It isn't fear that drives his reluctance, but the weight of the den, the weight of being the child of an umavi. Verin was born - a fully new soul - into both of those things. With a quiet sigh, he sinks back and slides deeper into the water, until he's submerged to his shoulders. He peers over at Essek as he removes a layer. His brother is beautiful, and he dresses to spectacular effect. Verin knows it is his privilege to see Essek Thelyss without his armor.
But the exchange is even: Essek is one of the very few to see Verin without his.
"I will not ask you to endure her if you'd rather not." Verin is certain he can handle their mother, even if it will be reluctantly. A small smile tugs at his mouth. "Though I would be lying if I said I would not appreciate the moral support."
Verin sighs a soft curse and finally submerges himself entirely. He takes the chance to run his fingers through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp to ensure the dust is fully dislodged. He resurfaces with a heavy exhale, then relaxes against the back of the tub again.
Essek's fingers work nimbly down the line of closures across the front of his asymmetrical tunic. As the garment comes open, it reveals the top half of sleeveless black slip layer with a high collar, and the more voluminous skirt over it. He arches a brow as he slips out of the tunic, directing it with a flick of his wrist to hang with his robes.
"Our mother is the least of what I would endure for your sake, Verin Thelyss," Essek says, couching his sincerity in a playful little smirk. "I am past due to pay tribute, anyway. It may as well be now."
A tie on each hip holds the skirt in place, and Essek makes quick work of them, allowing the whole thing to slip to the floor when it is loosened with a sound of fluttering silk. He merely lounges in the air to remove his boots and stockings, leaving both arms and legs bare. His second-to-last layer, the soft slip that sheathes his body, is nipped in at his narrow waist, but reveals his legs nearly to the hip when he moves. Which he does; this time, when he perches behind Verin upon the tub's edge, he sinks his feet into the water, slipping his knees beneath his brother's arms to let Verin lean back against him while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. This time, he is not concerned about any fabric that may drag in the water.
"The soap is there if you want to wash," he points out idly, gesturing to several bars with varying scents and a soft bit of sea sponge beside them.
Verin is surprised when Essek continues to remove his layers until he's down to something Verin recognizes as a relatively foundational garment - he won't have much left beneath it.
"Well, then I will be your support and you can be mine," he demurs in a way that is almost convincing.
When he realizes what Essek is doing, Verin sits forward to allow his brother room to settle on the edge of the tub behind him, then sinks back to rest in the cradle of his brother's legs. At Essek's prompting, Verin chooses a soap. He knows he needs to clean himself; he knows he will feel better if he does. But something still seems wrong about washing away the dust of Bazzoxan and the Barbed Fields when so many others never will. His mind drifts, realizing that the Queen likely has no interest in recovering even the bodies of those lost. Their souls have long since flown - but shouldn't they have funeral rites?
Verin sinks into brooding silence. Essek has already taken care of so much and has warned him not to approach Leylas again. But this, along with so many other smaller injuries, gnaws at him.
"She will leave the dead where they are, won't she?" he asks quietly, even if he is already certain of the answer.
"The dens will oppose it. They will want to retrieve as many as possible." Essek says, a little hesitantly, as though that actually matters. "But if Bazzoxan is overrun..." They have much bigger problems than recovering the dead. Abyssal entities now occupying Betrayer's Rise means danger for all of the Dynasty, especially while they are still at war.
There is a way to spin this, he thinks. He just has to look for it. Verin's grief and quiet, simmering anger are well justified, and must be shared by many. Perhaps this is what it takes for the Dynasty to finally see change for the first time since the Calamity.
Essek begins washing his brother's hair, fingers scratching soothingly over his scalp. He will do everything he can, for Verin's sake. If he must endure this suffering, at least let it mean something.
"Verin," he says softly, pitching his voice lower even in his own home, where he knows his own wards and protections. Perhaps what he is about to say is not treason on par with stealing two beacons and delivering them to the enemy, but it would certainly get him thrown into the Dungeon of Penance if it were overheard, Thelyss or no. "The Queen is no longer reliable or reasonable. I believe she is experiencing typhros."
That is a condition he has only learned of since becoming Shadowhand, its existence closely guarded by the Umavi. But it explains so much--as does the conspiracy to hide it.
"It is a soul sickness," he explains quietly. "Caused by an inability to reconcile memories when one has lived many lives through consecution. Its primary symptom is decay of the mind, a worsening and irreversible madness."
Verin's eyebrows draw together as he listens in silence. He tries to remember if he's heard typhros before, but it doesn't catch on any meaning. What Essek describes, however, is horrifying. Slowly the pieces slip together in Verin's mind as he considers the behavior of the Bright Queen, the way her Dusk Captain has stepped in time and again in his memory to stay or lessen what felt like irrational commands. He shivers, feeling a deep cold despite the hot water.
He has never thought very hard about consecution, not since accepting it. It seemed like there was no other choice, especially knowing of Essek's refusal of the ritual. He had less to lose. But now hearing that the very goal of becoming an umavi puts their people in danger and no one - no one - has made any attempt to bring reason to light...
Verin covers his face for a moment, eyes closed as he reminds himself to breathe deep. He doesn't know that he can handle this information right now, the weight of it heavy on already tired shoulders. He will not be able to banish the thought now that he's been told. It is now his burden to know as much as Essek's.
"What do you want me to do with this, Essek?" he asks quietly, and he hates the hollow note in his voice. "What do you expect me to do?"
Essek's hands fall still for a moment, but then he uses his grip on his hair to pull his brother's head back into his lap with a gentle but insistent tug while he leans forward to look down at him.
"I have no expectation, Verin," Essek sighs, "least of all today. But I know you to be a man who prefers to hear the truth, even when it is hard." It is one of many traits Essek loves and respects him for, even if he remains selective about what he decides to share. "So I told you what I believe to be true. Neither of us can do anything yet."
His soft voice grows softer, and a damp hand cradles Verin's cheek in reverse. "All I want you to do is bathe and rest, for now."
He hates that echo in Verin's voice, too. It frightens him. His brother never sounded like this before he went to Bazzoxan. His shoulders were never so heavy, nor his eyes so sad. The Verin Essek has known for so much of his life has changed. He has been hardened and shattered by his position, the responsibility and expectation placed upon him, and on no day has that ever been more apparent than this one. Essek loves him. He wishes he had a better plan. But he will.
