The sounds of hustle and bustle surrounded Basch and Sartauvoir as they sat, huddled together in a corner of the Castrum mess hall. It was furnished with long tables flanked by low benches and a pot of miscellaneous stew bubbling at one end at all hours of the night. The tall-ceilinged room was never empty of folk, from Legionaries catching a moment of rest, to Castrum staff tending the lights and inevitable messes that accumulated from the daily use of a fully appointed Legion coming and going.
The chill bite of Winter was over, so the fire kept stoked at one side was banked a little lower - though most modern Castrii nowadays tended to use ceruleum for energy, Basch had always preferred the homely roar of a fire, and so his people ensured that there was one, without question.
The firelight glinted off his glasses as they pored over a map, gilding his hair with its glow, and the press of Sartauvoir’s shoulder was warm against his own. For once, Sartauvoir had shed his bulky coat, leaving just the thick, sleeveless shirt he wore beneath it. Combined with Basch’s tank top, their arms were bare, and Basch luxuriated in the press of bare skin. Sartauvoir’s bare skin, at that, something he hadn’t exactly expected to be treated to any time soon.
Basch pointed at one section of the map, its corners weighted down by heavy tankards. “This is their weak point, right where the gate walls join. My Optios have staked out the whole range of these fortifications, and this is one of the only weaknesses they have found. It’s in disrepair, you see.” He tapped his finger against the inked squares, tracing the path from there to the small base of operations the IVth had set up earlier that week. “It’s two days march to the camp from here, and then half a day, if we push, to the walls.”
Sartauvoir leaned in closer, his thigh pressing against Basch’s. “Hm, I see. Your thoughts being that if we set the Legion to marching this sevenday, we could arrive there under cover of darkness?”
“Aye. Send a few sappers ahead to set some strategically placed explosives, I’m thinking. Even the walls of Dalmasca could not withstand some of the concoctions our engineers have been cooking up lately.”
A soft inhale, at that. “Explosions are all well and good, but I hope you trust those same engineers to have enough precision where it counts. Why not send my mages as well, for a really focused effort?”
Basch chuckled. “I had hoped you would see that angle.” He threw an arm around Sartauvoir’s waist and grinned up at him. “Ever eager to test out your flames, even against stone.”
Sartauvoir sniffed, prissily, though Basch could tell that he was secretly pleased. “Even stones cannot withstand my firepower.
“Then it is settled.” Basch patted the map and then turned his attention fully to Sartauvoir, angling his body so they were more intimate and dropping his voice to a low murmur. “Now, before we begin this operation, there are some things I would like to teach you.”
“Oh? And what might those be?” Sartauvoir’s cheeks pinked, what little of them Basch could see under hat and hair and eyepatch.
“I think you could benefit from the tutelage of a purely martial knight, as you’ve called me. Your staffwork is exceptional, of course, but your swordplay could use some improvement. Now, you know I say that to help you, so do not take it personally, if you please! I would teach you a few of my tricks - I believe my expertise with dual blades may help give you a, ah, new perspective on how you wield your own.”
“New perspective, is it?” Sartauvoir’s tone was a little sharp, but his tongue flickered out to lick at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I believe I could be amenable to that.”
Basch grinned, feeling a shiver of anticipation chase down his spine. “Somehow, I thought you might be.”
“Hm, it’s almost as though you are beginning to know me, Legatus.” Sartauvoir’s eyes found Basch’s and he held his gaze intently, aware of the way his use of Basch’s title affected him.
Though he’d dispensed with the formality as soon as he could, Basch could not deny that hearing Sartauvoir say his title, tasting the word from his lips, hit him directly in the primal part of his brain that linked directly to his cock. He’d never been a man to get off on having power over others, but this delicate interplay between them certainly did something to him, and that was as undeniable as the burgeoning hard-on that was beginning to make itself known in his trousers.
