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Bellyachin'	By : WonderMint Category: Final Fantasy XIV > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2106 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy FFXIV: ARR is owned by Square Enix and based on the creation of Hironobu Sakaguchi. May they ever walk in the light of the crystal. I own no right to the characters and settings herein and seek no profit therefrom.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
A/N: It's Aymeric! And Haurchefant! In the same room! And... and they are not kissing each other. I have failed as a pervert and a human being.
“A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou” (from verse attributed to Omar Khayyam) was the original arc for the first three chapters that eventually grew into this story. By the time I had finished the first chapter I realized it needed to be expanded, and switched the order of the second and third events. By the time that was done, I was already thinking about the storm, the Witchdrop, and the eventual confrontation with Maguffin himself.
At some point I may return to those opening chapters and expand them. Back then, I was so afraid of exceeding canon and mischaracterizing my sad boys that I could hardly write them.
If anyone is wondering about my own opinions on alcohol, just ask Haurchefant in Acquired Taste. My mysterious ability to write about it is simply one of my nerd superpowers: intellectual engagement has always trumped personal enjoyment, even when it comes to sampling wines that taste like licking a worn wooden door with peeling red paint, and stopping at a brass doorknob.
Allora: I have monopolized your phone, I'm so flattered! Emails it is, then. Yep, Aymeric is here... and that means there's bound to be some action... sooner or later, of some kind or another. Probably all of those options.
Vara Vinkeirs: For a story about Alphinaud and Aymeric, this is turning out to be pretty obsessed with Haurchefant. I can't help myself. I'm glad you like the characters, I feel like I'm making it all up as I go so it's a relief that you think they seem... like themselves. As I play through Heavensward I am definitely noticing that my Alphinaud is growing up a little faster, which is adorable and sad at the same time. If you want to draw anything here I would love to see it, though I'm not sure how you can make a comic fit into two pages. I can barely manage to make a single paragraph fit two pages, some days. XD

The plan was made and set. He was confident in his assessment, and confident in Haurchefant's judgment as well. They had poured over every detail, arguing over the significance and making notes in margins until Alphinaud knew enough about the Geomancer and his movements to be tried for espionage. Somewhere along the line, the lord had quite forgotten to tease him, and he had begun to grow used to his odd habits in turn. True to Junh's report, the edge of the odd man's sleeve had soon turned a sickly brown from the green ink mixing with the orange fabric, patches here and there retaining their vivid color and looking for all the world like someone had been sick. His logic, however, had been unimpeachable, even if his cartography resembled the work of a child learning to ink with his fingers, or the scrawlings of a demented sylph.
After that, all there was for him was to wait.
Two days passed in the blink of an eye, Alphinaud finding his mind quite occupied with planning and preparation. It was a simple enough strategy, but adventurers were notoriously difficult to pin down, and they had time enough to send out another scouting expedition to confirm before Aymeric arrived. Most importantly, he wished to give the enemy no indication they were planning to strike. He made sure patrols carried on as usual, but suggested that one tarry overlong in the vicinity of Natalan's gate. With luck, the heretics would still think them on the wrong track.
He had put his more personal thoughts completely out of his mind. The only worry he had space for was the upcoming battle, and he trusted Junh well enough to let the matter sit for a time. Only at night did he allow his mind to wander, the brief time he spent between the sheets but before he was borne away to uneasy dreams. He thought only then of his time with the knight, and the time he hoped to spend with him soon.
The rest of his day, his thoughts were focused solely on how best to protect him.
The second sun after Haurchefant's surprisingly edifying briefing, he rose to Junh's knock at his door. She had taken to bringing him breakfast, leaving out the beans and bringing an extra helping of toast and rich butter. This morning she gave him a meaningful wink as she left him to his meal, bustling about the room and tidying even where it wasn't necessary.
She wasn't so bad, really. Their arrangement required that he spend more time in her presence, but she was a servant first and foremost and rarely broke character to tease him. Evidently this was one of those times. She waited for him to finish and then walked with him into the courtyard, before laying a hand at his arm. He stopped without thinking, giving her license and opportunity to dart closer and kiss his cheek. Warmth bloomed where her lips had touched him, embarrassment coming naturally to him now like a rainbow after a brief spring shower.
“Good luck,” she had whispered, and then scurried away, somehow looking simultaneously like a startled mouse and a coeurl that had caught one.