Leaning down, Essek brushes his lips to Verin's in an upside-down kiss, short and sweet. The dark fabric of his slip has grown wet and soapy, but he pays it no mind.
Verin tips his head back with Essek's guiding. He looks up at his brother, beseeching and broken. He does not know how to make this right. He doesn't know what to do with this new information in the light of everything else. But Essek is right; Verin would rather know, whatever else he might feel. Better to know than be surprised.
He closes his eyes as Essek kisses him and a wet hand reaches up to lightly touch his brother's cheek. He's forgotten Essek's gown, too, and if his brother doesn't care then neither does Verin. He tips his head back further in a brief but still futile effort to deepen the kiss. This is not the best position for that, and it is better not to try much harder.
He sighs when they part and he tips his head forward again.
Verin's fingers are wet when they brush Essek's face. Water drips down his cheek, down his chin as their lips part, almost like tears. He imagines so, at least. Essek hasn't cried in a very long time.
There is the ugly possessive urge to drag his brother's head back and kiss him again--he could have lost him today, the only person in the world who matters, who is his--but the angle really is poor. He returns to Verin's hair instead, the scratch of his fingers through it methodical but gentle, practiced. He's done this more times than he can count.
They're quiet for a time. Essek washes the blood from his brother's pale hair, using a wide-toothed comb to work his own favorite shampoo through it. The silky black slip he's wearing becomes entirely soaked. At last, he gives a quiet instruction: "Rinse it out, please."
Verin sinks into the quiet between them as Essek works, bringing comfort through touch that is so familiar and yet Verin has not had this experience in a long time. His eyes remain closed, and he is unsure if he wants to sleep or just lose himself for a little while in the simplicity of it all: the warmth of the water, the caress of his brother's fingers or the comb, and the sound of Essek's breathing. He could have lost this forever.
At some point during Essek's tender care, Verin shifts to wrap one arm around Essek's leg. He goes no further, but even that offers him some comfort. He can feel the wet silk against his back, and for a moment he's quietly amused that Essek doffed all his layers only to get this one wet.
He opens his eyes again briefly when he hears the command - even with that gentle please, Verin doesn't hear it as a request - and then does as he's told. Verin rinses his hair thoroughly, his fingers following the same paths as Essek's had. Only when he's certain the soap is all washed out does he sit up again. He sinks back against Essek where his brother sits behind him. Verin turns his head to brush a kiss to Essek's knee.
"I should get out," he says quietly. The water won't go cold, not with a wizard for a brother, but if Verin is going to linger anywhere, he'd rather a bed or comfortable couch. "Do you have a robe I can use?"
Verin will not fit in anything Essek owns, but he swears he left clothes here at some point.
Verin clings to him for comfort, for support, and as he always has, Essek allows it. He stifles the shiver that would have worked its way down his spine at the brush of lips against the inside of his knee, and instead strokes his fingers through his brother's hair one more time.
"Of course. In your room," he says. "Dry off and I will fetch it for you."
Essek extracts himself from both his brother and the tub. His slip drips onto the floor as he stands. Carefully, he pulls it up over his head, dropping it with a slap of wet fabric on stone and sweeping his ruffled hair back into place. The smalls he wears beneath sit low on his hips, fine and partly sheer, black with a pattern of embroidery almost resembling feathers. By the door to the bathroom he retrieves one of his own robes and slips it over his shoulders, belting the wide sash tight around his narrow waist. This garment is even more diaphanous, dark but airy, with long trailing lace sleeves. Most notably, however, it is also quite short, brushing the tops of Essek's thighs as he pads barefoot and bare-legged back out into his bedroom.
It can't hurt, he thinks, to remind Verin of what he has been missing.
Verin's room--the only guest bedroom with a dedicated occupant--is one floor down in this tower, but it is closer to Essek's than any other. He finds the robe he was thinking of hanging where he left it the last time Verin stayed with him. It's a long, soft imported linen dyed in a geometric pattern of black and midnight blue, made for comfort with roomy sleeves and a generous allowance for broad shoulders. Essek had it made for him years ago. As he brings it back upstairs now, he considers that he may have worn it more often than Verin has. It has been one of the few comforts he's allowed himself when he misses his brother.
"Verin?" he calls when he returns. "I have it here." He holds the robe open, as if he intends to help Verin into it himself.
Verin lets go of Essek so that his brother can move without compromising his balance. He thinks little of it until he hears the heavy, wet slap of fabric hitting the tile floor. He looks then, seeing his brother in just his smalls crossing the bathroom to retrieve a robe for himself. One that is far shorter than... anything Verin can recall seeing Essek in.
He can't help but think Essek chose that particular one on purpose.
He lets go of a heavy breath and sinks down into the water up to his shoulders, lingering there for a little while longer before he makes himself get out. Verin is finishing drying himself by the time Essek returns, carrying a familiar robe. He knows he didn't take it with him on purpose the last time he was here, thinking that it would feel like a promise to return. Or, at the very least, a symbol of his comfort in his brother's home.
Unbidden, Verin's gaze flicks to Essek's bare legs as he moves closer, but only for a moment. It's clear what Essek wants as he holds the robe out and Verin doesn't resist the help. The fabric is soft, fine against his skin and so completely incongruous with everything that has happened to him in the past day. It feels like none of this should be real. He doesn't know why he feels so conflicted that it is.
Essek drapes the robe over his brother's broad shoulders, then ties it closed when he turns around again, knowing that perhaps he is being slightly overbearing in his care, but it is out of love--which he cannot say is true for much else in his life. His hands come to rest on Verin's chest, and he leaves them there as he looks up at him. He is a finely built man, his younger brother. Essek sometimes notices this objectively about other men, an observation as impersonal as any other--but it is different with Verin. Everything is.
His hands slide up until he is holding his brother's face between them, drawing him down for a chaste kiss.
"It is the least I can do," he murmurs after, brushing his thumb back and forth along Verin's cheek. "You should rest. I'll lay with you."
He moves to his bed and turns down the coverlet before getting himself, laying back against the pillows. Though he is still wearing his robe, it doesn't conceal much, especially while he is laying down. Slipping between the sheets, Essek opens his arms. "Come."
