10
Hadrian did wait for Dorian before going outside.
Not because he needed the protection. He’d been taking care of himself for years.
And not because he wasn’t capable of watching for soldiers.
He was quite capable of being quiet and paying attention when it was important, despite what people thought.
He waited because he knew Dorian enjoyed being outside, and it would be good for him, even for a moment.
And maybe he liked the concern. A little.
They gathered the bowl of slightly withered sunbell leaves and the few apples that remained on the tree, and made their way back inside without any issues. The empty fields looked lonely and sad with their high grasses and wandering weeds still under a heavy dew.
Back inside, Hadrian warmed water for tea while Dorian sliced the apples and tossed them with the meager herbs they had left. They ate sitting side by side on the bed, cups of tea at their feet.
They talked of ordinary things—foods they missed, memories of cities or towns the other had never seen—not of war or death or the dark things that had dominated most of their lives. Even so, a heaviness sat behind every word and every look.
When they had their fill, they worked together to fill the copper tub. It wasn’t big enough for both of them. Hadrian probably still could have made it work, but one of them being clothed and watching was the smart thing to do. So they took turns washing in slightly warmed water.
Unfortunately, Dorian came out of the well room, still damp and with nothing but his sheet slung low around his waist to ask Hadrian a question about clothes.
Hadrian saw this as an unfair provocation, and they found themselves in bed again—both naked—regardless of what the smart thing might have been, exploring each other with hands and tongues, exchanging lingering kisses and eventually mind-blowing blowjobs.
They lay together in the narrow bed for a long time after.
This time touching on wishes and dreams while they held each other.
But even that was diluted to broad strokes and generalities.
For Hadrian the future had once been set in stone.
There were things he’d wished for, but they were small and always wound around reality—around war.
Now, though, the future was a blank space filled with uncertainty and emptiness.
He wanted so much more since meeting Dorian—more than he ever thought possible—but all of it was further out of reach than it ever had been.
Eventually their talk faded with the afternoon sun. They ate again, and this time there was less talk. There were fewer smiles too. Hadrian found his mind wandering often, but it was Dorian who finally faced their reality and broke the spell.
“You are rested enough to heal me now?” he asked, staring into his empty tea cup.
“I…” Hadrian had the urge to say no, but that was silly.
You could not avoid the inevitable by ignoring it.
“I am. More than enough, probably. Your wounds shouldn’t take much magic from me, just make me a little tired is all—I’m used to expelling a lot in a short time.
If I had one of Sylin’s potions, I could probably do it without even needing a nap. ”
“Who is Sylin?”
“Oh, he’s a magic user. One of the few not in the actual army.
Because he makes potions. We don’t get a lot of them because it’s basically just him and some helpers, so what he makes is really regulated.
I used my last one days before I found you.
I’ve heard he makes all kinds of things.
Not just stuff to keep you on your feet after using too much magic.
That could just be a rumor, though. He’s sort of famous and definitely not someone I get to talk to.
I’ve seen him from a distance a couple of times in the capital.
He’s…” Hadrian felt his cheeks warm. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow.
Sylin was ridiculously attractive, and he knew it. He flaunted it. He wasn’t the type of man Hadrian usually liked to look at—it had been a long time since he’d done much looking at anyone before Dorian—but he wasn’t blind either.
“Yes, interesting,” he said. “You know, in an eccentric, over the top potion maker way.”
Dorian shook his head. “I definitely do not know that way.”
“Well, it’s nothing special.”
“Just interesting?” Dorian asked with narrowed eyes.
“Yes.”
“Not attractive.”
“Sylin is married—someone high up in the council, I think. But he’s not my type.”
“No?”
“No,” Hadrian huffed. “I prefer my men, um, bigger.” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “And more rebellious.”
Dorian grinned and shook his head. “You would.” He sighed, and his grin faded. “How much will the healing affect me?”
“It will take more from you, not being used to magic and your body doing most of the work of healing. You’ll need at least a good night's sleep before…”
Before you leave.
He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Dorian understood. He nodded.
“We should get started then.” He turned away and went to the bed and lay down. Hadrian watched him go, trying not to feel hurt by his words, and was anyway. Was he really so eager to leave?
He knelt beside the bed and placed a hand on Dorian’s side.
Dorian didn’t flinch away, just watched him with knowing dark eyes.
Hadrian was struck by the change in his attitude toward magic—toward him—in just a matter of days.
He trusted Hadrian with his life now, without question.
It should have been a happy thought—a wondrous thing—and it was on the surface, but knowing even with this wondrous thing they had managed was not enough to overcome the world they both still had to live in tore at his heart.
“Are you alright?” Dorian asked quietly. “If you need to wait—”
“No. I’m fine.” He couldn’t take the easy way out now. That would only hurt them more in the long run.
Hadrian pulled the magic in and settled it onto Dorian, feeling for the places that still needed his touch and nudging them back to what they should be. It didn’t take long, as he’d predicted. When he was done, Dorian sighed and closed his eyes.
“That’s it,” Hadrian said, standing up and going to the kitchen so Dorian wouldn’t see the hurt on his face he knew he couldn’t hide.
“You might have a scar on the shoulder, but nothing significant. The burns you won’t even know were there.
Odd that something that can be so devastating is actually the easiest to heal so completely.
I have no idea why. Other healers might.
We don’t talk enough about the how of what we do.
It's always enough that we can. Someday that will probably bite us in the ass. Maybe I can ask a few healers what they think. We’re not really supposed to, but—”
“Hadrian.” The softness in Dorian’s voice pulled at him, and he sighed and came back to the bed with a water cup for each of them. Dorian looked healthy but tired, his big dark eyes already drooping with fatigue.
“Here,” Hadrian said. “Drink something before you sleep.”
Dorian took the cup and drank without taking his eyes off him. When he was done, he set it on the floor and grabbed Hadrian’s hand before he could step away again.
“Will you lay with me?”
Hadrian smiled sadly. “Of course I will.” It would hurt, he knew that, but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t take this last opportunity.
Even if he could forgive himself, even if it ripped his heart out, he didn’t think he could say no to Hadrian when he was looking at him that way. With so much longing.
With so much love.
No, that was not a safe thought. That needed to be left behind like the burns before it did damage that couldn’t be healed.
He crawled into the bed beside Dorian and buried his face in the man’s big chest, breathing him in and trying to forget anything else. Dorian wrapped his arms around him tightly, pulling him closer.
“Thank you,” he said sleepily and kissed the top of his head. “For…all of this.”
Hadrian could only nod, not trusting himself to speak and not say everything he so desperately wanted to. He listened to the sound of Dorian’s breathing deepen, the faint beat of his heart slow, and finally closed his eyes and let his tears fall.