The growl he let out was only half-fake. He swooped down to kiss Loriot quickly but hard and then grabbed his hand. “Bed. Now.”
And Loriot still didn’t move. When Savarin was about to renew his demand, Loriot reached up with his other hand and wrapped it around the back of Savarin’s neck, pulling him down into another demanding kiss, this one far longer than the one Savarin had given him. Loriot ended the kiss with a nip to Savarin’s lower lip, which sent a rush of sensation down his spine, and pulled back to grin wickedly at him. “Now bed.”
Savarin couldn’t decide if he wanted to growl or laugh. Instead he grabbed Loriot by the arm and pushed him into the corridor and then the bedchamber. Loriot laughed, long and carefree, and kicked the door shut behind them. He planted a palm in the center of Savarin’s chest and pushed until the back of Savarin’s knees hit the bed, and then pushed again to tumble him down onto the mattress, following him down before he could say a word.
He didn’t much want to say anything anyway.
They tussled and rolled on the mattress, all grasping hands and seeking lips as they struggled to rid each other of their clothes. It would have been far easier and far quicker if they’d separated long enough to undress, but Savarin wasn’t prepared to do that and it didn’t seem Loriot was either. He heard something rip when he fought Loriot’s shirt off, but he didn’t stop, didn’t care—he’d buy Loriot another shirt, a dozen of them if Loriot protested, he just needed to get his hands on bare skin. When they were finally both stripped bare, he pressed his full length to Loriot and moaned at the contact with soft skin over firm muscles, the tickle of Loriot’s chest hair against his skin, the heat of Loriot’s body against his own. Loriot moaned as well and rolled them, putting Savarin under him again and stretching out on top of him, the weight of him delicious. Loriot swooped down for another kiss, and Savarin groaned into it. It had been too long since they’d been together this way. Since he’d felt Loriot’s hands on him in passion not care, since they’d kissed with such abandon, since the heat of Loriot’s skin had burned into his own. Before Savarin’s illness, before the spell that caused it.
Too long since he’d felt well enough for it, and too good now that he did.
Loriot broke the kiss with a gasp. “Savarin?”
No, this wasn’t ending yet. He refused to let it end now, before it barely began. “I’m fine. Don’t you dare stop.”
“I don’t want you setting back your recovery again,” Loriot said, the words coming out in panting breaths. “We can wait.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “And we can’t wait.”
Loriot stared down at him, eyes passion-glazed but still concerned, and then chuckled. “Impatient, are you?”
He glared up at Loriot. “And you’re not? Do you realize how long it’s been since we’ve done this?”
“I am, and I do, but not at the expense of your recovery.” Loriot’s smile softened, gentled into something Savarin hadn’t seen before. Something akin to the care that Loriot had shown him when he first came home, nearly delirious with exhaustion and scared half to death, though he hadn’t wanted to admit it. “We have time, Savarin. We’ve just said we have time.”
He put a hand to Loriot’s cheek, letting his fingers caress the skin, run through the close-cropped hair of his beard. Loriot’s words made something warm and pleasant roll through him. “We do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you now.” He arched up, rubbing himself against Loriot’s body, grinning when Loriot moaned. “Now are we going to keep having this same discussion or do something far more pleasant?”
“For that I should just keep talking.”
“But that would punish you too, wouldn’t it?”
“It would. I’ll have to find some other way of punishing you later. When you least expect it.” Loriot punctuated the words with kisses to Savarin’s neck and jaw, ending with another kiss to his lips. Savarin slid his hands into Loriot’s hair, anchoring Loriot to him, not allowing him to end the kiss. But Loriot didn’t try. He deepened it, plunging into Savarin’s mouth, tasting, exploring. Savarin shuddered as he was cast headlong into pure sensation.
