Preparations For Separation

“What do you mean you’re not coming to dinner? That’s the third time this month you’ve cancelled on me, and you promised!”

“No, I said I’d like to—and I’m still coming to Chataurvvin with you next tenday. Something came up.”

“Oh, something ‘came up’, did it? Was that something called ‘Master Velkon’yss’, by any chance?”

Keszriin glowered up at him, small and fierce and accepting precisely none of his excuses. The conjured constellations that filled the soaring ceiling of the Arcanum’s grand entrance hall threw shimmering patterns over her face, casting her annoyance in silvery light. She was upset, and with good reason—how many times over the past year had he backed out of her plans at the last minute to attend Master Velkon’yss? He knew he should stop, find some kind of balance, but how could he? He didn’t want to refuse his Master, didn’t want to say no to any of it; not the studying and certainly not the submission.

“No,” Ashenivir tried. Keszriin shoved a finger into his chest as a trio of apprentices hurried past on their way out of the Arcanum, giving the two of them a wide berth. Her aura of irritation was almost tangible.

“Don’t you lie to me, Ashenivir Zauvym. For one thing, you’re terrible at it, you always have been.”

“Keszriin—”

“Don’t Keszriin me, either! I know he’s tutoring you, but that doesn’t mean he gets to monopolise all your time. You haven’t left the Arcanum in months!”

“I’m here to study, we all are! How am I supposed to learn everything I need to if I keep leaving?”

“You don’t need to spend your whole life here until you graduate!” Keszriin glared at him, then sighed. She took his hands and pulled him aside under one of the arches. “Look, of all people I understand why you don’t want to go back home. But you never come out with us, you hide away in the library or in your room all the time, and every spare second you have you’re haring off to study with Master Velkon’yss. He’s pushing you too hard, Shen, I don’t care how much you think you’re learning from him.”

Ashenivir pulled her into a hug, resting his chin atop her head. She was right, it wasn’t good to spend all his time here. It was just so easy. So comfortable to lose himself in study, forget anything else existed.

“Pella got us spots at L’zertath Elemmiire,” Keszriin mumbled into his chest. “You know how impossible it is to get in there.”

“And you know she just uses your House name to do that.”

“That’s beside the point.” She tilted her head up, irritation melting away beneath genuine concern. “Come with us, Shen. Please. You need to take a break, and what’s he even going to do? Disintegrate you?”

He could call tonight off. It was only study, after all, and Rizeth would never be angry with him for taking time to rest. He’d be the first one to remind Ashenivir how important balance was, how vital it was not to burn himself out in the name of improvement. No, Rizeth wouldn’t be angry, and he should rest, but…

Study and service were one and the same to him now. He served his Master in growing his knowledge, for the better a wizard he was, the better a submissive he was—the more power he had, the more he could give to his Master. Tonight was study, which meant it was service, and he craved both with an intensity that was beginning to worry him.

There was no way he could explain any of that to Keszriin.

“Not tonight, I’m sorry.”

Keszriin groaned, and thumped her forehead against his chest. “Ugh, you’re hopeless! How much more of his awful tutoring can you possibly take?”

“He’s not awful,” Ashenivir protested. “You all think he’s some kind of horrible monster because he doesn’t let you get away with half the things the other Masters do. He’s just…strict.”

And handsome, and incredibly clever, and he always knows exactly what I need, and last month…last month he kissed me like—

“Dresvan and Vuzree are right,” Keszriin kicked him in the shin, almost hard enough to hurt. “You do have a stupid crush.”

“I do not have a crush.”

“You do, and it’s stupid.” She gave him a squeeze, then pulled away and poked her tongue out, impishly. “Obsess over someone you can actually sleep with. You have enough paramours to choose from, don’t you?”

He did. Or rather, he’d used to. Scattered across the city, collected over months and years of making bold overtures with a kind of desperate false confidence; trying and failing to find someone who did what Rizeth could. He hadn’t seen any of them in…in…

Ashenivir couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to see any of them, aside from the disaster that had been his last meeting with Koros. The only one he wanted now was Rizeth, the only one who satisfied was Rizeth. His face heated, skin prickling on the back of his neck. That kiss…

Keszriin giggled.

“You’re thinking about sleeping with him now, aren’t you? Gross, now I’m thinking about it.” She shuddered, still giggling.