That was part of the arrangement too, he reminded himself through a scowl of irritation. Requesting her as his personal retainer during his stay at Camp Dragonhead had two purposes, the second being to inspire gossip of the right sort. He had a hard time shaking the feeling that there was something else afoot, however.
So when he entered the Intercessory, his first thought had been that he was a fool.
It took some moments for the thought to appear, though, all sense having justifiably fled in the presence of his lover. Ser Aymeric occupied the chair behind the large desk, once again looking like a king at court, the electrum pauldrons on his cape shining like pale gold in the light of the fire. The knight noticed him immediately, turning half to face the door and widening his eyes just enough to notice. He may have seen a brief flare of the man's nostrils, but that was it, Aymeric once again turning away and blinking his regal eyes with deliberate care.
Alphinaud was not nearly so composed. He stood dumbly just within the door, and only became aware of his own gaping mouth and flushed cheeks when it was pointed out to him, in the form of Haurchefant's high-pitched giggle. The sound caused his thoughts to coalesce like clouds out of empty air, and he realized that he'd been an idiot not to expect it. Though to be fair, he had expected it... he had expected someone to have the decency to inform him that the keystone of his engineering had arrived. Evidently decency had been abandoned in favor of entertainment.
“You'll need to work on that,” confirmed the lord, sitting in a chair nearby, and Alphinaud threw his coat over the man's face while he tried to work out his own reactions. He settled on irritation, sitting himself beside Tataru with an undignified huff. The small woman grinned up at him in welcome, patting his leg sympathetically. Haurchefant merely disentangled himself from the coat and laid it at his back, as if his entire aim had been to acquire a soft cushion for the spartan chair and Alphinaud had simply played into his hand.
Aymeric looked to the lord with an expression of dry amusement, similar to his blank diplomatic face but for a small sparkle in his eyes. “To be fair, you have had far longer practice at being a shameless deviant.”
Haurchefant fairly beamed with delight. “And you an ashamed one. It's good to finally see you wear it properly. Debauchery suits you quite well.” The glare the knight sent him seemed to rebound from him ineffectually, and he soon gave up and glanced toward Alphinaud. The change was tiny, but he thought he could see the faint beginnings of a smile. So this was indeed friendship between the two mismatched men. The youngest couldn't help but return a soft smile, suddenly much more at ease.
It had been ages, he realized, since he'd seen the commander in public, and the change was startling. The knight had been so open with him of late that he almost seemed a different person. Now, it was the same inscrutable poker face as when they had negotiated, but he had the key to decoding the man's feelings. So this was what it meant to form inappropriate professional relationships. For better or worse, they would never be truly objective again with regards to each-other. He would always know Aymeric's true emotional state, and the knight would always know just how to startle every thought from his head, likely without anyone else in the room being the wiser.
Except, perhaps, in the case of Haurchefant. The man was giggling indecently again, and this time Tataru joined in to laugh gently as well. All at his expense, as was every joke, of late. He should find a belled hat and play the fool properly. At least then he might feel some sense of job satisfaction.
When his ire had properly molded his features into the professionalism the task required, he addressed the man behind the desk, who sat lording over their assembled maps and notes as if they were his kingdom. This was the man whose life depended on him, once again. A familiar sense of calm settled about him, though it was not borne of panic.
It was confidence. “Has Lord Haurchefant briefed you?”
Aymeric frowned lightly, seeming to think a little too much and a little too openly. “Yes,” he began, and only once the word had passed his lips did Alphinaud realize his mistake. He could see the playfulness behind his lover's steel gaze and narrow lips. It was sharp like a blade, wit honed for combat through years of sparring with the madman at his side.
“To summarize: the lady Tataru has forgiven you your secrecy and perversion both.” The Lalafel gasped, having readied her quill in preparation for the meeting, and suddenly finding herself a weapon in a rather indecent war. Her teeth could be seen now, though it was a gil toss as to whether it would become a grin or a grimace.
“Lord Haurchefant has managed, against all odds and prior indication, not to molest you...”
“I would never!” came the predictable objection, though the lord's open-mouthed wonder nearly suggested he was now considering it. Evidently deciding against it, he threw himself back against Alphinaud's coat, placed his hands over his heart in mock pain, and declared, “Aymeric, you wound me, truly!”
The knight continued undaunted, calmly laying out the facts as if they were the movements of the Dragonstar. “... and you have spilled your trove of secrets to a mysterious benefactress, of unproven loyalty and uncertain use. Have I missed anything?” In this matter there was a question behind the jest, and Alphinaud thought that perhaps he might have been inclined to answer it, were he not so very annoyed.