Verin leans down as Essek draws him in for a kiss. His brother has always been able to move him with the lightest touch; he is one of the few (possibly only) people that Verin yields to almost without hesitation. He would not be a Taskhand if he were seen as too pliable. But it has always been different with Essek.
He follows his brother after that tender caress and a small smile tugs at his mouth when Essek turns down the bed. And if his attention lingers on his brother's bare legs, Verin thinks he can be forgiven: he hasn't seen them in quite some time. He doesn't hesitate to join Essek when he is given the invitation. Verin slips into the bed, sore and stiff but better than he was when he arrived in Rosohna.
In the soft, familiar bed, Verin can't quite resist the urge to kiss Essek's temple. He breathes in the scent of him, more vivid than the faded remnants on a scarf he may have taken with him the last time he saw Essek. He wants to thank his brother again, and again, but he thinks he has said it enough. Or he's said it enough that Essek will gently chide him for doing it yet again.
That affection given, Verin relaxes into the pillows and immediately turns his head so that he is still looking at Essek.
"There was a moment," he murmurs, "a long, terrible moment when I thought this was gone."
The kiss to his temple brings a satisfied curl to Essek's lips. It's short lived, however, as Verin confesses how afraid he was that he'd lost this--and it is easy to infer that he could so easily have been one of the dead there in Bazzoxan. Unlike Essek, Verin is consecuted. It is a near certainty that his soul would return during Essek's lifetime. But it would be years, and it would be different. It wouldn't be this.
Essek tucks strands of his brother's loose damp hair back behind his ear. He'll brush and braid it for him again after he rests.
"I worried the same," he admits quietly. "From the moment we heard about the attack until I saw you stride into the throne room. I had to trust that you were strong enough to return to me." And he was. Of course he was. Verin is a powerful, skilled echo knight and a capable commander. Even with what he was asked to do--
His simmering anger threatens to boil over again. Fools and cowards, all of them, and Verin had paid dearly for it.
"Let me hold you," Essek says, the same tone of gentle command he's been using with Verin for a century. He lifts his arm for his brother to move closer, to wrap around him and stroke his hair when he lays his head down against his shoulder.
Had the beacon been too far away when Verin fell - like it was for so many who were left behind - then even his soul would be lost forever, consecuted or not. Verin tries not to linger on the events that didn't happen; he tries harder not to fall into the guilt of everything that did.
The gentle authority in Essek's voice when he speaks again is a comfort. He doesn't have to think, only do. He turns more toward his brother and rests against him, head on Essek's shoulder. Verin can feel the warmth of his skin through the sheer robe he wears and the familiar scent of Essek's cologne doesn't escape him. It's been so very long since he has been in this place.
Verin closes his eyes as Essek's fingers stroke into his hair, offering tenderness that Verin has not been privy to since last he was in Rosohna. Tenderness that he knows Essek does not share with most - perhaps any - others. Even here in his brother's bed it is difficult to close his mind to the sounds of chaos, pain, and fear. The hopelessness of a position lost, the desperation of those trying to survive. The scent of blood and earth and sulfur.
He takes a deeper breath to steady himself, until the only things he can smell are the mingling scents of lavender, osmanthus, jasmine, cedarwood, and white musk clinging to Essek's skin.
Verin has always responded well to his authority when he is caring but firm. Today is no different, and Essek is grateful for the ways in which his brother is predictable, perhaps known only to him. Verin's head comes to rest against his shoulder, his eyes slip closed, and Essek's darkly painted lips press affectionately to his brow. In addition to the scent of his perfume clinging to his skin, he is still wearing a full face of makeup from court today.
It's been a long time since they were last able to do this, and it is a shame that these are the circumstances leading to this reunion. They don't see each other nearly as much as they should. The time they get to spend in his home together, in his bed, is even less. Essek's desire to protect his younger brother from his own machinations is in direct conflict with how much he misses him.
Combing his fingers slowly, soothingly through Verin's hair, Essek attempts to quell the restless buzz of excess energy he can practically feel radiating from his stronger, broader body. He must be exhausted, yet he hasn't yet crashed. His mind is still whirring, replaying, reminding him of what he'd survived and witnessed today.
Essek clasps him wordlessly closer. He feels his toes brush the edge of Verin's robe and slips his foot beneath to slide his bare legs against Verin's. Should he need to do anything more to help him relax, he has plenty of options for distraction.
Verin's breath catches quietly when he feels Essek's legs against his, bare skin a sudden reminder that his brother is so exposed. He tries to relax as delicate and clever fingers brush through his hair, a gesture that has brought him so much comfort over the years.
"Essek..." He speaks his brother's name and it is neither a question nor a plea, but some strange place in the middle. A question he does not know how to ask, a plea hoping for his brother's intuitive understanding. Verin pushes himself up onto his elbow so that he can look down at Essek, searching his beautifully made up face. He knows that he's had the privilege of very few to see the Shadowhand without his armor, but as they've grown he's realized that Essek's armor goes deeper than it once did.
"I missed you," he confesses quietly, words that he's spoken already but that bear repeating. His fingers, calloused and rough but still elegant, brush against Essek's hair.
For all that his tone is one of uncertainty, Essek is familiar with what Verin is seeking from him. He understands what his brother needs, but cannot ask him for. This is far from the first time.
"I miss you always, dearest one," he whispers, a tender and true affirmation as he cradles Verin's handsome face between his graceful hands again, looking up at him from the now even shorter distance between them. But there is more beneath those words that he cannot say, that wasn't there years upon years ago. It hurts. Verin was once his confidante, the one person he could admit anything to. Yet now he is hiding so much even from his brother.
It's better that way, he tells himself. Should he ever be discovered, Verin will be safer if he knows nothing.
This time, the way his legs slip around and between Verin's is blatantly suggestive, the slide of bare skin slow and sensual. His toes trail up the back of one calf while their thighs slot together. With fingers curled around the sharp line of his jaw, Essek draws his brother into an equally heady kiss, parting his painted lips and tracing his tongue along Verin's. Heat flickers to life in his belly, desire he hasn't felt since the last time they were together this way.
"It's been so long, Verin," he sighs between one kiss and the next. All these years, and Essek still hasn't taken another lover. Rather than bed a man he would have to feign interest in, he waits for these moments. They don't happen nearly often enough to sate the longing he feels for connection, intimacy, pleasure. "I need you," he implores.
