live without the other, neither willing to die. Kyphon leapt to his feet after days of weakness, and the two men were so delighted that they threw up their hands and laughed, dancing freely as a husband dances with wife.’
“Wait, wait, so they had sex? That kind of dance?”
“No!” Dimitri paused, then miserably looked back down at the page. Tellingly, neither depicted man wore a shirt. “I don’t think so?” The page illustrated the two men dancing merrily outside of the hut. They wore pants, yes, but had flung their shirts off in their revelry. Sighing, Dimitri hung his head. “Probably.”
‘Alas, in the time it took to cure Kyphon, the witch stole away the maiden and fled. This was to be the pair's next adventure: to free the Wind Maiden and restore the west winds. Kyphon argued for chasing the witch and maiden, but King Loog correctly deduced that his beloved friend was still too weak. Though Kyphon could walk once more, he required rest lest he fall ill. Loog accepted no complaint — of which Kyphon had many — as he bundled his loyal knight in a blanket and personally carried him back to Fhirdiad, singing all the while. They were welcomed warmly by Pan and their wives, and Sir Kyphon recovered to serve King Loog for another day.’
“That sounds familiar. Like ancestor, like descendant. Though you didn’t sing to me.”
“I was rather busy rushing you to the nearest healer, who happened to be miles away. I also stopped to perform first aid in the middle, so I did not run the whole way,”
Humming, he pressed a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “My only regret is that I wasn’t coherent the first time I told you how much I love you.”
“Your only regret? You don’t regret riding your wyvern miles behind enemy lines?”
“Nope. If I hadn’t been shot down, I wouldn’t have been rescued by my future-husband, and then I never would have deliriously proposed to my future-husband. That sounds like a very bleak future to me. A very cold future.”
“Your present-husband wishes you had proposed when you weren’t bleeding out.”
“My present-husband? Why, dear husband, you’re a present? For me? Are you a lance? Do I get to unwrap you?”
Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to unwrap me? That involves unwrapping you too.”
“Whoa, no need to threaten me! I’m just joking. No need to unsheathe your lance.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through him, shifting the cock buried deep inside of him. It was all worth it to hear Dimitri’s laugh and see his smile. “I thought not. Oh, Claude, you make me the luckiest man in all the lands.”
“Not as lucky as you have made me, my lion.”
“Are you warm now?” Dimitri earnestly asked, petting down his side.
Smiling, he arched into the touch. Just his tiny shift had Dimitri tilting his head back and gasping. “I am. And all it cost was the innocence of your favorite childhood book.”
Dimitri kissed his nose. “In truth, I don’t mind. I see the romance within the text now, the love Loog and Kyphon shared. It’s… moving.” Another kiss to his nose, then another, and another.
“Dima! Hey now!” he half-admonished, half-giggled. Dimitri’s soft little kisses turned into tiny nips and licks, sliding over to lavish his cheek instead. “Easy there, my sweet lion. If I’d known that reading a sappy romance story was all it took to get you like this, I would have suggested it years ago!”
“I just love you so much,” Dimitri murmured, finally ending his kiss-assault. “I want to cherish you the way Loog cherished Kyphon. No, to cherish you better. The story makes me think of you, now. I could never dislike anything that makes me think of you, my beloved… scabbard.” Within him, Dimitri’s length twitched. “We’re connected now. And just like in the story, I have cured your curse of coldness. Shall we too dance and make merriment?”
He snickered, smacking Dimitri under the blankets as his cheeks warmed. “You’re such a cheesy sap.” As if Claude was much better. He just hid it decently. “I like this though. It’s…” glancing out the window, he noted that the blizzard had mellowed out into soft snow-flurries. “It’s peaceful, Dima. I’m warm, just like this.” Resting his head on Dimitri’s shoulder, he looked up through half-lidded lashes. After such a long and hard day of shivering, he was exhausted. “Is the book finished?”
“Almost. The rest of the story concludes in another book: ‘Loog and the Maiden of Wind’. It’s rather tragic, as Loog and Kyphon fail to save the maiden in time. Supposedly, that story tells the reason why it’s so difficult to grow anything in Faerghus.”
“Is there a story explaining why all Faerghan stories end in tragedy?”
“Not all of them! This one ends well.”
“You haven’t ended it yet.”
“The last page is a historical excerpt from Loog and Kyphon. Many of the letters they shared were lost to time, but this one survived. It’s the last one ever sent, from Kyphon to Loog, as Loog lay on his deathbed.”
‘My duty in Fraldarius is nothing compared to the duty binding me to you, my king. Bound together by duty, kept apart by duty. The flames of my body are cold without you. No Fraldarius lance excites me; none has ever held my attention. Only yours. I desire no other lance by my side, for only yours has ever kept pace, even as our longest winter draws closer. I desire no other man, no other at all. Only you, my king. This knight has laid his life at your feet, and indeed, you have consumed it, just as I asked. My life, my heart, my body, my blade — it is all yours, just as you are my king. For this reason, you must wait for me. How the years have melted before us, thawing and softening our blades. Not so long ago, we were mere boys playing with sticks. Now I am a sentimental old man. Wait for me, wait but a few more days, my beloved friend. Do not forget, we are meant to die by one another. That was the vow we took and I have never known you to break a vow. I shall be by your side soon. Wait for me. I shall weather this blizzard to be by your side, but I cannot weather the endless winter of life without you. Life is too cold without you.’
“The end,” Dimitri murmured, setting the book aside.
“Wait, did Kyphon make it to Loog in time? You can’t end it there.” Tucking his face against Dimitri’s warm neck, his eyes struggled to remain open.
“Mmm, don’t move so much. It’s a mystery, my love. No one ever found out what happened to…” Dimitri broke down into snickers, punching the air from Claude’s lungs as the hot length within him jigged. Though smaller than earlier, Dimitri was still so big. “Forgive me! Don’t glare at me, I apologize. I was just teasing. I know better than to withhold a secret from you.” Wrapping both arms around him from under the blankets, Dimitri kissed him: slowly, gently, lovingly. It was a moment Claude could get lost in.
Eventually, he pulled back. “Tell me the ending.”
“I love you so much, Khalid.”
“That’s not the ending,” he mumbled into Dimitri’s neck.
“It is true though.” Another kiss to his cheek. “Kyphon made it in time. They died together, knight and king, together in the very same room. Knight and king… as well as lover and lover, I suppose.”
This time he was the one to pull Dimitri in for a sleepy kiss. “Thank you for warming me, my king, and for the bedtime story. Perhaps I’m beginning to see the positive side of blizzards.”
“Are you?” Dimitri raised an eyebrow.
“Absolutely not, you’re right. Blizzards are awful and I still hate them. You though, I love you. So good to me, warming me when nothing else works.” Dimitri’s shoulders hunched, smiling ever so slightly, sweet and shy like he always did whenever Claude praised him. Like a giant puppy, his husband. “Such a good boy for me. As always.”
“You’re falling asleep,” Dimitri murmured fondly, brushing gently through his hair. “Shall I exit you?”
“No,” he mumbled, smiling into Dimitri’s neck and allowing his eyes to shut. “Stay inside. I love feeling you.”
“Very well.”
It didn’t take long for Claude to slide into sleep, Dimitri following closely. The two kings remained snuggled closely, warm and comfortable, as Dimitri’s softened length slid out of Claude.