“You left out the biting,” said Haurchefant, his relish at the final word fairly dripping with sin.
“Yes, I rather intended to! Though I appreciate your report nonetheless. It was most edifying.” At this Aymeric regarded the lord with a secret sort of smile, and now they were conspirators rather than rivals, conspiring to make him blush. It certainly worked, though Tataru was doing enough of it that he perhaps shouldn't have bothered.
But he was not to be cowed into submission. Alphinaud had not been preparing for tea and cake, and he would not be mocked, not without extracting his own ponze of flesh. Instead he counterattacked, with a coldness in his words that surprised even him. “... I rather meant on the battle to come. As you mention it, though, I would correct you on several points.” His deep blue eyes narrowed slightly. He could not be rid of his youthful features or slight build, but when he hardened his gaze leaders of nations bent to listen. Aymeric responded immediately. The wry smile he had shared with Haurchefant vanished, hidden behind his careful mask, with only a hint of eagerness peeking through the cracks.
The man was excited, and in the back of his mind he noted the fact, stored it for use later, should the time become opportune. He did not allow it to distract his mind, but his body listened, heart beating a trifle faster, just as eager now for the chase.
“Junh has dug up our secrets quite without my help, unless of course you count your brilliant plan to 'talk' in a broom cupboard as my doing.” Aymeric flinched, almost too quickly to see, but the corner of his mouth seemed to turn up into the tiniest beginning of a smile, as though he were enjoying being temporarily bested. It pleased Haurchefant to no end, of course, causing him to snicker loudly at the knight's expense. Tataru threw her hand over her mouth in her dramatic fashion, and he realized he had forgotten that he had left that detail out in his earlier confession. An acceptable casualty, and with Haurchefant around she was guaranteed to find out sooner or later, anyhow. “Her services are my own concern, and I will not enumerate them. Lord Haurchefant may pay her wage, but—with his leave, I might add—she is now my retainer, and propriety dictates that my secrets are hers to keep until I release her from the obligation myself.”
Haurchefant blinked at him, like an owl that had discovered that mice had wings. “Is that so? I had not expected you to take advantage of my hospitality in such a way. If as you say she knows so much already, I suppose that is a prudent step to take, though I wish you had spoken to me first. But... are you are keeping her close as a friend, or as an enemy? Should her lips loosen, I can do aught after the fact.”
“Clearly.” It felt oddly invigorating not to address the matter further. Instead Alphinaud addressed his lover again. “On the second point, you should know that not only can this oaf not keep his tongue still, he cannot govern his own hands. I have also been informed of your past sins, as you put it, quite without my prompting. I make mention of this only because he seems to abhor the keeping of secrets, and I cannot bear to see him suffer.” At this he turned his boyish face to the side, opening his eyes wide in a gesture of innocence and care that was quite foreign to him. It almost certainly looked as insincere as he felt.
This was enough to crack Aymeric's facade, and what lay beneath was a warm chuckle as he ducked his head and blushed behind a hand. “Mercy. I certainly hope he hasn't traumatized you overmuch.” The sight made the younger man pause briefly, eyelashes fluttering as he thrilled a little in the victory. It was a strange, heady feeling, made moreso by the shy glance the man returned, for him alone.
But Haurchefant pounced then, carrying the torch anew and setting Alphinaud's short-lived advantage to flame. “Oh my, you're absolutely right. Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Master Alphinaud! I had quite forgotten to report how adorable you look in those little pyjamas. You really should see them, Aymeric, he's just precious. So sweet he'll make your teeth hurt, really!”
“Oh? Indeed.” The shy smile morphed by degrees into one of interest, nearly as indecent as one of the lord's own. He rested his chin on his hands and made to listen eagerly. “I think perhaps that I should like to see that.”
The lord made a wild speculative motion, casting his eyes around broadly as if sky-fishing for his own thoughts. It did not bode well. “Though come to think... I don't imagine he'll be getting much use out of them with you around. A pity...” This jibe was at both of them, but Aymeric seemed to feel it first. He made a choking sound that turned into a cough, blushing again and trying to rally a glare to his defense.
Alphinaud, too, suffered, his face once again buried in his hands to spare him a look to Tataru. “Matron, give me strength. Does he ever stop?”