Ashenivir’s stomach twisted, and he had to pull his hand away from where it had gone, unbidden, to his collar. None of his friends understood how he tolerated spending so much time with Master Velkon’yss. And they thought he was only studying! What would they think if they knew what he was really doing? Rizeth was right about keeping their arrangement private—there was no way they would understand. It galled him, though, how little they understood his Master, how shallow their perception of him was. Couldn’t they see there was so much more to Rizeth than his stern demeanour?

“You’re sure you’re not coming to dinner?” Keszriin asked again, almost pleading. She really was worried about him, and Ashenivir hated to do that to her. He wished he could talk to her about Rizeth, reassure her; get her advice, perhaps. Much as he loved her, the idea of it was impossible, and so he shook his head. Keszriin rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine! Go study. But you are coming to that picnic, even if I have to tie you up and drag you there myself.”

“I promise I’ll come.”

She held up a hand, pinky out. “Swear it.”

He hooked his little finger around hers and forced a smile.

“I promise. Binding as a geas.”

Satisfied, at least for now, she flounced off through the great doors of the Arcanum with a toss of her hair. He watched her go, chewing on his lip and thinking again of that kiss. It haunted his thoughts, had done since it had happened, yet all his summons since then had been study—the kind that thrummed underneath with more, even in Rizeth’s classroom.

He hasn’t kissed me since then. He’s barely touched me.

It meant nothing.

It meant everything.

Rizeth was waiting for him in his classroom, glanced up from his desk when Ashenivir knocked. Ashenivir ducked his head to hide a smile far too eager to belong to an apprentice coming to study under the most severe Master at the college, and nudged the door closed behind him.

He put thoughts of Keszriin’s concern, of his inability to balance his own life, of his confusion and mixed-up feelings aside. There was no need to rush. He had plenty of time to figure this out.

Ashenivir’s eyes strayed to Rizeth’s lips as he spoke.

Whatever this was.

---

“A copper for your thoughts, Master Velkon’yss?”

Rizeth blinked—the nearest thing to a start he would ever let show—and inclined his head.

“Archmage.”

Seldszar T’sonri leaned against the wall next to him, a quiet spot at the back of the Master’s dining hall. The breaks between classes drew many of them here, to compare notes and share anecdotes, to commiserate on the difficulties of this apprentice or that over scalding coffee and hastily devoured pastries. Rizeth had been using the ambient noise to quiet his mind, but that meditation was now interrupted, both by the Archmage’s arrival and the pungent scent of the coffee he sipped from.

Seldszar offered him a warm smile, eyes crinkling.

“It seems an age since last we spoke, my friend,” he said. “How grows the current crop?”

“Competently, for once,” Rizeth replied. “Though I have my doubts regarding this year’s intake.”

“You always do.”

Rizeth made a respectfully noncommittal noise and wished the Archmage would drink his brew elsewhere. The fumes coming off that mug could stun a rothé.

“I have heard, though,” Seldszar continued, “that you’ve taken one of our apprentices under your wing.”

Ice in his spine. He had been so careful, had left no trace, not once, and hadn’t he impressed upon Ashenivir the need for discretion? He had summoned him too much of late—for study, yes, but taking him too much from his other work, drawing too much attention to their association.

“The Arcanum runs on idle gossip, Archmage,” was all he said.

“Oh, relax, Rizeth. I’m not going to banish you to the Hells for having a favourite student—especially not one as talented as Ashenivir Zauvym.”

“He is one of a very few that actually apply themselves,” Rizeth dared to say. Even that admission felt like too much. Just how much did the Archmage know? He could feel no touch upon his mind but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Calm down, Rizeth. This isn’t Sorcere, he isn’t a Baenre.

“Mm, quite.” Seldszar took another sip of his coffee and if that stuff wasn’t disintegrating his insides as they spoke, Rizeth would eat his spellbook. “Shame he isn’t a T’sonri, really. We could do with another one capable of sitting on the Assembly.”

“Ah, yes, that’s what the Assembly of Mysteries needs—more nepotism,” Rizeth said, dryly. Seldszar laughed.

“I ought to adopt him and put him on the Assembly now, just to spite you.” He clapped Rizeth on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you taking a bit more of an interest. We shall thaw you out eventually, even if it takes a few centuries.”

“As you wish, Archmage.”

Seldszar finally left, taking his deathly brew with him. Rizeth did not relax. He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers against his elbow.

