• Closed • What Could I Ever Do For You?

GST for Alistair

A settlement east of Rynmere across a stretch of water called 'the eastern trench' broken into three regions: Welles, Oakleigh, and Berwick.

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• Closed • What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Doran Cooney » Wed May 16, 2018 5:42 am

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On the ninth trial of Ashan during the 718th arc...

You can give me my life back.

The words had echoed throughout Kleine's dreams, so that when he awoke, the warmth of Alistair's body long since gone and the sun's light streaming in through his window taking his place, it was all he could think of. He wasn't a fool, even when he had been overcome by his desire, his own love for the man who was his entire world, he had known it was false. Alistair didn't love him, but it was a matter of when now, no longer if; the thought of it was enough blur his vision, the hot burn of tears trickling from the corners of his eyes to splash down onto his bare and battered body. He had made no attempt to heal himself of the aftermath of Alistair's ministrations the night before; all the aches, the pain... they were reminders that what had happened was not a dream, not one of his endless fantasies he'd worked so hard over the arcs to suppress, to release onto the blank faces of the other men with whom he'd found no real replacement.

Alistair would love him, could love him, and there was nothing Kleine would not do to see it so.

Alone, he rose out of bed, walking as painful as his body had warned him. It was real. What had happened had not been a fever dream, and he paused, pressing his hand against the wall as his emotions overtook him once more, his voice cracked and dry. "Alistair... my havendal..." He wouldn't lose Alistair, not after the mage had taken the one step he'd been longing for for so long. He couldn't lose him. Biting down on his lip, Kleine broke through the skin with his teeth, the sharp pain of the act drawing both tears and blood that trailed down his face, pooling in the divots between his shoulders and collar bones. The spark within him shivered, his magic drawn upon, as he released the stinging flesh from his mouth, letting the holes his teeth had left fill themselves in, the familiar scratch and itch of his becoming mending what he had torn. He drew a deep, heavy breath, letting the cool air of the morning fill him, forcing out the doubts and fears out through his newly healed lips. You can give me my life back. It echoed again, like thunder through his mind.

Slowly, he moved about the room, the scent of Alistair still clung to the sheets and his taste lingered on his tongue, mixed with blood and the salt of his own tears. As he dressed, he let his eyes close, the smooth fabric passing over his worn skin a soft echo of everything he had experienced under the cover of night's darkness not but breaks ago. He shivered, running his smooth hands over his shoulders, forcing himself into the present, the now. If he was successful, if he could capture Alistair's heart, not just his lust... they truly could be together.

He knew he was not Fridgar, nor could he ever be. There was a sharp spear of pain that struck through his chest as he recalled the moment Alistair had stepped in to stop his lover from passing on his totem to the slave. He had not felt cheated in that moment; in the arcs that had followed, he had always been glad that the totem had not been bestowed upon him, afraid of what he might have done, how badly he might hurt Alistair, had he possessed the ability. Now, however, there was nothing but baldfaced despair and frustration. Had he been able to take on Fridgar's form, had he been able to give Alistair his husband back, if only in the flesh... perhaps Alistair would have grown to love him, maybe even in the same way he had loved Fridgar. But that possibility existed only in the past, and he was forced to face his options in the present.

Once his socks were on his feet, boots still placed carefully by the front of Cappola's entryway, he headed out of his room, his hands running through his hair, easily unraveling the tangles as he searched for any sign of the man who had promised to become his havendal. His heart skipped a beat just at the thought. All he needed to do was give Alistair something only he could give. Something only he could provide, a reason to cherish him, to need him... to love him. And while the thought was one he had entertained before, long ago when he had considered himself more slave than comrade, Kleine already had a plan slowly formulating. You can give me my life back. It was not a matter of giving Alistair what he had had, but of giving him what he had always, deeply desired.

Finding no sign of Alistair within the house, Kleine slipped his shoes on, still moving slowly as his body continued to protest his efforts, his own spark insisting that he make us of their shared soul, that he mend himself, change himself, free himself of the aches and burns and bruises. He ignored them both. Instead, he stepped outside, the warmth of the sun beaming down upon him as if congratulating him on his newfound opportunity. It took him no time at all to spot Alistair's muscular frame, moving through the field of burgeoning wheat. Without calling his name, he waved, grimacing from the dull throb he felt from the movement. Slowly, he picked his way through the field to join him, his hand first gently caressing the man's shoulder before he sought to take Alistair's hand in his. "Good morning, Ali."