Verin lets himself break, then. Not in the way that's probably coming, but he lets go of something he's been holding back since the Lucid Bastion when Essek kisses him that way. They have shared so much and Verin wants to remind himself that he hasn't lost everything. His lips part at the touch of Essek's tongue and Verin moves until he's fully over his brother, intent on properly getting between his thighs.
He's taken lovers in Bazzoxan but he's never felt for anyone what he still feels for Essek. He's cared for people he's taken to bed and maintained friendships with several, easy relationships with clear expectations. At no point has Verin ever offered love or exclusivity. Regardless of what his partners may have wanted, it isn't difficult for anyone to understand that mindset in a place like that. He has missed the ease he feels with Essek and he knows he can be vulnerable here. They have always kept each other safe. They have always shared intimacy that Verin has never offered anyone else.
"Too long," he whispers between kisses. "I should have come."
They both had their reasons, but in hindsight they feel like pitiful excuses when their bond is so close. Verin strokes his fingers into Essek's hair, tipping his head back as he deepens the kiss. If Essek needs him, Verin could never refuse him.
It is a known fact across the whole of Rosohna that the Shadowhand is the hands-off sort. That's what it's called in polite company, at least. When the man himself and anyone who might report back to him are supposedly out of earshot, he's more likely to be called frigid.
Apparently it's a shame, according to many. Even setting aside the power he holds (the youngest Shadowhand in history!) and how appealing a target he makes (the youngest Shadowhand in history), he's very easy on the eyes. He has the willowy, androgynous build that tends to be associated with classical elven beauty, with delicate features and fine-boned hands and striking violet eyes. Yet he hides his slightness under voluminous robes and billowing cloaks, hides his narrow shoulders beneath the sharp curves of his mantle--all the more enticing, then, to catch a glimpse of a long, slender leg or arm as he goes about his business. Essek Thelyss turns heads. The fact that he keeps himself closed off to everyone, untouchable, aloof as a cat, only means that there are plenty who'd betray the crown itself to be welcomed into his personal space. It's calculated.
The thing about cats is that despite their reputation, they are needy little things. As effortlessly as he gives the impression to the contrary, Essek has his needs. Picky as he is, there is only a single man who can meet them.
If anyone knew who, that would be gossip fodder for a decade. A good secret to have on hand; compromising enough to account for shifty behavior, but far less dire than treason. These things happen with some frequency among the dens, where consecution can sometimes result in unusual permutations of standard relationships. Still, this sort of closeness between siblings is the sort of thing one is expected to grow out of by their age. But they are both considered young--first lives, only partly into their second centuries. Such youthful foolishness would lead to general finger wagging and some embarassment for the den, but they wouldn't get worse than a slap on the wrist.
Still, Essek would prefer it not come to that. Having to be even more discreet while pretending to distance themselves would be a real pain. Especially when he finally has a reason to keep Verin close at hand.
They kiss, and Essek spreads his legs as he whimpers encouragingly against Verin's mouth. He buries his hands in his brother's long, loose hair as Verin's fingers comb through his own--much shorter, but the motion still sends a frission of excitement down his spine.
"You are not going anywhere now," Essek declares in a low, fierce whisper. "You are mine. I am keeping you."
When they kiss again, deeper, he sucks on Verin's tongue, scrapes his lower lip with his sharp teeth. His lip color may or may not be holding up. Barely needing to lift from the bed, his thighs find a natural position squeezing Verin's waist. Everything about the way Essek draws his brother in is deeply, unabashedly possessive.
When Verin's window for going through anamnesis fully passed and it became known that Den Thelyss had not one, but two new souls for the first time in centuries, Verin felt that he and Essek were closer than ever. They alone would live their lives, with no memories or past glories to stand on, no ties save those they built. And the tightest tie of all has ever been between them.
Verin feels a tremble deep in his chest when Essek whispers that he is going to keep him. That Verin is his. What more does he need when that is true? Especially now, when so much of the life he's built is shattered and scattered across the Barbed Fields, when he knows that those he has put his faith in have utterly abandoned reason and any sense of compassion for those that serve them. The institutions he has served his entire life have failed to do what he believed they were meant to.
But Essek is here, holding him with a sharply possessive tone that has always made Verin feel like he could keep going. If Essek is here, in his life, then there is still light in it. Verin has been his nearly since birth. Why should any of that have changed as they grew older and closer?
He meets the next kiss, slick and sharp as Essek bites his lip. Verin reaches down to catch a bare thigh and gives a firm roll of his hips, as if Essek needed any reminder of the strength in his brother's body.
"I have always been yours," he whispers as heat suffuses his body, pooling low between his hips.
Essek's breathing is rapidly growing shallow as arousal sweeps through him in an irresistible tide, hitching at the strength of Verin's grip on his thigh. Their bodies grind together in this moment, Verin's hips rolling down against his while his thighs tighten around his waist, but there is also the decades of history between them that this moment is built upon, an addiction that only grows more potent with time. He can feel the stiffening heat of Verin's erection, and Essek's entire body tingles and throbs like a numb limb finally thawing out.
"I know," Essek whispers. The silky lilt of his voice manages to be both soothing and provocative as their lips brush and his fingers twist firmly into his brother's hair. "I know you have, my love."
He drags his other hand down from Verin's jaw, down his throat to where his robe parts over his sturdy chest. He slips it inside to feel the warmth of his bare skin, the thump of his heart beneath, slipping his robe open as he goes.
"I remember how sweet you used to be for me when we both still lived at the main house," he whispers. "How you would sneak into my bed already hard from thinking of me, and I would have to cover your mouth while I rode you or sucked you or you'd have woken the whole wing." Before Verin had anyone else. Before he left to live in the barracks and learned to be quiet. Before Essek was granted these towers. Darkened lips curling, he teases, "You were so needy sometimes, little brother. Perhaps I spoiled you a bit. You knew that I would always take care of you if you told me how much you loved me."
Verin breathes in sharply as Essek's fingers curl in his hair, another hand soon pressed to his chest. He closes his eyes, momentarily lost in the memories that Essek recounts. Verin can still remember the pressure of Essek's hand against his mouth and the scent of the perfume he favored then. He always wore some on his wrists. Over the years the scents have changed, but the habit has not.