He had never intended his tutelage to draw notice from anyone, let alone the Archmage. Seldszar T’sonri might present a kindly front, but neither he nor any of the other Masters at the Arcanum would understand the nature of the arrangement Rizeth had with Ashenivir. They would not see it for what it was, they would assume the worst—his own heritage would see to that.

He ought to spend less time with Ashenivir. Fewer scenes, less study. Rizeth hadn’t dared to call him to scenes this past month anyway—things had become much too dangerous. He shouldn’t have kissed him like that, shouldn’t have let himself get so drawn in, so…attached.

The thought of stopping was not exactly appealing.

Rizeth chewed the inside of his cheek, watching Masters file out of the hall, lessons calling them back. He would have to attend his own shortly, had to get his thoughts in order before then. He blew out a short, sharp breath.

No matter what happened, Ashenivir must not suffer any fallout. He had too much skill, too much potential, to be ruined by association with Rizeth. And Mythen Thaelas was his home—if anything happened, anything at all that might threaten Ashenivir’s future here, Rizeth knew he would have to be the one to leave.

That thought was not appealing either.

Sighing under his breath, he straightened up from the wall. Like as not he was overthinking things. If Archmage T’sonri had even an inkling of the kind of games Rizeth was playing with Ashenivir, he would not have come to sip coffee and exchange idle chatter. But knowing of his interest, Rizeth would have to be more careful. He had to get himself under control.

Before things got any more out of hand.

---

No, no, no, this wasn’t fair! How could she do this to him?

The note had sounded dire. His mother needed him home at once; something had come up, it would affect the entire family. No time to go picnicking with Keszriin, and she wasn’t about to complain of his not coming this time—she’d watched him race off into Draix’ress, as worried as he was.

Please don’t let anything have happened to Nilaena. Please let her be alright!

Ashenivir’s strides carried him back to the Arcanum, familiarity guiding his steps more than vision. He barely noticed the irritated glares he drew as he pushed through the streets, not running only because he was afraid that if he started, he might not be able to stop.

“Mother! I came as quickly as I could, what’s happened? Is everything alright?”

He skidded into the entrance hall, eyes wide, sick with worry. His mother stood at the base of the stairs speaking with Nilaena who—thank Mystra—appeared to be fine. Matron Illiavra looked up, beaming at him.

“Ashenivir, there you are. I’m glad you got here so quickly—come along, there’s much to prepare.”

There had been no emergency. Nothing was wrong, nothing at all, and she was so very sorry that he’d misinterpreted her message that way. Looking at her face, at the apologetic tilt of her brows and her placating smile, he almost believed her. But after years at the Arcanum, he was finally starting to see more clearly.

She had done it on purpose.

“I know how dedicated you are to your work, but there are times when you must take a rest from such things. And it will be so nice to see your cousins again, won’t it?”

He pushed it down. Pushed it all down, put it all away, because if he felt what he wanted to feel, she would see.

He was, after all, a terrible liar.

Sshamath. Miles away, across countless caverns and endless darkness. An outing, she called it. A little family trip, and wouldn’t it be just so good for them all to spend time together again, the way they used to?

The great doors of the Arcanum swallowed him up, but the usual peace of entry did not come over him. How could it, when they left tomorrow at firstglow? Students, Masters, and message runners flowed around him, oblivious to his plight as he made for the south stairwell. He had no idea if Rizeth would even be in his rooms—Ashenivir usually memorised his schedule, but now all had flown his mind.

“Yes, mother.” He smiled, hollow. “I will have to return to the Arcanum to fetch my things. If I had…if I had read your letter correctly I could have brought them right away.”

Matron Illiavra embraced him lightly, the barest touch of her arms around him, the slightest brush of her lips against his cheek.

“That’s no worry, I can send someone to collect you. And besides,” here she gave him a sly, teasing smile, “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the chance to say farewell to Lady Eilist’tra now, would I?”

Keszriin would be furious for him, when she found out. She had always called out his mother’s behaviour, even when Ashenivir had spent decades defending her, too scared of her and too ashamed of himself to see the truth. Little good there was in seeing it now.

He paused at the edge of the stairwell, catching his breath as he stared down the spiralling shaft.

You have to tell him. He’s not going to be angry, he’s never angry with you, you have to tell him!

Ashenivir dug his nails into his palms.

Rizeth won’t be angry but I am. How can she do this?

He stepped into the stairwell and plummeted, not activating his insignia until he had reached a terrifying speed. The levitation caught him mere feet from the ground and he landed with a jarring thud, ankles protesting. He stopped there, alone in the silent base of the stairwell, and pressed his hands over his eyes.