His blue eyes were filled with affection, and he could hardly keep himself from kissing the other man. Even after their night together, he didn't know what it was Alistair expected from him when the sun was there to illuminate the world below. It didn't matter, not to Kleine. Alistair had given him a chance, and it was all he needed. "I was wondering if we could... talk. Not about..." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable but doing his best to put on a casual, friendly air. "About you." Warmth blossomed in his chest as he smiled at the other man, his fingers gently squeezing Alistair's. "Would that... be alright?"
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What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Alistair » Wed May 16, 2018 7:42 am

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He awoke to the feeling of furor. It was as if he were walking with the feet of a different man - one who hadn't known what he had, and all the suffering that came with it. Fridgar, in this moment, was a fading specter. In the absence of the cold chill of a whim lost, he felt an outstanding vigor that accompanied his affections. Kleine was far from his friend, or his companion, and certainly the slave he had once been. He was . . . his lover. When the vice of his lust faded from the trial before, what remained was a complex affection weaved into his thoughts and feelings of Kleine.

What did that mean for them? What did this mean for his life? A great many things. He could move on from Fridgar, and they... could have a proud relationship. To be havendal of a Lotharro was a great honor for any regular man - it was a testament to him and his strength. And Kleine didn't mind the typical shame that extended from living as a human's kindal--he had never been a conventional Lotharro. He had never been masculine, or a beast slayer, or a proud soldier for the Hirde's reunification. Kleine was simply... himself.

In truth, if perhaps only for the briefest flicker of time, Alistair did feel a true and unmistakable passion for the Lothar. Before there was Fridgar, there was Kleine - ever loyal, ever his. He longed for that feeling again. And so again, as lust subsided, the false comprehension of love remained. Or perhaps it was not false, but confused.

Alistair determined in this quiet morning that he would do right by his... kindal. He would be a proper husband, and give a good start to their mutual lives. The first, ardent step in a thousand mile journey. So, he left him lonesome on the bed, and slid soft linen undergarbs and handsome blue trousers onto his legs. With a passionate stupor, he ran out onto the fields, and began to clear the flaws and debris from the acre around the ranch. He raked leaves, shoveled dung and cut through the tall grass, working tirelessly to paint his serene image.

He did not want it to fade; in this moment, he was as committed as Kleine was. And that was the saddest possibility for both of the two, longing men.

Kleine opened the front door, and looked for him. Upon finding Alistair through the field, he ran out to approach him, before placing soft hands on his shoulders and seeking to interlace their fingers. Alistair obliged him with a smile and a soft kiss, adding tongue to it to display his conflagaration ot affections. With a smile, he stroked the Lothar's soft locks of hair; he'd always loved them.

"Of course," he whispered, kissing him further. "Your desire is my command."
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What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Doran Cooney » Wed May 16, 2018 8:26 am

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All thoughts stopped the moment Alistair smiled at him. It was as though his doubt melted away - if only for a moment -, caught up in the fierce flare of desire that welled up within him as Alistair opened his kiss, allowing the warmth of his mouth and taste of his tongue to flood over Kleine, sending shivers running down the whole of his person. It was everything he wanted - almost everything, as he could not stop the ache his body felt as it was reminded of what Alistair could do if he just allowed the kiss to press farther, and their desire overtake them. With a soft, longing gasp, he felt the incredible warmth of Alistair's lips leave him, his heart skipping out of fear that that might be end, only to beat all the faster as the other man spoke.

He loved the feel of Alistair's tongue, the smell of his sweat, the bright glean of affection in his eyes as he looked at him. How many arcs had he wished for Alistair to gaze at him as he did now? To speak in the low, passionate voice he had used with Fridgar so many times? It was too much, and he felt his tears welling up within him again, much to his own chagrin. He was, completely, Alistair's - not Lothorro, not human, not anything but his own love for the man who had saved his life in more ways than he could name. So warm and wanted he felt, Kleine didn't respond right away, in spite of the fact it had been he would had asked to speak. Instead, he pressed himself into Alistair's kisses, his arms rising to wrap gingerly around the back of Alistair's neck. His body seemed to groan, the arching stretch of his back sending a quiver of pain out from where Alistair had left his mark, but only served to push Kleine farther.