"I would have loved you anyway," he murmurs, meeting his brother's gaze. He dearly wants Essek to hear and believe that: Verin loves him for no other reason than that he is Essek. That is how Verin has always loved him. And maybe Essek did spoil him, but he cannot regret it.
His hand strokes over Essek's thigh and just feeling his brother's soft, warm skin beneath his palm is enough to make him burn with desire. Verin presses another firm kiss to Essek's lips before coaxing them apart for a better taste.
"There is no need for me to be quiet now," he says, voice lower and warmer.
Essek's towers are his own, and Verin didn't notice any other occupants - no students, no supplicants, no secretaries - on their way through. Granted, he hadn't been inclined to look particularly hard for anything when Essek brought him here from the Lucid Bastion. Verin shifts, releasing Essek's thigh long enough to slip his arm out of the sleeve of his robe. He leaves it to hang and his hand runs up Essek's thigh until he finds the hem of his brother's smalls. His fingers curl and he drags them down as far as he can, very aware that he'll have to move if he wants to get them off properly. But it's the gesture that's important for now.
From anyone else, he could never believe those words so easily. But with his brother, he's never doubted it. Maybe that is the reason--or at least part of the reason--he has only ever wanted Verin this way.
He makes a soft, wanting noise against Verin's mouth when he kisses him again, which becomes a throatier moan as his tongue sweeps past his lips. The more Verin kisses him, touches him, presses him down into his bed with less clothing between them, the wilder Essek feels.
"No. This is my home. We are alone here," he confirms breathlessly, violet eyes intent and growing darker as his pupils expand. The perfectly applied dark purple paint on his lips has started to smudge at the edges of his mouth. "I want to hear you."
Both hands slide down as Verin slips one arm free from his robe, nails raking lightly down his bared chest more for sensation than pain. He's so beautiful with his pale hair falling all around his handsome face, his broad shoulders, his strong arms and scarred chest--his rough hands stroking up Essek's soft, untouched legs until they reach his smalls and slide them halfway down his thighs. Essek shivers as the delicate silk catches against and then rubs over the sensitive head of his very hard cock, leaving him aroused and exposed in a way that makes him absolutely dizzy with desire. He visibly struggles with the urge to either cover himself with a robe too short and disheveled and sheer, or spread his legs wider, neither of which he can currently accomplish.
"How will you have me tonight, Verin?" he coaxes, sultry with an underlying edge of almost reckless urgency. "Tell me."
Verin's chest still feels heavy with loss, his mind too full with thoughts of what he should have done. Above all of it is the sharp, urgent desire to remind himself that he is still alive with the one person who he would stay alive for. The raw lines Essek leaves behind on his chest make him shiver, as does the way his brother seems torn between giving himself over to his own desires and hiding from them. It's that urgency that Verin knows is there that excites him more. How restless Essek can be, how demanding, when he is finally given what he wants.
He would argue that Essek is even more demanding when he has what he wants.
His fingers tighten in Essek's hair and Verin kisses him again as he gives another firm thrust of his hips, dragging his heavy, full cock against the place where Essek's hip meets his thigh. Light, he has missed everything about Essek, including the places where his body is softer than Verin's.
"In every way you'll let me," he whispers as his lips brush across Essek's cheek to his ear. He can feel the familiar jewelry beneath his lips, but he is far more interested in the bare spaces he finds. His brother is always so covered; no one sees him the way Verin does.
"Let me feel you beneath me first," he says, still soft and for Essek alone. Verin lifts his head so that he can see Essek's face. He can't imagine Essek agreeing to something he doesn't want - even for him - but he wants to be sure all the same.
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But the exchange is even: Essek is one of the very few to see Verin without his.
"I will not ask you to endure her if you'd rather not." Verin is certain he can handle their mother, even if it will be reluctantly. A small smile tugs at his mouth. "Though I would be lying if I said I would not appreciate the moral support."
Verin sighs a soft curse and finally submerges himself entirely. He takes the chance to run his fingers through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp to ensure the dust is fully dislodged. He resurfaces with a heavy exhale, then relaxes against the back of the tub again.
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"Our mother is the least of what I would endure for your sake, Verin Thelyss," Essek says, couching his sincerity in a playful little smirk. "I am past due to pay tribute, anyway. It may as well be now."
A tie on each hip holds the skirt in place, and Essek makes quick work of them, allowing the whole thing to slip to the floor when it is loosened with a sound of fluttering silk. He merely lounges in the air to remove his boots and stockings, leaving both arms and legs bare. His second-to-last layer, the soft slip that sheathes his body, is nipped in at his narrow waist, but reveals his legs nearly to the hip when he moves. Which he does; this time, when he perches behind Verin upon the tub's edge, he sinks his feet into the water, slipping his knees beneath his brother's arms to let Verin lean back against him while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. This time, he is not concerned about any fabric that may drag in the water.
"The soap is there if you want to wash," he points out idly, gesturing to several bars with varying scents and a soft bit of sea sponge beside them.
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"Well, then I will be your support and you can be mine," he demurs in a way that is almost convincing.
When he realizes what Essek is doing, Verin sits forward to allow his brother room to settle on the edge of the tub behind him, then sinks back to rest in the cradle of his brother's legs. At Essek's prompting, Verin chooses a soap. He knows he needs to clean himself; he knows he will feel better if he does. But something still seems wrong about washing away the dust of Bazzoxan and the Barbed Fields when so many others never will. His mind drifts, realizing that the Queen likely has no interest in recovering even the bodies of those lost. Their souls have long since flown - but shouldn't they have funeral rites?
Verin sinks into brooding silence. Essek has already taken care of so much and has warned him not to approach Leylas again. But this, along with so many other smaller injuries, gnaws at him.
"She will leave the dead where they are, won't she?" he asks quietly, even if he is already certain of the answer.
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There is a way to spin this, he thinks. He just has to look for it. Verin's grief and quiet, simmering anger are well justified, and must be shared by many. Perhaps this is what it takes for the Dynasty to finally see change for the first time since the Calamity.
Essek begins washing his brother's hair, fingers scratching soothingly over his scalp. He will do everything he can, for Verin's sake. If he must endure this suffering, at least let it mean something.