“Breathe,” he told himself. “You’re fine. It’s just a trip, it’s not permanent. She wanted you here, she’ll let you come back.”

Letting out a shaky sigh, he lowered his hands. The Master’s quarters were, as always, quiet and cool and empty. Ashenivir made for the southmost corridor and Rizeth’s rooms and tried not to think of this as the last time he would go to his Master, because it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“She’ll let you come back,” he repeated in a whisper, as though saying it again would make it a certain fact. “She has to.”

He gripped his collar tight, and knocked on Rizeth’s door.

---

“And how long do you expect to be gone?”

“I…I am not certain, Master.” Ashenivir twisted his hands in his lap, fingers tangling tight together. Rizeth had never seen him so rattled. “Several months at least. The journey is not short, and the contracts my mother wishes to arrange with our cousins, they…it will take time.”

“It will be an unfortunate gap in your studies,” Rizeth said. His voice remained steady even as the thought of being without Ashenivir for so long made something with very sharp claws start throwing a fit inside his chest. He clamped down on it, yet even collared it continued to thrash.

“Matron Zauvym has arranged everything with the Arcanum.” The words came out a vicious whisper, and Ashenivir dug his thumbs into his thighs. He had gone to his knees the moment he’d stepped through the door, and the whole thing had spilled out of him in a clumsy rush at Rizeth’s feet. “She very graciously organised it all for me. My studies will be paused and I will resume them whenever I might return. The trip will prove no impediment to my eventual graduation.”

“I see.”

When Rizeth had thought he should spend less time with his apprentice, this had not been what he had pictured.

“Command me to stay,” Ashenivir said suddenly. “Please, Master. If you forbid it, I will not go.”

If he had been a better person, he would surely have felt guilt at Ashenivir saying such things, a horror at having such apparent control over him. But Rizeth could only be what he was, and so a thrill of pleasure went through him at the words. His Ra’soltha, so obedient, so very his.

Rizeth touched a hand to Ashenivir’s face, fit his palm against his cheek. Ashenivir’s eyes glittered, full of frustrated, impotent anger at what his Matron had done. Full of hope that Rizeth might give him a way out.

“No,” he said, softly.

“Master—”

“You will not use your submission as an excuse,” Rizeth cut him off. “Decide to stay or decide to go; I will not be the means by which you sidestep your own indecision.”

“The choice is not mine to make,” Ashenivir whispered, and oh, Goddess, Rizeth wanted to order him to stay. He couldn’t, he couldn’t—it would be an unthinkable breach of the power balance between them.

“Then, Ra’soltha, it seems you will be taking your leave of the Arcanum for a while.”

Ashenivir closed his eyes, pressing his lips tight together. A tear escaped to slide down his cheek; Rizeth swept it away with his thumb. The thing with the claws wanted to leap from his chest and go looking for the woman who had done this. Rizeth muzzled it.

“Ra’soltha,” he said, dropping his voice. Ashenivir’s eyes snapped open. “You broke the rules, Ra’soltha. I see you on your knees, but you are still clothed.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Ashenivir’s voice was husky.

“Go to the bed and prepare yourself,” Rizeth ordered. Ashenivir rose and went in silence to the bedroom. Rizeth let out a slow breath.

Leaving. Ashenivir was leaving, and he could do nothing to prevent it. All he could do was give him what he needed before he went. Rizeth steadied himself and put everything else aside. All the tangle in his ribs, that feral creature, all the impossible thoughts rolling round in his head—nothing mattered save Ashenivir’s needs and his responsibility to meet them.

He locked the door to his quarters with a word and took another moment to breathe.

Give him what he needs.

Rizeth nodded to himself, and stepped into the bedroom.

---

There was little heat in his self-pleasure as he lay on the bed and waited for his Master. The sheets were cool against his bare skin, the dim violet light familiar enough to calm him a little—not enough. Ashenivir would much rather have curled up in a ball and screamed. But his Master had commanded, and so he obeyed, and was half-hard when Rizeth entered.

“Arms above your head,” he ordered. Ashenivir complied, and lay perfectly still as Rizeth fit the manacles around his wrists. They were the same ones from that day a month prior, when he had conjured the magical mouth, when he had kissed him like…like…

Like he wanted him. Him, not just his submission.