He let his hands fall from Loriot’s hair, sliding them over the smooth skin and hard muscles of Loriot’s back, exploring the hard planes, reacquainting himself with a body he was coming to know so well. He hadn’t realized that would happen when they tumbled into bed the first time, hadn’t expected it would continue beyond that one time, that he’d want it to. How was he to know how much Loriot would come to mean, how much what was between them would come to mean? How was he to know that he wouldn’t want to let Loriot go, or that Loriot would feel the same?
Everything had changed, and he almost didn’t want to think of it. It was too much, too big, and they’d just spent too long arguing and discussing. He wanted the physical sensation of Loriot’s body against his, Loriot’s mouth pressed to his, Loriot’s skin filling his hands. But even then he couldn’t escape his feelings because of the bone-deep certainty that Loriot’s body fit with his, fit perfectly, and far better than anyone else’s ever had. That knowledge had tickled at the edges of his awareness each time they were together, and he’d pushed it aside.
But everything had changed.
Loriot nipped at his lower lip, as if he sensed Savarin’s attention wandering and wanted to draw it back where it belonged. Savarin had no problem with that. He nipped right back at Loriot and then chased him, drawing him into another deep kiss as he skimmed his hands down over the small of Loriot’s back to the curve of his taut backside. Loriot made a sound low in his throat when Savarin squeezed, and clutched Savarin closer. They moved together, touching, kissing, grasping to be closer. Would they ever be close enough?
Loriot brought a hand between them and caught them together in his firm grip. He loved the feel of Loriot’s hands on him, like this and every other way; something about the capable, calloused hands, the surety of the hold, was enough to make him melt. He refused to get swept away without taking Loriot with him, not this time. Loriot was going to be right there with him. He wrapped himself around Loriot, urging him on, with every movement of his hands mapping Loriot’s body, of his lips coaxing Loriot into deeper kisses, of his teeth raking lightly up Loriot’s throat. He delighted in every reaction he provoked in Loriot, even as he exulted in the way Loriot wrung pleasure from his body.
The pleasure built between them, inside him, a nearly tangible force. A powerful wave he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t want to stop. It was going to swamp him soon, pull him under, drown him in sensation. He knew it, and still it took him by surprise when the wave broke over him, startling in its intensity. He thought he shouted, but he couldn’t be sure. He knew he clutched Loriot even closer, dimly heard Loriot cry out too, what might have been his name.
And then all was quiet but for the pounding of his heart and the gasps of his breath and Loriot’s. Loriot lay mostly over him, the weight of his solidly muscular body comforting and welcome for the moment. Savarin’s lips throbbed from their kisses, and lassitude dragged at his body and mind. He hadn’t actually planned on the nap he’d told Loriot he’d take, but sleep, here with Loriot just as they were, sounded perfect.
He settled himself, letting his body relax deeper into the mattress, his head sink fully into the pile of pillows. He was more than half asleep when Loriot moved, his body sliding off Savarin’s. A half-formed protest escaped his lips, but Loriot didn’t go far, coming to rest at Savarin’s side with an arm and a leg thrown over Savarin. Well, that was all right, then. He sighed and let himself fall into sleep.
Chapter 32
OVER THE next several days, Savarin’s strength continued to return. Loriot was reassured to see him tiring less easily, especially after the setback of the fever. He’d been more worried than he cared to admit, nor did he want to admit how closely he watched Savarin for signs of relapse. Savarin had to have noticed his scrutiny, but he said nothing about it, and their time together continued much more easily after
their talk.
Loriot spent most of his time at Savarin’s house when he wasn’t required to be at the palace. He went home to see Alain, but just as often Alain came to Savarin’s house to be with them. Alain even fell asleep there one night after dinner, and instead of waking him, Savarin simply lifted him from his sprawl on the floor and carried him to one of the guest rooms. Alain seemed as comfortable in Savarin’s large house as he was in their cozier one, and with his childlike chaos, he brought an air of lived-in hominess Savarin’s house had been lacking.