The knight answered tightly, as if he were trying to strangle himself in lieu of his friend. “Only when violence is applied. Liberally. Might I remind you that there is a lady in the room?” Said lady gave a little squeak, and now Alphinaud had to look, finding her red as a boiled beet and trying to vanish into her chair behind a sheaf of parchment.
There was a short silence in which a shadow seemed to pass overhead, the air going still and charged as though lightning were to strike. Lord Haurchefant grinned knowingly, as if he had been saving his final blow and only now judged the time was right. He looked straight at Aymeric, and leaned back in his chair to drape an ankle over his knee, arms crossed casually over his chest. He had relaxed because the battle was over, and he had already won.
“Since when have you cared about ladies?”
And the knight knew he had lost, even his half-hearted glare an act of surrender. “Dear Goddess, I hate you,” he muttered, running a hand through his black curls as he, too, leaned back in his chair. His shoulders finally relaxed, the rest hard-earned through defeat.
Rather than accept his surrender, Haurchefant returned a look of shock. Unlike his mummery of the last few minutes, it seemed genuine, though he laughed through his reply. “But Aymeric... you know my heart is pledged to another!”
The commander's eyes widened, also genuinely surprised. He seemed to blanch at first, then flush considerably. Alphinaud was stunned to observe it, knowing only that some secret code had been exchanged, some meaning only the two fast friends could decipher. It made his earlier victory seem paltry, weak tea to the bitter black coffee of whatever Haurchefant held over the other man's head. In that moment he envied their connection. Hatred and love were remarkably similar. It almost seemed that they knew that on some deep level, and had still found a way to court through their words.
The result of the overture was a rattling of a drawer, Aymeric baring his teeth in a fierce snarl as he hurled something at the lord's head. A clatter of glass was heard, and vivid red was splattered along the far wall. It oozed down the rough stone in gory rivulets, and Alphinaud had to look twice just to be sure that Haurchefant was uninjured. He was laughing in shrill delight, with no sign of stopping.
The normally stoic knight's composure had snapped, and he had thrown the first object at hand, easily hard enough to injure. The unfortunate weapon was a vial of ink, and the young diplomat shuddered to wonder what damage it might have done should it have struck true.
Haurchefant wiped a tear from his eye as his laughter calmed. “Fine, fine, I've had my fill of fun. That was my best dalamud, you should know. Master Alphinaud, if you would be so kind? I believe we have an execution to attend.” He flashed his teeth quickly enough to cut, and this grin was not for Aymeric. It was for the Geomancer.
Alphinaud breathed one long, cleansing breath, the ink on the wall once again taking on grim significance. Suddenly it was an easy thing to put all other thoughts from his mind. “First, I wish to confirm the target of attack.” He stood and spoke with the cool command that well exceeded his years, and it mattered not that he hadn't the height to back it up. “Thanks to Lord Haurchefant's intelligence, we have determined the most probable location to be the Ogre's Belly.” He motioned toward the proper map he'd had Tataru fetch, days earlier. It was marked with three wooden figures in the east, one each in Providence Point, the gates of Natalan, and the entrance of a cave labeled the Ogre's Belly. In true Ishgardian style, each wooden figure was carved with the head and wings of a dragon, as if no other enemy could warrant their attention, even with Garuda and an army of Ixal at their door.
“Recent scouting reports and aetherometer readings indicate no change since the last assault. The strongest point of aetheric disturbance emanates from here,” he said, pointing to a point just north of Natalan, where a small group of Ixal had built huts beyond its gates. And then he paused, as if to invite the knight to challenge the point. He knew full well that he appeared to have contradicted himself.
Aymeric was looking at him with some skepticism, though he was not so foolish as to miss the obvious bait. And so he objected, but without challenge, merely curiosity. A coeurl batting at a mouse, though he knew he would not catch it. “We have the same data, though not quite as recent. It still seems to indicate Natalan. We never managed to rule it out, though I must admit it seems an odd location for a den of heretics, even assuming some unholy alliance. The Belly would seem to make more sense... if it weren't for our instrumentation. I have been assured that it is most reliable.”
This was expected, and Alphinaud smiled a thin slice of satisfaction. He had made the same objection himself, albeit far more vigorously. “Lord Haurchefant, if you please?” He would give credit where credit was due, if only because he was curious to see the knight's reaction.