"Verin," he says softly, pitching his voice lower even in his own home, where he knows his own wards and protections. Perhaps what he is about to say is not treason on par with stealing two beacons and delivering them to the enemy, but it would certainly get him thrown into the Dungeon of Penance if it were overheard, Thelyss or no. "The Queen is no longer reliable or reasonable. I believe she is experiencing typhros."
That is a condition he has only learned of since becoming Shadowhand, its existence closely guarded by the Umavi. But it explains so much--as does the conspiracy to hide it.
"It is a soul sickness," he explains quietly. "Caused by an inability to reconcile memories when one has lived many lives through consecution. Its primary symptom is decay of the mind, a worsening and irreversible madness."
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He has never thought very hard about consecution, not since accepting it. It seemed like there was no other choice, especially knowing of Essek's refusal of the ritual. He had less to lose. But now hearing that the very goal of becoming an umavi puts their people in danger and no one - no one - has made any attempt to bring reason to light...
Verin covers his face for a moment, eyes closed as he reminds himself to breathe deep. He doesn't know that he can handle this information right now, the weight of it heavy on already tired shoulders. He will not be able to banish the thought now that he's been told. It is now his burden to know as much as Essek's.
"What do you want me to do with this, Essek?" he asks quietly, and he hates the hollow note in his voice. "What do you expect me to do?"
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"I have no expectation, Verin," Essek sighs, "least of all today. But I know you to be a man who prefers to hear the truth, even when it is hard." It is one of many traits Essek loves and respects him for, even if he remains selective about what he decides to share. "So I told you what I believe to be true. Neither of us can do anything yet."
His soft voice grows softer, and a damp hand cradles Verin's cheek in reverse. "All I want you to do is bathe and rest, for now."
He hates that echo in Verin's voice, too. It frightens him. His brother never sounded like this before he went to Bazzoxan. His shoulders were never so heavy, nor his eyes so sad. The Verin Essek has known for so much of his life has changed. He has been hardened and shattered by his position, the responsibility and expectation placed upon him, and on no day has that ever been more apparent than this one. Essek loves him. He wishes he had a better plan. But he will.
Leaning down, Essek brushes his lips to Verin's in an upside-down kiss, short and sweet. The dark fabric of his slip has grown wet and soapy, but he pays it no mind.
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He closes his eyes as Essek kisses him and a wet hand reaches up to lightly touch his brother's cheek. He's forgotten Essek's gown, too, and if his brother doesn't care then neither does Verin. He tips his head back further in a brief but still futile effort to deepen the kiss. This is not the best position for that, and it is better not to try much harder.
He sighs when they part and he tips his head forward again.
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There is the ugly possessive urge to drag his brother's head back and kiss him again--he could have lost him today, the only person in the world who matters, who is his--but the angle really is poor. He returns to Verin's hair instead, the scratch of his fingers through it methodical but gentle, practiced. He's done this more times than he can count.
They're quiet for a time. Essek washes the blood from his brother's pale hair, using a wide-toothed comb to work his own favorite shampoo through it. The silky black slip he's wearing becomes entirely soaked. At last, he gives a quiet instruction: "Rinse it out, please."
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At some point during Essek's tender care, Verin shifts to wrap one arm around Essek's leg. He goes no further, but even that offers him some comfort. He can feel the wet silk against his back, and for a moment he's quietly amused that Essek doffed all his layers only to get this one wet.
He opens his eyes again briefly when he hears the command - even with that gentle please, Verin doesn't hear it as a request - and then does as he's told. Verin rinses his hair thoroughly, his fingers following the same paths as Essek's had. Only when he's certain the soap is all washed out does he sit up again. He sinks back against Essek where his brother sits behind him. Verin turns his head to brush a kiss to Essek's knee.
"I should get out," he says quietly. The water won't go cold, not with a wizard for a brother, but if Verin is going to linger anywhere, he'd rather a bed or comfortable couch. "Do you have a robe I can use?"
Verin will not fit in anything Essek owns, but he swears he left clothes here at some point.
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"Of course. In your room," he says. "Dry off and I will fetch it for you."
Essek extracts himself from both his brother and the tub. His slip drips onto the floor as he stands. Carefully, he pulls it up over his head, dropping it with a slap of wet fabric on stone and sweeping his ruffled hair back into place. The smalls he wears beneath sit low on his hips, fine and partly sheer, black with a pattern of embroidery almost resembling feathers. By the door to the bathroom he retrieves one of his own robes and slips it over his shoulders, belting the wide sash tight around his narrow waist. This garment is even more diaphanous, dark but airy, with long trailing lace sleeves. Most notably, however, it is also quite short, brushing the tops of Essek's thighs as he pads barefoot and bare-legged back out into his bedroom.
It can't hurt, he thinks, to remind Verin of what he has been missing.
Verin's room--the only guest bedroom with a dedicated occupant--is one floor down in this tower, but it is closer to Essek's than any other. He finds the robe he was thinking of hanging where he left it the last time Verin stayed with him. It's a long, soft imported linen dyed in a geometric pattern of black and midnight blue, made for comfort with roomy sleeves and a generous allowance for broad shoulders. Essek had it made for him years ago. As he brings it back upstairs now, he considers that he may have worn it more often than Verin has. It has been one of the few comforts he's allowed himself when he misses his brother.
"Verin?" he calls when he returns. "I have it here." He holds the robe open, as if he intends to help Verin into it himself.
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He can't help but think Essek chose that particular one on purpose.
He lets go of a heavy breath and sinks down into the water up to his shoulders, lingering there for a little while longer before he makes himself get out. Verin is finishing drying himself by the time Essek returns, carrying a familiar robe. He knows he didn't take it with him on purpose the last time he was here, thinking that it would feel like a promise to return. Or, at the very least, a symbol of his comfort in his brother's home.
Unbidden, Verin's gaze flicks to Essek's bare legs as he moves closer, but only for a moment. It's clear what Essek wants as he holds the robe out and Verin doesn't resist the help. The fabric is soft, fine against his skin and so completely incongruous with everything that has happened to him in the past day. It feels like none of this should be real. He doesn't know why he feels so conflicted that it is.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
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His hands slide up until he is holding his brother's face between them, drawing him down for a chaste kiss.
"It is the least I can do," he murmurs after, brushing his thumb back and forth along Verin's cheek. "You should rest. I'll lay with you."