“Finish your drink and meet me in the training room,” Basch said, voice husky. He stood, then clasped a hand on Sartauvoir’s bare shoulder. “And leave the coat.”
Sartauvoir shot a look at Basch, the tips of his ears pinking under his hat, but he just offered him a sharp nod. “I’ll be there.”
- - -
Waiting had never been one of Basch’s strong points, and it was all he could do to keep himself from palming the very obvious erection through his trousers. He contented himself with a slow investigation of the room: towel rail stocked, the weapon rack in the corner full of various and sundry wooden training swords, staffs and gunblades, his own two swords hung on their pegs, their curved blades crossing over each other, and a rank of neatly ordered training dummies ready to be hacked up.
The door slid open, breaking him from his contemplation as Sartauvoir strode in. Without the coat, exactly as instructed. Basch smiled and crossed the room, resting one hand on Sartauvoir’s upper arm.
“You took your time.”
“Well, you did say to finish my drink. As it happens, the moment you left, one of the kitchen staff came over like a hawk and gave me a refill as though she’d been waiting for that very opportunity.” Sartauvoir shook his head in confusion, the charm on his hat jingling with the movement.
“Is it so baffling to you, that people would find you attractive?”
“Attractive? Was that it? Oh.” Sartauvoir frowned, and Basch could almost see him mentally reviewing the whole interaction. “Ah, I see. Well, I was somewhat distracted by your offer, and then of course after drinking another mug of tea I had to hearken to the call of nature, you understand, so you cannot be too angry at my tardiness.”
Basch chuckled. “Angry? Nay. Simply eager for your presence.” His hips shifted and he saw Sartauvoir’s gaze draw downwards, eyes tracing the outline of his cock. Though the wait had dulled the urgency somewhat, he was still at half-mast, and the directness of Sartauvoir’s gaze had him all the more aware of it.
Sartauvoir cleared his throat, shifting his stance. “So, about this tutelage. You’ve piqued my interest, I have to admit. It’s not every day you get an offer of personal training by the Legatus Gabranth himself.”
“As though we haven’t already spent enough time sparring together.” Basch snorted. “But alright, I digress. The first time we sparred, I overpowered you. Do you know why?” He rocked back on his heels, settling into parade rest, looking up at Sartauvoir quizzically.
“The sword,” Sartauvoir said, after thinking for a moment. “You said something about an opening. And I do believe we were more evenly-matched than that, thank you very much. Overpowered me indeed.” He sniffed.
“Yes yes, fine, have it your way.” Basch waved a hand impatiently. “I know the mage-knights of Mannatheihwo fight with sword and staff, and you yourself use that flaming sword method at times - as you correctly remembered, you had an opening in your guard. Your two weapons were not working together, as one, and that will always be a weakness that an enemy can exploit.”
Sartauvoir snorted. “If they can get close, aye.”
Basch eyed him, one eyebrow raised. “Not every foe will have the self-preservation to stay away from you, and many believe the best way to deal with a mage is to get in close, inside the reach of their staff, and finish them before they can get a spell off. Which is the main reason I thought to offer my services - as you know, I fight not only with a sword, but with two of them. I can show you the best way to wield that fiery blade of yours, and some techniques that should improve the synergy between staff and blade.”
“Hm. And this has nothing to do with you wanting to get me alone so you can do unspeakable things to me, I suppose.” Sartauvoir’s semi-visible eye twinkled as he smirked down at Basch.
“I would be the worst kind of liar if I didn’t admit that was part of the appeal.” Basch crossed his arms, a smile dancing on his lips. “So. Enough prevaricating. Draw your weapons, Sartauvoir, and show me your ready stance.”
Sartauvoir inhaled deeply, then slid his legs apart, bending his knees slightly to lower his centre of gravity. With a smooth movement, he reached back and pulled out his staff, then drew his other hand through the air to manifest flames into a blade. He brought them both vertical in front of his face, offering a salute to Basch before readying himself - staff diagonal with the head in front of him, and the flaming sword point down at his side.