Breath came in gasps, short trills like trials when their lips were apart, the sharp bite of salt finding its way into their kisses, his tears falling unbidden, both joyful and shameful all the same. He wanted Alistair, but so much more than that, he wanted Alistair to want him. When at last, Kleine was truly out of breath and with legs threatening to give way to the ache of his back and bruises that still remained all along his thighs, he nuzzled against Alistair's broad, warm chest. "Ali... Alistair... My havendal..." His words were little more than a whisper, a reminder of everything that could be. He wanted so badly to believe that Alistair loved him, but he knew that, even with all the affection the other man now allowed him, if he could not find a way to prove to Alistair his love was not misplaced, that he could, in fact, provide a life for Alistair no other man might ever think to...

With a slow, deep breath, Kleine steadied himself, as best he could. Alistair's scent, so familiar and yet oddly new with everything that had passed between them, was heady and fogged his mind. Not wanting to draw away from him, his arms having since slid down Alistair's chest to settle wrapped around the man's waist, he turned so that only the right side of his face was pressed against his would-be havendal's breast. "I have... some desires in mind." He chuckled, the warmth of Alistair's fingers running through his hair a sensation he'd never thought to dream about, but found it just as pleasing to experience the joy of something new as it was to enjoy that which he'd always fantasized so endlessly about. He needed to stay his course. There was only a short time until Alistair's trial of birth, and he wanted everything to perfect. He needed everything to be perfect.

"But, for now..." Forcing himself to take a step back so that they were not pressed together, Kleine looked deep into the gentle, violet swirl of Alistair's gaze, his own searching blue bright with love, adoration, and desire - both of the more carnal nature and something incredibly softer. "In an... impossible world, one where anything could happen," His words were gentle and filled with a melancholic warmth. "What would your child look like?" He smiled, almost sad, as he kept his gaze locked with Alistair's.

He had known the other man for a long time. Long enough to have heard him speak of his desire for children, to have seen him try to bestow those affections on Finn and - to some extent, even himself. He wanted to know what face Alistair saw when he imagined his heir who could never be. It was a depressive subject, and he knew it as such. His own hands gently pressed, reassuring, into the small of Alistair's back. "I've... wondered. But..." He paused, his gaze faltering for just a moment. "I've always been hesitant to ask." They had known each other long enough that what Kleine was asking him should have been clear. It was a test of Alistair's devotion to him, a request that he share something with Kleine that he never had before - and as far as Kleine was aware, never had with anyone. He waited, not unlike how one might after breaking an expensive vase - uncertain whether his havendal would respond with reprimand or gentle acquiescence.
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What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Alistair » Thu May 17, 2018 8:11 am

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He could only wonder what Kleine felt - in that exact moment - as he let his wonder overtake him. Was it a mere curiosity? Or perhaps he felt an immense, impending sadness, of the truth they both knew: that no matter how much love they both shared, and all the immensity of devoted years, they could never have the thing that Alistair wanted the most: a son. In fact, many sons... many little things with his name and great ambition, frolicking around in the fields around these wooden walls, bound to his side. The mage felt so... aloft. Did dislodged, even, properly describe him?

The worries of the father who would never be... were many. Will I die as I lived: forlorn? Will all I worked for carry no purpose, and no inheritance? Will my name be forgotten?

But somehow, he had always known that it stretched beyond that. He wanted children for so many reasons... and so many were impossibly difficult to ever explain. It was more than culture, more than tradition -- it was instinctual, biological, spiritual, and greatly emotional. He had convinced himself - and perhaps he was right - that to carry his child into this world was the greatest joy he could channel. A perpetual one: one that did not fade as love so often did. One that would carry thousands of arcs into the future, as his generations followed.