“That is because you are looking at the wrong map,” the lord said with a long, winding smile. There was no longer play in his voice, but he was satisfied with himself all the same. He placed one of his own loopy drawings carefully atop the map on the table, the ink shimmering a metallic green. They were not drawn quite to the same scale, but it was a near enough thing. One could now see that the clumsy circles and hashed lines in the lower corner corresponded to a portion of the Ixal settlement lying just without their gates, the area where the aetherometer readings had been reported strongest. It was the rest of the map that was most arresting, making Aymeric blink his astonishment openly. Rather than the edge of a mountain and a vague label over the mouth of the cave, Haurchefant had drawn the interior of the Belly with respect to the Natalan settlement. The depths of the cave wound directly beneath, corresponding perfectly with the readings the scouts had reported, both before and after the storm.
“I see,” said Aymeric, obviously impressed with the both of them, though something like fury was shimmering below the surface. “I stand corrected. Evidently none of the See's analysts have bothered to ask a local about the geology.” Evidently someone would pay for the mistake.
Alphinaud gave him a wan smile, but it was short-lived. He did not relish the conclusion either. He rather wished they could instead take on the entire Ixal tribe. “As you can see, the Belly has but a single point of egress, a blind turn before the cave opens up like the den of a mother bear. It is vaulted and large enough for any manner of beast or worse to lie in wait. Though patrols give us no cause to think they suspect an attack, we must assume they have ward or watcher, and that they will know we have arrived before we even see within. In short, though I am certain we have the correct location, we are nonetheless most certainly walking into a trap, one made all the more deadly because the villains will have their backs to the wall and nothing left to lose.” He let the conclusion hang in the air, not a point of debate but a solid fact. Even Tataru nodded, murmuring displeasure as unobtrusively as she could manage.
But he would not allow himself to ponder failure. “Our error before was one of subtlety. As Lord Haurchefant has correctly surmised, a smaller group may reach its target with much greater stealth and speed. We need only reach the Belly's mouth undetected to avoid another storm. And where smaller numbers would ordinarily mean a weakened force, we are bound by no such constraints. We go with a party of four adventurers, including the vaunted Warrior of Light.”
Now the lord was no longer on the same page, twitching around to stare at him with a puzzled frown. For a moment Alphinaud thought he had gone back on his promise to allow the adventurer's aid. But no, he realized, he had forgotten to be careful with his phrasing. Rather than allow himself to regret the lapse, he steeled his gaze and prepared for the assault.
It was not long in coming, and Haurchefant's tone was one of suspicion, thinly veiled with politeness and custard tarts. “Pardon me, Master Alphinaud, but I believe I misheard you. We? Who is we?”
“Your hearing is fine, it is your sense that is addled.” He spoke the insult perfunctorily, more to maintain his sense of control than to truly wound. “I will be accompanying Ser Aymeric. With the addition of two of his trusted, we will make the second party of four.” He said it as if he were laying out the depth of the snowfall and the direction of the wind. Calmly, meeting the eyes of both men in turn, laying out facts that could not be changed.
Tataru could be heard to gasp in horror, though it hardly concerned him. As expected, it was Aymeric who raised the first objection. His voice was low enough to bleed into a growl, almost difficult to hear over the crackle of the fire. “No. That is preposterous, I will not allow it.” The strength of the man's gaze was nothing short of spectacular. It was as if ice could catch fire and burn cold instead of hot. The youth found it difficult to meet his deathly glare, but something made him persist. He met it head on, letting the challenge linger in the air for a moment, staring him down with intense determination to match.
When he answered, it was with the knowledge that he had the strength to face Aymeric at his most fearsome, and his heart swelled with unexpected pride. He had wondered if he would be forced to concede, but he knew now that he would not back down. Instead he spoke the words with dignity and clarity, so sure and still that one might have had better luck budging an oak. “... And I will not allow you to go without my protection.”
The next voice to object was small and overflowing with anxiety. “Please, Alphinaud, reconsider! You've never done anything like this. Our friends will surely protect him, they've never failed us before!”
Alphinaud turned his iron glare on Tataru with a pang of dim regret. Whatever she saw in his expression quieted her immediately, and she looked down at her wringing knuckles to escape him.
The brief reprieve was enough for the knight to rally his defense. His voice was softer now, but stung all the more for it. Having withstood the man's fury, he needed now weather his care. “Alphinaud. Pray do not be foolish, you are no warrior.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then added even more quietly, “I could not bear to see you hurt.”
Of course he could not. Because Alphinaud felt precisely the same, only—only he had seen Aymeric hurt, had nearly lost him forever. He had not expected this to be easy, but he had hoped, at least, that the other man would understand the strength of his will. He clenched his teeth and his knuckles both, feelings leaping the bounds of his mind like a minecart jumping its tracks.