Rizeth tugged on the chains, ensuring they were firmly attached, and trailed his hand down Ashenivir’s arm. At once his skin prickled, and all the heat he had lacked now rose in him.

“Open your mouth.”

His Master’s fingers slid between his lips, slow and deep. Ashenivir sucked, meeting Rizeth’s eyes in silent thanks—Rizeth inclined his head ever so slightly, then put a hand to his throat. Ashenivir pressed up into his grip, and his Master’s fingers seemed to burn where they touched. Rizeth squeezed, just enough to make his breath stutter for a moment, then released. Ashenivir sighed around his fingers, licking at them more needily now.

“So hungry, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth hooked his fingers into Ashenivir’s collar, pulled it taut. “Did you not learn to control your appetites, after your last lesson regarding such?”

Ashenivir shook his head and grazed his teeth over Rizeth’s knuckles.

“I suppose it has been too long since your Master has fed you.” Rizeth withdrew his hand, ignoring Ashenivir’s whine. It turned to a satisfied moan a moment later when Rizeth leaned down and kissed him. He had waited for and wanted this for tendays, and why Rizeth hadn’t he didn’t know, but now he was and he tasted so good, his tongue sliding into Ashenivir’s mouth like it belonged there—which, of course, it did.

“Master,” he panted, when Rizeth pulled away.

“You have a choice to make, Ra’soltha,” he said, and squeezed Ashenivir’s throat again. “Do you want me to feed you or fuck you? Think carefully, now. You will get only one.”

Ashenivir’s breath came hard fought for, slipping through Rizeth’s fingers in a narrow pant. Choose? That was what he had a Master for, so he didn’t have to choose. Rizeth’s grip tightened.

“Which do you want? Make a decision or you will get nothing.”

“Fuck me,” Ashenivir gasped out. “Fuck me, Master. Please.”

A smile flickered at the corner of Rizeth’s mouth, and he released Ashenivir’s throat. He lay there, chest heaving, allowed to recover his breath for a moment as Rizeth undressed. He lost it again when Rizeth pushed his legs apart and knelt between them. His pulse leapt—was he going to…? Like this? They never had, not face to face, and it had never seemed odd before, but now he couldn’t fathom why they hadn’t done this.

Rizeth’s fingers worked him open, slow and steady until he was begging for it, tugging at the cuffs and arching his back. His Master leaned up to kiss him again, biting at his lip with a growl.

“Do not,” he said, ruby eyes too intense to look away from, “even think about seeking out someone else to fill your needs in Sshamath.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Master,” Ashenivir gasped out as Rizeth slid inside him, hot and hard and perfect. He wrapped his legs around Rizeth’s back, holding his Master close as he thrust into him.

“Good,” Rizeth’s breath was hot against his ear, “because you belong to me.”

The words sent a surge of want through Ashenivir’s chest and he moaned, rocking his hips up in time to meet his Master’s. Rizeth dipped his head and sucked a bite of a kiss into his neck, tugged at Ashenivir’s collar with his teeth.

Why would he seek anyone else? No-one he might find by chance could hope to compare, could possibly fill the place that Rizeth occupied. And even outside the scant possibility of finding someone who could try to do that, what would be the use of any brief release he might find in another’s bed, when he knew he would be thinking only of his Master and how soon he might return to him?

Dimly, he heard Rizeth say something, and a sharp bite on his ear brought him up enough to comprehend.

“What do you say when you get something you like, Ra’soltha?”

“Thank you, Master!”

Rizeth’s pace increased, lightning pleasure hollowing through him with each thrust. The chains holding the cuffs to the bed clinked, a bright counterpoint to the hot gasps of breath and the desperate sound of skin on skin. Ashenivir strained against his bonds, burning up now, cock aching. He let out a whimper and his Master read him as easily as he always did, putting a hand to his cock, firm and quick. The pleasure was a vibrant pull so strong it almost hurt. He was getting close already—far too soon, but he couldn’t stop it.

“Master, may I come?” Rizeth growled against his neck, kissed at his jaw, found his mouth and took it again, devouring him whole. Ashenivir moaned into the kiss. “Master, please.”

The kiss lingered, full of that same wanting he had felt before, that incomprehensible feeling that Rizeth might, somehow, need Ashenivir as much as Ashenivir needed him. When it finally broke, Ashenivir could hardly breathe.

“Answer me one thing, and you may,” Rizeth said, fucking steadily into him all the while. Ashenivir whined, bucking up into his touch, already falling past the point of no return. “Who do you belong to, Ashenivir?”