He moves to his bed and turns down the coverlet before getting himself, laying back against the pillows. Though he is still wearing his robe, it doesn't conceal much, especially while he is laying down. Slipping between the sheets, Essek opens his arms. "Come."
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He follows his brother after that tender caress and a small smile tugs at his mouth when Essek turns down the bed. And if his attention lingers on his brother's bare legs, Verin thinks he can be forgiven: he hasn't seen them in quite some time. He doesn't hesitate to join Essek when he is given the invitation. Verin slips into the bed, sore and stiff but better than he was when he arrived in Rosohna.
In the soft, familiar bed, Verin can't quite resist the urge to kiss Essek's temple. He breathes in the scent of him, more vivid than the faded remnants on a scarf he may have taken with him the last time he saw Essek. He wants to thank his brother again, and again, but he thinks he has said it enough. Or he's said it enough that Essek will gently chide him for doing it yet again.
That affection given, Verin relaxes into the pillows and immediately turns his head so that he is still looking at Essek.
"There was a moment," he murmurs, "a long, terrible moment when I thought this was gone."
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Essek tucks strands of his brother's loose damp hair back behind his ear. He'll brush and braid it for him again after he rests.
"I worried the same," he admits quietly. "From the moment we heard about the attack until I saw you stride into the throne room. I had to trust that you were strong enough to return to me." And he was. Of course he was. Verin is a powerful, skilled echo knight and a capable commander. Even with what he was asked to do--
His simmering anger threatens to boil over again. Fools and cowards, all of them, and Verin had paid dearly for it.
"Let me hold you," Essek says, the same tone of gentle command he's been using with Verin for a century. He lifts his arm for his brother to move closer, to wrap around him and stroke his hair when he lays his head down against his shoulder.
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The gentle authority in Essek's voice when he speaks again is a comfort. He doesn't have to think, only do. He turns more toward his brother and rests against him, head on Essek's shoulder. Verin can feel the warmth of his skin through the sheer robe he wears and the familiar scent of Essek's cologne doesn't escape him. It's been so very long since he has been in this place.
Verin closes his eyes as Essek's fingers stroke into his hair, offering tenderness that Verin has not been privy to since last he was in Rosohna. Tenderness that he knows Essek does not share with most - perhaps any - others. Even here in his brother's bed it is difficult to close his mind to the sounds of chaos, pain, and fear. The hopelessness of a position lost, the desperation of those trying to survive. The scent of blood and earth and sulfur.
He takes a deeper breath to steady himself, until the only things he can smell are the mingling scents of lavender, osmanthus, jasmine, cedarwood, and white musk clinging to Essek's skin.
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It's been a long time since they were last able to do this, and it is a shame that these are the circumstances leading to this reunion. They don't see each other nearly as much as they should. The time they get to spend in his home together, in his bed, is even less. Essek's desire to protect his younger brother from his own machinations is in direct conflict with how much he misses him.
Combing his fingers slowly, soothingly through Verin's hair, Essek attempts to quell the restless buzz of excess energy he can practically feel radiating from his stronger, broader body. He must be exhausted, yet he hasn't yet crashed. His mind is still whirring, replaying, reminding him of what he'd survived and witnessed today.
Essek clasps him wordlessly closer. He feels his toes brush the edge of Verin's robe and slips his foot beneath to slide his bare legs against Verin's. Should he need to do anything more to help him relax, he has plenty of options for distraction.
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"Essek..." He speaks his brother's name and it is neither a question nor a plea, but some strange place in the middle. A question he does not know how to ask, a plea hoping for his brother's intuitive understanding. Verin pushes himself up onto his elbow so that he can look down at Essek, searching his beautifully made up face. He knows that he's had the privilege of very few to see the Shadowhand without his armor, but as they've grown he's realized that Essek's armor goes deeper than it once did.
"I missed you," he confesses quietly, words that he's spoken already but that bear repeating. His fingers, calloused and rough but still elegant, brush against Essek's hair.
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"I miss you always, dearest one," he whispers, a tender and true affirmation as he cradles Verin's handsome face between his graceful hands again, looking up at him from the now even shorter distance between them. But there is more beneath those words that he cannot say, that wasn't there years upon years ago. It hurts. Verin was once his confidante, the one person he could admit anything to. Yet now he is hiding so much even from his brother.
It's better that way, he tells himself. Should he ever be discovered, Verin will be safer if he knows nothing.
This time, the way his legs slip around and between Verin's is blatantly suggestive, the slide of bare skin slow and sensual. His toes trail up the back of one calf while their thighs slot together. With fingers curled around the sharp line of his jaw, Essek draws his brother into an equally heady kiss, parting his painted lips and tracing his tongue along Verin's. Heat flickers to life in his belly, desire he hasn't felt since the last time they were together this way.
"It's been so long, Verin," he sighs between one kiss and the next. All these years, and Essek still hasn't taken another lover. Rather than bed a man he would have to feign interest in, he waits for these moments. They don't happen nearly often enough to sate the longing he feels for connection, intimacy, pleasure. "I need you," he implores.
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He's taken lovers in Bazzoxan but he's never felt for anyone what he still feels for Essek. He's cared for people he's taken to bed and maintained friendships with several, easy relationships with clear expectations. At no point has Verin ever offered love or exclusivity. Regardless of what his partners may have wanted, it isn't difficult for anyone to understand that mindset in a place like that. He has missed the ease he feels with Essek and he knows he can be vulnerable here. They have always kept each other safe. They have always shared intimacy that Verin has never offered anyone else.
"Too long," he whispers between kisses. "I should have come."
They both had their reasons, but in hindsight they feel like pitiful excuses when their bond is so close. Verin strokes his fingers into Essek's hair, tipping his head back as he deepens the kiss. If Essek needs him, Verin could never refuse him.
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Apparently it's a shame, according to many. Even setting aside the power he holds (the youngest Shadowhand in history!) and how appealing a target he makes (the youngest Shadowhand in history), he's very easy on the eyes. He has the willowy, androgynous build that tends to be associated with classical elven beauty, with delicate features and fine-boned hands and striking violet eyes. Yet he hides his slightness under voluminous robes and billowing cloaks, hides his narrow shoulders beneath the sharp curves of his mantle--all the more enticing, then, to catch a glimpse of a long, slender leg or arm as he goes about his business. Essek Thelyss turns heads. The fact that he keeps himself closed off to everyone, untouchable, aloof as a cat, only means that there are plenty who'd betray the crown itself to be welcomed into his personal space. It's calculated.