He could contain it no longer. His resolve unfurled like a banner, suddenly tearing free in the Coerthan wind. “I will not yield!” He spoke only to Aymeric now, gripping the corner of the desk and seeing aught but the man he loved. The man flinched, wide-eyed, startled and more by the fire in his eyes and the ferocity of his words. “You required my aid last time. You would not be with us had I not flown to your side and healed your wounds. I will not commend you to the care of another and leave your fate to chance! If I must send you into danger, I will at least do everything in my power to keep you safe, and if I must risk myself to do so then I will consider it a price well-payed!”
When he had finished, chest heaving with the force of his emotions, no-one ventured to contradict him. The silence rang heavily like a brass bell, the effect of his words playing loudly in their ears though there was no further sound.
It was Haurchefant that finally spoke, long after the echo of his fury had died and the licking of the flames in the hearth was the only sound to be heard.
“Aymeric. Let him protect you. He is no child.” It was only then that Alphinaud realized that the strange man had been the only one not to object... at least not after he had made his intent clearly known. He was filled with gratitude then, and perhaps even affection. Haurchefant had accepted his indecent relationship, and even his love for the knight with nary a question. Now the man was accepting his lunatic plan to charge headlong into battle, and Alphinaud nearly wanted to hug him for joy.
He opted to nod his thanks, the lord accepting the gesture with a sad smile.
Aymeric just looked at them both as if they had declared they were to be wed. It was half murderous glare and half astonishment, and his cheeks tightened and twitched at the contradiction. Finally he closed his eyes and shook his head to clear away the confusion, fixing Alphinaud with a gaze that was nearly blank of all emotion. “Why?”
He thought he could detect the smallest note of fear, and he regretted being the one who caused it. Almost enough to change his mind.
Almost. Alphinaud put aside the turmoil they were both feeling, treasuring it up in his heart to feel another day. Instead he called upon his reason, unleashing it like a spell from his grimoire. “As you may have surmised, the goal of this operation is for you to apprehend or execute the Geomancer. Our adventurer friends are here as support, to remove any obstacles and keep the way cleared for our retreat. This is why I have divided us into two parties. If the cur has half the resourcefulness and power that he has displayed thus far, we will need their overwhelming strength to clear the way for us. As our mission objectives differ, it is highly likely that our groups will become separated. Your team must needs be capable of operating on its own, in a highly dangerous situation, full of ambiguity and like to change at a moment's notice.”
“So what you mean to say,” said the knight dangerously, “is that I require a healer. Surely you are aware that there are others upon whom I may prevail.” His cold appraisal was so familiar it took him a moment to place the memory. Aymeric had always been able to see right through his words to the heart of the situation. It was just as when he had threatened to withhold the cooperation of the alliance in the defense of Ishgard, and the commander had called his bluff as easily as snuffing out a candle.
Only this time, Alphinaud was not quite finished. “No,” he countered calmly, not flinching from Aymeric's stone gaze. The narrow-eyed malice was difficult to bear, but he was growing hardened to it. He was not sure if it was better or worse to know that it was directed at him only because he was putting himself in danger. “What you require is a tactician.”
He would have elaborated, but it was highly satisfying to make a point that proved itself true the moment it was uttered. Aymeric seemed to grasp this as well, absorbing the words twice in quick succession and looking at him in wonder and horror both.
Haurchefant moved about in the corner of his vision, and he thought he could hear the man smile.
The Lord Commander sighed, then, folding his hands before him and closing his eyes in resignation. His voice was tired, aggrieved. “I see... then I suppose I have no choice. Is there aught else?”
It occurred to Alphinaud then that if he hadn't made the point in such a dramatic fashion, he might never have prevailed. It was a narrow victory, a near miss, and he had needed both his will and his cleverness to obtain it. Much like the battle ahead. He had proven himself worthy, if only just. He only wished that his victory did not mean his knight would worry so.

It would not distract him. “No. Not until our adventurers arrive. They have sent word that it will likely be on the morrow. I trust your men are at the ready?”
“Of course. I shall brief them presently.” When icy-blue eyes fluttered open again to regard him, it was difficult to sort out the emotions. But before the younger man could grasp them, Aymeric was on his feet, having taken Alphinaud's words as a dismissal whether he had intended them or not. He walked toward the door with his aetherial grace, cape swishing around his armored boots and making him seem even more out of reach.