“You, Master!”

Ashenivir’s eyes went wide as he came. His whole body shuddered as Rizeth fucked him through it until he was whimpering in wordless oblivion. A few seconds of eternity later he followed Ashenivir over the edge, biting his shoulder so hard that Ashenivir was certain he must have drawn blood.

He kept his legs wrapped tight around Rizeth as his Master caught his breath atop him; not quite collapsed over him, but close. Scarcely able to breathe, let alone think, Ashenivir no longer cared about anything. A smile touched his lips and he let his eyes fall closed.

Rizeth had said his name.

---

Ashenivir lay in Rizeth’s lap, hazy enough still that none of the anger, none of the frustration, the despair could creep back in. Rizeth had a hand on the back of his neck, its presence a warm, familiar weight.

Goddess, he was going to miss it.

“You said my name, Master,” he murmured. Rizeth’s hand tensed—only slightly but Ashenivir felt it. He forced himself to sit up and look his Master in the eye. “I liked it.”

“You like anything I do when I’m fucking you,” Rizeth said. Ashenivir flushed, for that was true enough. His hand went to his collar.

“Master, when I’m away will it…will you…?”

“No,” Rizeth said. “Not over that distance.”

Ashenivir’s hand dropped, as did his mood. So he would not even have that connection to cling to. He would still have the collar itself though, and maybe that would be enough. Yet if he was only to have memories, he thought, he would take as many fresh ones as he could.

There was a nervous flutter in his stomach this time as he leaned forward to kiss his Master. He had not asked permission, but Rizeth didn’t push him away—he accepted the press of Ashenivir’s lips, soft and slow, savouring and storing away every inch of the feeling. Rizeth slid a hand into his hair, and when Ashenivir finally pulled away, it lingered.

“Apprentice,” Rizeth started, paused. “Ra’soltha…”

Ashenivir waited, heart in his mouth, thinking please, please, say it again.

“Ashenivir,” Rizeth said, and it was like a wave, the warmth that rolled through him. Like a hand on his head, like rope wrapped about him, comfort and claim all in one. He’d never felt anything like it before. Rizeth sighed, shaking his head. “You will not always have to do as your family demands.”

“Maybe,” Ashenivir whispered.

“Certainly.” Rizeth tugged him back down into his lap. “You will go to Sshamath, and when you return, you will resume your studies. You will be quite powerful one day, and only what you want will matter. It is your life to do with as you wish.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.” He was drifting on the comedown, soft at all his edges.

“I do not lie to you, Ashenivir, you know that.”

He did. It was another rule between them—no lies, no secrets. No manipulation like his mother always tried, no subterfuge, just honesty. Blunt, at times, but honest. There were, Ashenivir realised as he yawned, tumbling towards reverie, few people he trusted more than his Master.

He’d have to wake soon, go back to his quarters, get ready to leave, but for now…for now he let himself fall, and tried to fix the sound of his Master saying his name in his mind.

He hoped it would help the months to come pass a little easier.

---

Rizeth gazed at the drow in his lap, and wished he was a little more selfish. If he were truly as cruelly possessive as some had once called him, he would have ordered him to stay. Kept Ashenivir where he wanted him, obedient and owned, simply to have what he wanted.

I won’t take advantage of him like that. I swore to myself.

Ashenivir looked so peaceful, dozing in reverie. All trace of turmoil gone, all the anguish wiped away. He was so…so…

“Goddess, I do not deserve this,” Rizeth murmured as, hand trembling, he began to stroke Ashenivir’s hair. Ashenivir stirred softly, not waking—just noting the touch, enjoying it. No, Rizeth thought, he did not deserve such a thing, he had not earned such tenderness as this, but for now he had it. At least for a little while longer.

He stroked Ashenivir’s hair, and tried to fathom months without him, without that which had somehow become an integral part of his life. Not a day went by that he was not figuring out a way to fit Ashenivir into his schedule, contemplating all that he could do with him, finding excuse after excuse to spend time in his company.

Perhaps this break was for the best. It would put some space between them, give him a chance to clear his head.

You said my name, Master. I liked it.

A chance to clear both their heads.

Ashenivir made a soft, comfortable noise, and sighed against his leg. Rizeth stilled his hand, letting his fingers tangle into Ashenivir’s hair. Yes, it would be for the best to take a break from this before he did something really foolish.

Like fall for him.