Of course, the question wracked him with reminders: that he was not the man those instincts wanted him to be. He was not a man who, perhaps more correctly, followed those instincts into the bodies of women. Instead, he favored others like himself... and while he longed for vulnerability, he clung to strength. He clung to men like Fridgar, and admired them, and most of all he desired that strength. The relationship between men and carnality had always been. So why... why did he want children? Why did he confound his biology, whilst equally longing for it?

"I..." he started to whisper, and then -- the answer struck him. And it was so peculiar... so warped... that he couldn't speak it aloud. He connected the traits, the visage within the imaginary plane of his thoughts, and he knew. Blonde hair, brightly colored eyes... fair skin, a soft expression with a happy and youthful smile and the faintest reminders of freckles, trifling yet handsome little blotches that they were. He envisioned his ideal child as a youth -- then an adult -- and then he looked to the man before him, up and down. Over and over.

He knew. It was so wrong... but he knew.

"Like you," he responded, lowering his eyes. Perhaps Kleine would like that. Perhaps he would be disgusted. "I would want my child to have your eyes... your lips -- that charming, handsome face. I would want him to be softer than I am; not so grizzly and embattled a creature. Not burgeoning from head to toe with the many... extensions of a warrior's weapon. If I could, I--" he paused, turning his face as his throat grew hesitant. "I would--"

. . .

He grimaced. "It isn't possible. So it doesn't... really matter. No matter how immense my creativity, I won't imagine our son into the world. If only I could," he lamented, whispering... if only.
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What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Doran Cooney » Thu May 17, 2018 10:42 am

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Kleine felt his own heart catch in his throat as he watched Alistair's face fall. He had seen his master suffer for so long; life taken to cutting away little bits and pieces of the man he loved, relentlessly hacking away at everything he held dear. Now, it was his turn, and he felt the wretched burn of shame in his cheeks. Even the knowledge that the pain he caused now was a necessary price for what he prayed would be immeasurable joy for the both of them was not enough to dull the sharp cut of his own betrayal as it bit into his heart. Alistair deserved happiness. He deserved to live in a world that was worthy of him, one that Kleine knew his would-be havendal would shape by the force of his own hands. Yet, some things even he could not do on his own. And there was nothing that Kleine wanted more than to prove his worth as both lover and would-be kindal.

His worries, his shame - it all fell away the moment those two words left Alistair's lips: Like you.

There was no hiding the bright light that welled up in his eyes, the gentle shimmer of emotion overtaking him. It was as if he had been holding his breath, unconsciously, thinking himself breathing all this time but never once drawing in even a whisper of air. And, with those two words, he was finally released. His lungs filled, and he marveled at the lightness of his chest, the impossible warmth that radiated out from within him and culminated in the jubilant sheen of his ocean blue eyes. He felt the warm trickle of tears run down the sides of his face, but in that moment he could think of nothing but what Alistair told him. His voice was so gentle, so loving, so kind. Though he could not possibly know what it meant to him, Kleine didn't mind. He memorized each and every word, Alistair's echoing throughout him.

Then, Kleine no longer heard what Alistair had to say.

Our son.

Though there was sadness in Alistair's voice and words, a gentle wistful helplessness, Kleine was so overcome with his love, finally requited, he could do nothing but pull himself back. Back into his havendal's arms. His lips, wet from his tears, sought the other man's. He wanted him, all of him, right then and there. There was nothing lustful in Kleine's movements as his hands gripped the back of Alistair's head, fingers running almost feverishly through the man's short cropped hair. He sought connection, of any kind, the warmth of Alistair's tongue, the taste of his lips, the feel of his immense, warm chest against his own. Even the aches and protests of his own body were nothing but quiet echoes.

Our son.

Alistair was everything. In that moment, overcome with the insurmountable ardor of what it meant to be accepted by the man he loved, the man he worshipped, he couldn't express his own happiness. Not in his fervent kisses, nor soft groans as he winced at Alistair's own searching hands - the pain only serving to push him farther. He would have done more, done anything and everything, but his joy had burned enough that it was just able to be eclipsed by duty. Drawing a hair's breadth away, breathless and eyes wide with an astonished, affectionate warmth, Kleine ran his fingers gently over Alistair's lips, the taste of his tongue still lingering. "It does matter, Ali. All of your desires, your wishes... they matter." His voice quivered, but his eyes remained set, focused. "Meer haar lerg woerfendeng, Havendal. I love you more than words, more than... than anything. I'm so sorry for asking... but can you forgive me for being overjoyed with your answer?" He smiled, eyes filled with nothing but teary tenderness.