This wasn't how their reunion was supposed to go. Suddenly there were a thousand things he needed to tell him, and every one of them required privacy. Haurchefant seemed to think so too, catching his eye and raising his brows, daring him to act before he lost the chance. Once Aymeric left their sanctuary, he had no guarantee he would be able to speak to him safely before the battle. Not unless he acted now.
“Wait.” He was out of his chair before Aymeric had quite reached the door, rushing across the room with sudden urgency. The knight turned to regard him, a small smile on his lips that betrayed no surprise, only a little relief. Alphinaud barely restrained himself from simply tumbling into his arms. Instead he slowed and gave a shy glance backwards, before stepping far closer to the knight than could ever be considered decent.
“Tataru, my dear, might you show me those cards of yours?” Haurchefant's words echoed behind him against the stone, no longer a matter of his concern. It mattered only that there would be a moment of calm, when they could pretend it was only them, with no others to interfere. Aymeric gathered him close, and his cloak seemed to follow and wrap him up, away from the eyes of his friends and concealing them both in their own world.
“Of c-course! Have you seen my Lightning? Pride of my collection! Just look at those numbers!” Bless her, Tataru only stammered a little, speaking quietly and trying to avert her attention from the scene by the door.
Alphinaud had wound his arms around the knight's neck, clinging hard enough to pull the other man closer to his level. Close enough to tip his chin upward, stand on his toes and whisper directly into the man's ear. His cheeks burned bright, in shyness rather than ardor, and he spoke so softly even he could barely hear it. “Tonight, after supper, whenever you are free of your obligations. Come to my room. Don't knock, just enter.”
“Numbers?” Haurchefant was still mumbling bemusedly, putting on a good game of distracting Tataru. “I suppose you could call them that. They are very nice, I agree.”
Aymeric gasped deeply at his words, clutching at him suddenly as if he would otherwise drown. It was another moment before he fully reacted, pulling away and catching him in a bruising kiss. There was no shy searching or gentle caress, only desperate need. One of the knight's hands settled on the back of his neck to urge him forward, and he too could only pull and cling, as if it were impossible for them to be close enough to satisfy. At the moment that was quite true, both of them being fully clothed, the phantom of activities to come driving them mad with anticipation.
It took some time for the fury of Aymeric's tongue to be sated, though Alphinaud made no objections. He felt dimly that there was some reason to resist, but he could not place it, and made no effort to obey. The knight's lust was his, as well, and he allowed himself to be claimed. A space without thought, only the sounds of their pleasure and the sensations that weren't enough. He could not help a quiet moan or two, unable to even break away to gasp for air for some minutes, too occupied by his lover's tongue and the leg that pressed against his hips.
When it ended at last, he sighed softly and settled against the knight's chest, relishing the warmth that bled through the fabric, no armor being there to keep them apart.
And then the knight's lips were lowered to his ear, and he heard a faint whisper in turn. “By your command,” he said breathlessly, and then he was gone, leaving a waft of cold air to embrace him instead.
He thought he saw the expression on the knight's face as he had left. It was no smirk nor teasing grin. His lips were parted slightly and he, too, was blushing softly, taking care not to look directly at him. When he had whispered those words, Aymeric had been affected as much as he.
All Alphinaud could do then was fall forward against the door once it had closed, trying to will his erection away and his breathing under control.
“I see,” he heard Haurchefant say, a little louder than necessary. “And what are the numbers for, again?” And it was then he realized that neither of his friends had spoken for several minutes. He couldn't leave the Intercessory fast enough, and merely hoped the chill air would be enough to compose him.

When Alphinaud returned to his room, in the gloaming of the early evening, he found that Junh had been there. A bottle of wine and a covered loaf were sitting on his table, glasses at the ready. It was no great surprise that she knew his plans, as he was following her advice precisely, but it was a thoughtful gesture nonetheless. Just now though, he had a lot on his mind, and the two empty glasses reminded him of the fact. He endeavored to break their symbolism, and filled one for himself. There he sat by the fire, and lost himself in his thoughts.
He had bathed and dressed for the occasion, anxiety filling his belly and making him lose track of his hunger completely. He could not place what made him feel such unease. Was it Aymeric's worry at their battle plan? He discounted that fairly quickly. The knight had forgiven him already, if that kiss were anything to judge by, and he felt no guilt at joining him in battle when the man was perpetually in danger himself. No, his anxiousness only seemed to surface when he pondered the night ahead.