“Well, this will not do. Hold that stance, I’ll fetch a training dummy.” Basch went to the ranked dummies in one corner of the room and man-handled one of them into the middle, just about avoiding getting clouted in the face by one of the wooden stakes protruding from the thing. He stood back from the dummy and dusted off his hands, then turned back to Sartauvoir. “Right. First thing’s first, your stance.”
He closed the distance between them, standing behind Sartauvoir and using one booted foot to nudge his legs apart a little more. “Your stance is good, but turn your feet more to the side, that’s it - helps the centre of gravity. Makes you less likely to get knocked over.”
Sartauvoir turned his head to regard Basch from beneath his hair. “So we’re to be focusing on close quarters combat, then?”
“‘A good stance should be the base of any training’,” Basch intoned, “‘for how can one hope to stand his ground with a stance poor enough to blow one over with a stiff breeze?’” He leaned in close. “Or so my old tutors used to be so fond of telling me, over and over until I got it right. I always was a stubborn child, determined to do everything my own way, but now I can see the wisdom of their words.”
“Yes, you have many years on your side now after all.” Sartauvoir smirked sidelong at him, but he turned his feet as instructed.
“Many years indeed.” Basch chuckled, then lifted one arm to Sartauvoir’s sword arm, taking hold of his forearm firmly. Oh, he still wasn’t used to that feel of bared flesh. Even though he was still wearing his fingerless gloves, the rasp of his calloused fingertips against Sartauvoir’s skin set a shiver down his spine that woke his cock once more. He felt Sartauvoir gasp against him, but he held his stance steady as Basch guided his arm.
“Keep your grip and your wrist loose,” Basch murmured. He moved in closer, until he was pressed up against Sartauvoir’s back and close enough to manipulate his sword arm. “Blade up, but crossing your body - the idea is that you use the blade as an extension of your guard, if someone gets close enough to reach you.”
Basch moved Sartauvoir’s arm up in a guard position, then back down again and lower, as though sweeping an opponent’s legs. “And keeping your wrist loose allows more movement, as you can see.” He allowed his fingers to graze over Sartauvoir’s pulse point and up his forearm to the elbow. “Try to keep your elbow soft, not locked.”
“The blade is heavy,” Sartauvoir replied, “it’s natural to hold it tightly, no?”
“Aye, and though it will not get any lighter, the more you practice the more muscle you will build in these arms of yours. Spellcasting does not make for the building of strength.”
“Not strength of this kind.” Sartauvoir held himself poised, but Basch could feel the hammering of his heart through his forearm.
“Indeed. And though it may seem contradictory, a looser wrist and elbow will give you freedom to adjust grip and strategy, rather than locking you into simple hacking and slashing.” Basch lifted Sartauvoir’s arm and moved it into a blocking position, sword hilt higher than blade, then moved it back down again to make a slow slash at an imaginary foe’s shins.
“I see,” Sartauvoir replied, swallowing hard. “And the staff, then?”
Basch felt Sartauvoir shift hard against him, the side of his trousered thigh pressing directly into Basch’s hard-on, which was becoming harder to ignore by the minute. “I think you know what to do with a staff.” He couldn’t help himself, hiding a smirk by ducking his head.
Sartauvoir groaned, but held his posture impeccably. “Getting distracted, are we? I thought you had more restraint than that, Legatus.” He moved his sword arm, repeating the motions Basch had shown him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was all an elaborate ploy to get me into your arms.”
Basch’s fingers tightened reflexively, and he was unable to resist grazing his palm up Sartauvoir’s forearm as he let go, moving to his right side, where he held the bladed staff ready. “Do I need a ploy to get you in my arms, Centurion? I think not.” Basch’s stance shifted and he pressed up against Sartauvoir once more, this time more behind him than to the side, to compensate for the length of the staff.