He wanted to remain with him, to bask in the warmth of Alistair's affections. Sadness still lingered in the other man's eyes, and Kleine cursed himself for putting it there. But soon... soon there would be nothing but bliss. All doubts he had carried, uncertainties over whether he would be able to do what needed to be done, to take the final step and forsake what it was to be Lothorro all on behalf of the man before him, had shattered the moment Alistair had answered his question. The thought that the man might have lied to him never once crossed Kleine's mind. It had been everything he had wanted to hear and more. Nothing, not rationale nor doubt nor worry could steal from him the confidence and resolution Alistair's words had given him.

With a slow, deliberate nod of his head, his forehead bumping against his lover's nose, Kleine stared steadily at Alistair. There would be time enough, but he had only so much for Alistair's birth-trial. He could not waste it, even in the warm arms of Alistair's loving embrace and hot, steady beat of his body against his in the darkness of night. "I realise this is sudden, but I need to return to Ne'Haer for several trials." Though he spoke with certainty, there was a softness in his voice, a gentle whisper, as his lips brushed against the man he loved, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. "I don't want to leave you, I swear, Ali, I just... there's something I need to do. For you. For... us." His eyes were searching, even still overwhelmed by his own feelings for Alistair and the elation that had arisen within him, Kleine wanted Alistair to direct him, as a havendal should. "Will you wait for me?"
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What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Alistair » Thu May 17, 2018 8:04 pm

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From the lords that had escaped his solemn lips, the Lotharro somehow transformed. He was so gratified, a factor which surprised the human. A surprise so bewildering, yet bolstering; Alistair could only warm and grin, overjoyed to have brought such satisfaction to his lover, who was immensely elated. He was so gladdened by Alistair's strange answer... as if he'd been expecting it, or hoping for it. It did not, in truth, wholly come to his understanding . . . but happiness was a contagion, particularly in the people one loved.

And, alarmingly... in this moment, he really did feel his love burn brightly. It was so odd to him, to feel as such; even yesterday, he saw nothing in their mutual futures. Kleine was but a warm body to plunder, deflowering him as was typical of a man who still held onto the chains of a slave. Perhaps wickedly, he found himself solicited by the memories of being the master, owning the man before him, carrying free authority. To be awoken to those memories had been unpleasant, if only for that feeling to be mitigated by his new status: havendal.

Not an owner, but still a master. A ruler of the house, of the other, of their body and soul. Kleine was his... not unlike before, but without the contradiction of slavery, and the illicit deed of holding the collar. Kleine had chosen to be his charge. He had chosen Alistair, out of so many millions of men... he chose Alistair over Fenn Tholak, over Veeran Nordhoff, over them all. Alistair, to him, was a man among men. Not only powerful, but fair, and merciful, and loving. To have the full breadth of his affections was a great honor.

But it was . . . intimidating, in some ways; to live against the expectations of such men -- people born to higher statures and reincarnated memories. Kleine was a tender soul, however, and he knew that he would not berate him or weigh him against other men. He was good, in a way few others were. And he loved him - so immensely. Alistair could only take him in his arms, eagerly, as he kissed him with all the passion a Lothar could ever offer; tongue tied to tongue, slipping, kissing, squeezing and twisting... the wetness of their mouths crashing against one another, adding moisture to their lips. Quite shamelessly, the man slid his fingertips up through the fabric concealing Kleine's chest, stroking his sides and the curves of his waist.

It does matter, Ali. All of your desires, your wishes... they matter.

. . . he wanted them to. But none had ever said that to him, before. None even knew what he wanted. None but...

Meer haar lerg woerfendeng, Havendal.

Kleine had taught him Haltunga. He remembered why he chose to learn it from him - because the way he'd transformed that ugly, guttural language... was mesmerizing. He was so poised, so soft, his words so deeply flowing. He was articulate, eloquent, and masterful in his speech. Everything spliced together; word to word, name to name. Alistair spoke in much the same way, mirroring his mentor.