When it came down to it, he realized, he was frightened.
It was precisely what he wanted, of course. He had explicitly asked for it: an evening with his lover, no interruptions, no prying eyes, no fear that someone would happen upon the evidence and tear his knight away. They could do anything they wanted together. It was a thrilling thought, making his heart race and his whole body flush with heat. But it frightened him all the same.
Not because he didn't know what he wanted to do, but rather because he did.
He recalled their first time together, sipping his wine slowly enough that the glass would likely last the night. He let the shrill burst of flavor pass, preferring the dark numbing aftertaste to sit with him like a companion to his thoughts. That day, in the cave, he had held no fear save for Aymeric's life. Once he was safe, there was no hesitation or concern. Only the rush of experience, the joy of discovery, and his complete surprise to be so wholly captivated by the man. When the opportunity had presented itself, he had accepted the kiss without thought and pressed for more. But... there was a moment, he realized, when he had said no. He did not allow the knight to touch him, and instead opted to take the offensive. His attack was fearless, yes, but he had refused to receive.
It was natural, at the time. There was no shame in shyness or inexperience, and neither had thought it strange. He had simply not felt ready, and when the knight had accepted the boundary without any question, it had made him feel... safe, and cared for.
The memory still stirred warmth within him, and he wrapped his arm about himself in subconscious desire for comfort. His free hand traced his upper arm, and the sensation was curiously sensual. He was hardly used to the brush of contact on his own skin, his arms and palms ordinarily being covered by his clothes in a very predictable way. Now he reveled in the illusion that the soft caress was not his own, and smiled the soft secret smile of one who knew they were in love.
Their second time together was much like the first, in two important respects. One, it was a surprise. Unlike now, there was no planning or forethought or deep gazing into anyone's navel. Aymeric had been gone, and he had no idea where their relationship had stood. His appearance out of a closet like some night phantasm had been a shock to say the least. And that brought him to the second point. As with the storm, he had been afraid that he would never see the man again. It was a different sort of fear, for he would have gladly taken Aymeric's safety and left the relationship if given the choice. But it had still been a tremendous relief when the man had whispered his question into the dark, and he had known that they would be unable to stay away from each-other, no matter what rational sense might dictate.
And what they had done afterwards had flowed naturally from that, he supposed. But he remembered, there was fear then. Not just that they would be discovered—as they were, it happened, though it seemed to have worked out alright. No, there had been something else there, some nameless thing pressing against his mind when Aymeric had dropped to his knees and he had known what the man had wanted to do.
It still thrilled him to remember, still made his blood hot. He had known that Aymeric had wanted to please him. But the reality had been exquisite.
But it had taken effort, he remembered, to let himself go and allow the man to touch him. He had been afraid, but he had trusted. And he had felt like he was losing himself somehow, like he was falling away into nothing and might never make his way back. It was exquisite, but it was frightening.
The thing he desired to do most had somehow become the thing he had feared. Somehow, for some reason, he was afraid to submit.
It was an unpleasant realization, but a victory nonetheless. Alphinaud celebrated by taking another small sip of his wine, letting it roll across his tongue and unfold its myriad flavors one-by-one, like unpacking a crate of exotic fruit. Then he set the glass down on the table and gathered his bare feet beneath him in the armchair, turning sideways to nestle into a corner of the cushion. He let his eyes close and continued to think, aware that he was letting the supper bell pass entirely by him and not caring in the least. There was always bread should he want it later. Bread, wine, and Aymeric.
He wanted him. And he wanted to be possessed by him. He knew little of the ways of such things, his sparse knowledge of the matters of the night being almost entirely inapplicable to relations between men. But he had an idea of what it might entail. He was certain it would hurt, and not sure whether he would enjoy it at all. But surely it must be at least somewhat enjoyable, or it wouldn't be done?
If he didn't like it, Aymeric would not persist. He was certain of that. But he wanted to like it. And he wanted to give himself to the man, see him come undone, know that he was the cause of it. He wanted to be cast adrift in the sea of devotion, and know that he belonged, truly, to another.
If the thought scared him, then he would simply need to conquer his fear. After the argument over his battle plans earlier, he nearly felt that he could overcome anything. He would master himself as he had mastered Aymeric's objections.
It was the last thing he thought before he fell asleep, floating on the warmth from the fire and the kiss of wine. He would master himself and his lover, both.
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