Still he and Savarin hadn’t discussed the idea of combining their households. Loriot had to assume that was the direction in which they were heading. If they were going to be something permanent, living in the same house seemed to be an important step. Of course the decision for them was more complicated. He had a child. It wouldn’t only be him and Savarin living in one of their houses together; it would be the three of them—and possibly Joceline and Oriana too, unless they preferred to be on their own. He’d been grateful for their help with Alain, and Joceline had been grateful too for a place to live while she wrote her books and waited for her inheritance. But she had her own wealth now, and her books were popular. She and Oriana might prefer to establish their own household. Perhaps they might have already if he and Alain hadn’t needed them.
He was considering how to broach the subject with her—and wondering if he should wait until after Savarin and he spoke—when she took the choice out of his hands. “You’ll be moving in with Savarin soon, I assume. I won’t ask if you’re planning on marrying.”
He sputtered and glared as Joceline watched him with twinkling eyes. “I should hope not, considering your own aversion to marrying,” he said once he found his voice. “And we haven’t discussed it—either of those things.”
She shrugged. “It’s only a matter of time. I would never have expected you to end up with someone like him. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I like him, even if he does still scare me half the time. And it’s obvious to see that you two are committed to each other.”
Alain’s shriek of laughter brought their attention to Savarin’s garden. Alain was running around down there somewhere with Savarin and Oriana following him and being nagged to play. Loriot and Joceline had been left on their own on the terrace at the back of the house.
“He’ll be properly worn out tonight,” he said.
Joceline nodded. “He will. He’s very comfortable here, and he likes Master Savarin very much.”
“Yes, he does. I think Savarin likes him too.” He smiled, the curve of his lips unconscious as he thought of his lover and his son forming a bond.
“It’s a good thing they like each other, and that Alain’s happy. It’ll be less of an adjustment when you two move in here.”
“I told you we haven’t discussed it.” He faced Joceline, but she was still staring down into the garden. “What makes you think we’ll move in here and not the other way around?”
She gave him a pitying look. “I can’t see Master Savarin moving into our little house. It’s perfectly nice and just what we’ve needed, but it’s not exactly on the scale of this house.”
No, he couldn’t see it happening either, though perhaps not for the same reasons as Joceline. “Savarin and I do need to discuss what our plans will be.”
“You do, and then we can talk more and you can tell me what your plans are for your house.”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” If they weren’t going to be living there, he supposed he would sell it.
“Well….”
He recognized the tone of her voice easily. “What is it?”
“When—if—you move in with Savarin, do you expect Oriana and me to come with you?” She’d accompanied her qualification of her statement with a wry smile, but it fell away, and she sounded like an uncertain child by the end of it.
He was left floundering for an answer. “Do you want to?”
“Part of me does. I’ve enjoyed living with you and Alain. I’ve enjoyed being something of a mother to him. I don’t want to give that up.” She looked away, out into the garden from which Alain’s laughter, quieter now, drifted. “But another part rather likes the idea of setting up my own household with Oriana, being on our own.”
He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He couldn’t see Alain from his vantage point, but Savarin and Oriana wouldn’t let any harm come to him, or more likely, wouldn’t let him get into any trouble. “I am more grateful to you than I can express for how you’ve helped me raise Alain. You have been a mother to him, and that doesn’t change if you live apart from us. You’d still see him all the time, and I’d still rely on your help. You and Oriana have to decide what you want to do, and I need to talk to Savarin.”
“Yes, all right.” She tipped her head to rest against his shoulder. “It’s odd to think of not living with you and Alain, but it can’t last forever.”
“You’d certainly have more quiet in which to write.”
She laughed. “I suppose I would. I’ll have to decide if the quiet’s worth it.”
“I’m sure we could loan Alain to you if the quiet becomes too much.”