The thing about cats is that despite their reputation, they are needy little things. As effortlessly as he gives the impression to the contrary, Essek has his needs. Picky as he is, there is only a single man who can meet them.
If anyone knew who, that would be gossip fodder for a decade. A good secret to have on hand; compromising enough to account for shifty behavior, but far less dire than treason. These things happen with some frequency among the dens, where consecution can sometimes result in unusual permutations of standard relationships. Still, this sort of closeness between siblings is the sort of thing one is expected to grow out of by their age. But they are both considered young--first lives, only partly into their second centuries. Such youthful foolishness would lead to general finger wagging and some embarassment for the den, but they wouldn't get worse than a slap on the wrist.
Still, Essek would prefer it not come to that. Having to be even more discreet while pretending to distance themselves would be a real pain. Especially when he finally has a reason to keep Verin close at hand.
They kiss, and Essek spreads his legs as he whimpers encouragingly against Verin's mouth. He buries his hands in his brother's long, loose hair as Verin's fingers comb through his own--much shorter, but the motion still sends a frission of excitement down his spine.
"You are not going anywhere now," Essek declares in a low, fierce whisper. "You are mine. I am keeping you."
When they kiss again, deeper, he sucks on Verin's tongue, scrapes his lower lip with his sharp teeth. His lip color may or may not be holding up. Barely needing to lift from the bed, his thighs find a natural position squeezing Verin's waist. Everything about the way Essek draws his brother in is deeply, unabashedly possessive.
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Verin feels a tremble deep in his chest when Essek whispers that he is going to keep him. That Verin is his. What more does he need when that is true? Especially now, when so much of the life he's built is shattered and scattered across the Barbed Fields, when he knows that those he has put his faith in have utterly abandoned reason and any sense of compassion for those that serve them. The institutions he has served his entire life have failed to do what he believed they were meant to.
But Essek is here, holding him with a sharply possessive tone that has always made Verin feel like he could keep going. If Essek is here, in his life, then there is still light in it. Verin has been his nearly since birth. Why should any of that have changed as they grew older and closer?
He meets the next kiss, slick and sharp as Essek bites his lip. Verin reaches down to catch a bare thigh and gives a firm roll of his hips, as if Essek needed any reminder of the strength in his brother's body.
"I have always been yours," he whispers as heat suffuses his body, pooling low between his hips.
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"I know," Essek whispers. The silky lilt of his voice manages to be both soothing and provocative as their lips brush and his fingers twist firmly into his brother's hair. "I know you have, my love."
He drags his other hand down from Verin's jaw, down his throat to where his robe parts over his sturdy chest. He slips it inside to feel the warmth of his bare skin, the thump of his heart beneath, slipping his robe open as he goes.
"I remember how sweet you used to be for me when we both still lived at the main house," he whispers. "How you would sneak into my bed already hard from thinking of me, and I would have to cover your mouth while I rode you or sucked you or you'd have woken the whole wing." Before Verin had anyone else. Before he left to live in the barracks and learned to be quiet. Before Essek was granted these towers. Darkened lips curling, he teases, "You were so needy sometimes, little brother. Perhaps I spoiled you a bit. You knew that I would always take care of you if you told me how much you loved me."
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"I would have loved you anyway," he murmurs, meeting his brother's gaze. He dearly wants Essek to hear and believe that: Verin loves him for no other reason than that he is Essek. That is how Verin has always loved him. And maybe Essek did spoil him, but he cannot regret it.
His hand strokes over Essek's thigh and just feeling his brother's soft, warm skin beneath his palm is enough to make him burn with desire. Verin presses another firm kiss to Essek's lips before coaxing them apart for a better taste.
"There is no need for me to be quiet now," he says, voice lower and warmer.
Essek's towers are his own, and Verin didn't notice any other occupants - no students, no supplicants, no secretaries - on their way through. Granted, he hadn't been inclined to look particularly hard for anything when Essek brought him here from the Lucid Bastion. Verin shifts, releasing Essek's thigh long enough to slip his arm out of the sleeve of his robe. He leaves it to hang and his hand runs up Essek's thigh until he finds the hem of his brother's smalls. His fingers curl and he drags them down as far as he can, very aware that he'll have to move if he wants to get them off properly. But it's the gesture that's important for now.
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He makes a soft, wanting noise against Verin's mouth when he kisses him again, which becomes a throatier moan as his tongue sweeps past his lips. The more Verin kisses him, touches him, presses him down into his bed with less clothing between them, the wilder Essek feels.
"No. This is my home. We are alone here," he confirms breathlessly, violet eyes intent and growing darker as his pupils expand. The perfectly applied dark purple paint on his lips has started to smudge at the edges of his mouth. "I want to hear you."
Both hands slide down as Verin slips one arm free from his robe, nails raking lightly down his bared chest more for sensation than pain. He's so beautiful with his pale hair falling all around his handsome face, his broad shoulders, his strong arms and scarred chest--his rough hands stroking up Essek's soft, untouched legs until they reach his smalls and slide them halfway down his thighs. Essek shivers as the delicate silk catches against and then rubs over the sensitive head of his very hard cock, leaving him aroused and exposed in a way that makes him absolutely dizzy with desire. He visibly struggles with the urge to either cover himself with a robe too short and disheveled and sheer, or spread his legs wider, neither of which he can currently accomplish.
"How will you have me tonight, Verin?" he coaxes, sultry with an underlying edge of almost reckless urgency. "Tell me."
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He would argue that Essek is even more demanding when he has what he wants.
His fingers tighten in Essek's hair and Verin kisses him again as he gives another firm thrust of his hips, dragging his heavy, full cock against the place where Essek's hip meets his thigh. Light, he has missed everything about Essek, including the places where his body is softer than Verin's.
"In every way you'll let me," he whispers as his lips brush across Essek's cheek to his ear. He can feel the familiar jewelry beneath his lips, but he is far more interested in the bare spaces he finds. His brother is always so covered; no one sees him the way Verin does.
"Let me feel you beneath me first," he says, still soft and for Essek alone. Verin lifts his head so that he can see Essek's face. He can't imagine Essek agreeing to something he doesn't want - even for him - but he wants to be sure all the same.
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