"Ael fyn tyrnoch kaem; haaren mir, Kindal." For longer than you knew, I loved you too.

And to that, he spoke nothing more. He did not want to dive deeper into those words - he only wanted them known. To delve was to dishonor Fridgar, which he would not do.

"Tarfeyn elsadwyn tir menach ged'hed'weynn," he added. I was afraid you would feel offended by my words. "Mir sievan kael aed'gorn." I'm glad you aren't.

"Mir haaren klaed, Kindal," Alistair whispered, pressing forward to wrap the smaller man within his embrace, placing the softness of his lips to the center of his forehead, his beard surely tickling and bristling the other man... as it always did. I love you, still.

Kleine wanted to go, though, and it was no longer Alistair's place to stop him. Even as havendal, his beloved had a right to be free. The mage nodded, and did not question him, ultimately trusting the intentions of his partner. But rather than letting him go immediately, Alistair took his hands in his, and kissed him once more.

"Yes," he responded simply, with a quiet lull in his tone. "But I will come, each night, as I did the last -- and I will have you," he stated, without exception. "Kindal..." he whispered the words, blowing the heat of air from his nostrils. "On the night your task is finished, I'll take you back. I love you, Kleine. Be safe -- and don't touch anyone else," he said sternly, a stark twist to his expression; his words were clearly backed more by action than words. Alistair was clearly a tribalist, and often admittedly so.
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What Could I Ever Do For You?

Postby Doran Cooney » Fri May 18, 2018 12:21 am

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Alistair was many things to Kleine. He was a master, a warrior, an inspiration. He had become his friend and now his lover, his havendal. What Kleine had not expected was a poet - and his breath caught in his chest as he listened to the deep, rolling voice of the man he loved speak in his mother tongue. It was beautiful in more ways that he could count, more meaningful than all the "I love you"s Alistair could have said in his own.

Ael fyn tyrnoch kaem; haaren mir, Kindal.

In that moment, nothing could have made him happier. Kleine was so far removed from the realm of skepticism and doubt; his heart felt nothing but warmth, love, and determination. His havendal, so unyielding yet so tender, showered him with words most Lotharro, most men at all, could only dream of - and so he too had been one of them, until now. It no longer mattered what became of him, his own pride, his own honor. He belonged completely to Alistair, and Alistair to him. He wanted to do anything and everything for him. His life was no longer his to claim, but to give and give of freely. Though Alistair could not have known the extent and depth of Kleine's turmoil, his assurances and adulation of their love were a potent panacea, washing all doubt from his mind. Alistair loved him, and he loved in return.

Their lips sought one another, in words and touch, and Kleine felt himself melt beneath Alistair's tender ministrations. The feel of his warm hands pressing possessively into his own, the low, threatening rumble of his words, the hot touch of his breath... It filled Kleine with more than desire, more than the respectful fear of a kindal in the overwhelming presence of his havendal. It filled him with wonder. He had never imagined, not even in his dreams in which he had fantasized them together time and time again, how overwhelmingly incredible it felt to have his love returned. Tears ran freely down his face as he nodded, head bobbing shallowly as his lips once more sought his havendal's. "Never-" His voice was breathless, words needing to be said but only between the fervent press of his lips into Alistair's. "I will never- only you, Ali. Only you, my havendal."

And he felt his body shudder at the promise of Alistair's bare figure warming his bed each night: the muscles and heat and strength and lust. He wanted it; all of it. That he had to leave, to spend even a trill away from him, filled him with a burning itch in his heart. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return. The sooner he could give the world to the man he loved. He wanted more, so much more, but he finally pushed himself away, his soft hands pressed firmly into Alistair's chest as his eyes, glittering with his joyful tears, hardened with resolution. "On the evening of the thirteenth trial, I will be waiting for you in Kaelserad. Thig agus go dean gradh mir." Come and take my body as your own. Drawing a deep breath, he squeezed his lover's hands one last time before he nodded, awaiting the portal that would carry him back to Na'haer. Though he knew he would see Alistair again, each night, it wasn't enough - not really. He wanted to share every moment with him; there was just one last thing more he needed to do before that was possible.
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Doran Cooney
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Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 4:10 am
Location: Rynmere, Venora
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
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