Joceline shifted and swiped at her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Really, nothing.” She smiled at him, a real smile, if a bit wobbly around the edges. “You said we, and you meant you and Master Savarin, which makes me a little sad and very happy for you at the same time.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t even realized what he’d said. When had he begun thinking of Alain as partly Savarin’s? When Alain begged Savarin to read to him again and again? When Savarin lifted Alain’s sleeping body and tucked him gently into bed? When Savarin had introduced Alain to the princes to Alain’s absolute delight and kept Alain by him when it was obvious he was nervous? He wasn’t sure, but at some point he had. Did Savarin think the same? “I guess I did. You should probably start calling him by his name, you know.”
“I will.” She looked back to the garden. “Someday. Probably. Maybe.”
He shook his head and couldn’t hold in the laugh even when Savarin appeared on the garden path, Alain skipping happily between him and Oriana. Savarin tilted his head to one side and gave Loriot an unsure smile. Probably wondering what had him laughing so hard. “If I did marry him, he’d be your brother by marriage. You might have to get used to him.”
It was odd—good but odd—to feel as if they were building a family between him and Savarin and Alain. His family had been his son and Joceline and Oriana for so long he’d stopped thinking of anything else. But he loved seeing Savarin with Alain, loved coming home to Savarin and sleeping beside him at night, waking beside him in the morning. An odd feeling, yes, but surprisingly easy to get used to.
Only one thing worried him, and it had nothing to do with their budding family. It was Savarin himself, or rather Savarin’s recovery. From what Loriot could see, Savarin’s strength had returned and with it his indomitable attitude. But Loriot had yet to see Savarin use his Talent for even the smallest of things, and he didn’t even look at his workroom. Loriot didn’t feel bad at all about making certain he caught a glimpse of what Savarin worked on in his study—and found it to be correspondence and estate business. Savarin hadn’t touched his studies or his research either.
Which was not at all like Savarin.
Jadis had told Savarin not to use his Talent while he recovered to give it time to come back to full strength, just as his body needed time to rest and heal. But as far as Loriot knew, Jadis had lifted that restriction, for smaller magics at least. No one thought it a good idea for Savarin to jump into a major undertaking, but the everyday uses of his Talent shouldn’t be a problem for him. If nothing else, Loriot would have expected Savarin to be back at his books or filling his time with lectures and students at the university.
For a while, Loriot just watched him, trying to be stealthy about it, and he was the captain of the royal guard—if he couldn’t manage to observe someone witho
ut their realizing the intensity of his attention, he shouldn’t have the job. But as days went by, nothing changed. Savarin wasn’t even thinking about magic.
Loriot remembered Savarin’s fears that he might never regain the full strength of his Talent. At the time, he’d soothed them but assumed they were worries born of Savarin’s unusual weakness and vulnerability that would fade as the weakness did. Now he wondered if Savarin’s avoidance of magic came from his fears coming true, or the fears themselves. He couldn’t see how Savarin would even know if his Talent was back at full strength without trying to use it.
The one time he very delicately asked about Savarin’s plans, alluding to Savarin’s work, he was just as delicately put off, and the subject changed to the latest bit of court maneuvering by one of the nobility, something Savarin seemed to know all about despite not having been anywhere near court for weeks. Loriot allowed the deflection and tried to think of another way to prod Savarin about his Talent. He could ask directly—normally he would ask directly—but he was still concerned about Savarin’s health, and his worry made him uncharacteristically reticent. Something needed to be done. He needed to do something. He just wasn’t certain what that something was.
He didn’t expect his son to take the choice out of his hands.
They were out on the terrace before dinner. Early autumn was still warm, and Loriot liked to steal as many moments as he could before the icy winter rains came. He and Savarin sat together on a cushioned bench sipping their wine while Alain played at their feet. His carved animal figures were scattered around him, and he seemed to be acting out some story known only to him with them. Loriot smiled watching him and settled farther into the soft cushions and Savarin’s side. He could get used to evenings like this. He rather hoped he’d have the chance to. Maybe tonight would be a good time to bring up their living arrangements to Savarin.
The Sorcerer’s Guardian Page 30