7
Dorian felt like an idiot. A needy, turned-on idiot.
He berated himself silently all the way back to the house, watching the fields for any signs of lingering soldiers.
He saw none, but he almost wished he had, if just to put off having to stand in the dim kitchen with Hadrian watching him expectantly.
He moved to bar the door of the house and check the windows to avoid that stare.
It had been a selfish thing he’d done, kissing Hadrian, and at an inappropriate time.
But he had been so close and so soft, and Dorian had always had to face fear alone.
It was one of the first things he was taught after his parents died.
There was no one on a battlefield to rely on.
You mastered your fear and faced it head-on.
But holding Hadrian had felt like sharing the fear that had weighed on him for nearly as long as he could remember. Not just the fear of getting caught by the soldiers roaming the farm, but the bigger fear. The fear of being alone again, like he had when his parents died.
And he had wanted more. So much more. He had wanted everything. Mage or not, Hadrian was kind, and smart, and beautiful. And in that moment, having him in his arms, nothing else mattered.
That was where he’d gone wrong. Because so much else mattered.
What Hadrian wanted—although he seemed to be open to kissing Dorian, he may have just been scared too.
And there was their situation. What good would it do to grow attached if they were doomed to part in a day or two?
And what could he offer a man like Hadrian?
He sighed as he looked over the covered window. At the very least he owed Hadrian an apology. He had done nothing but try to help, and Dorian had overstepped badly. He turned to the mage, standing in the kitchen still watching him silently, and squared his shoulders.
“Hadrian, I—”
“Are you hungry?” Hadrian said over him.
“We left the sunbell, but I wouldn’t want to light the stove again anyway, since it’s getting dark.
Just in case. But there are still vegetables and broth.
I wish we had bread,” he sighed. “But even if I grew the wheat, I don’t have the first idea how to make bread.
I think wheat is involved. We always just got it from the market.
” He closed his mouth suddenly, and his pale cheeks turned pink. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s…” Dorian took the coward's way out once again. “Yes, I am hungry.”
Hadrian smiled and gathered bowls.
They ate soft carrots and cold, stringy beans with the last of Hadrian’s cheese, standing in the kitchen.
They didn’t talk, and the silence weighed on Dorian.
There was a tension now between them, a distance that made his skin itch.
But Hadrian seemed reluctant to talk about what had happened, so Dorian kept quiet.
When they were done eating, Dorian collected water, and they drank and washed their faces and hands. By the time they were done, the sunlight through the heavy curtains had dimmed considerably.
“We should probably sleep,” Hadrian said. “We both still need it for the healing.”
“Yes.” Was all Dorian said before taking off his boots and crawling into the bed. He was happy to end this torture, or at least suffer it while pretending to sleep.
“Um,” Hadrian said, looking around the room.
“I would probably sleep better not on the floor. Get more rest, I mean. Better rest. So that we could get the healing done. The better sleep I get, the more quickly I’ll be able to finish the healing.
But I understand if you would not sleep better with me…
um, you know. You need rest too. That is important. ”
Dorian couldn’t help but grin. No matter the circumstances, Hadrian was going to talk.
And no matter his own stress, Dorian was going to enjoy hearing it.
That was an odd thing. He’d spent most of his life in one type of quiet or another.
He used to crave the silence of an open field or the nights when his companions finally found sleep and stopped trying to force conversation on him.
Maybe they’d just been saying the wrong things.
He raised the thin blanket off his legs and shifted back to give Hadrian room on the bed. Hadrian settled down in front of him, his long, taut body stretched out stiffly in front of Dorian.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Dorian pulled the blanket over them both and, after a moment, Hadrian moved closer.
So close their bodies touched, and Dorian felt every point of pressure like a brand on his skin.
His blood raced, and his body vibrated with the need to touch this man.
Instead he stared at the elegant line of his pale neck and the soft circles of his golden curls and wondered how long he could hold out against this new enemy.