“Now. The staff should work with the blade - any moves you use should be mirrored by it, so as to not leave any gaps in your guard.” He took firm hold of Sartauvoir’s elbow, fingers spread, and moved his arm to copy the low slash, pulling it back and up to allow the heavy ball-and-blades to tip forward, pulled by their weight. “The end of this thing is deadly. If you combine it with the tip of that flaming blade, no one will be willing to come near you.”
Sartauvoir held the position, though Basch could feel the muscles in his arm trembling with the new strain. Basch was painfully aware of the way his cock was constrained by his trousers, and even more aware of the way it pressed against the lower curve of Sartauvoir’s arse. He cleared his throat and took a step back, releasing Sartauvoir’s elbow even as he immediately regretted the lack of contact.
“I think I get the point,” Sartauvoir said, voice hoarse. He shifted in his stance, but did not move from it. “Now to try the dummy, yes?”
Basch rested his hand in the small of Sartauvoir’s back for a moment, before dragging himself away to stand where he could see the action. “Yes. Begin with the guard, then move to the low slash and back again. Later, I will teach you some more forms, but for now, this will do. I want to see this dummy hacked and charred before we’re finished.”
Sartauvoir bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “Yes sir.”
By the time Basch was satisfied, Sartauvoir’s sleeveless shirt was sweated to him in all sorts of interesting places, and near translucent to boot. He leaned on his staff, wiping his forehead with the crook of his arm.
“You don’t go easy, do you?”
Basch put out a booted foot and nudged the striking dummy, just hard enough that the char through the base finally gave way, the whole thing tumbling to the ground with a poof of charcoaled wood dust and a hefty clatter.
“Your foes will not go easy, so neither will I. You did very well, Sartauvoir. You’ll be aching on the morrow, I have no doubt.”
“Hah. Well, if we continue in this vein, you’ll need to requisition a lot more striking dummies.” Sartauvoir dismissed his blade and exhaled, the iron seemingly gone from his spine as he finally loosed the flame control he’d held onto for so long. He poked the remains of the dummy with the end of his staff, pleased. “I did that, huh.”
“I imagine it’s a novelty for you, to see more than ash and bone remaining.”
“It is, somewhat. Although nothing is safe from that, when I have my sword, spells or no.”
“It takes a lot out of you, doesn’t it. The control.”
“Aye. But ‘tis a challenge I relish, as you should know by now.” Sartauvoir tipped a wink at Basch, then straightened his back with a groan. He sheathed his staff and rubbed his lower back with both hands. “So how many times a week will it be, Basch?”
“Two, at first. Then as your stamina and strength builds, we can move to three, or perhaps even four, if you can stomach half your week being taken up with it.”
Sartauvoir gave him a queer look, head tilted to one side. “I’m quite sure I can stomach it, but surely you have other duties that are more important than giving me one on one lessons. I would not want to completely monopolise your time, lest people begin to… look askance.”
“They may look as askance as they wish.” Basch pulled Sartauvoir in close, one hand on his damp waist. “And I give my time to whom I will. If I say this is important, then it is important.” He looked aside, studying the floor intently. “To me.”
“O-oh. I see.” Sartauvoir’s arm snaked around Basch’s shoulder and he leaned down, nuzzling his nose against Basch’s ear. “Four days it is, then.”
Basch’s eyes slid closed as Sartauvoir kissed the shell of his ear, tentative. “You could… join me in my quarters,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tonight, I mean. When both our duties are complete.”
An intake of breath, then another kiss at his ear, chased by the softest of nibbles. “You tempt me so...”
“Is that a yes?” Basch turned and tugged on Sartauvoir’s belt, jerking them flush together. He went to his tiptoes and leaned in close, until they were breathing each others’ air, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Tell me it’s a yes, Sartauvoir.”
“As though it could be anything else.”
“Good.” A slow smile spread across Basch’s face, and he finally became aware of how his heart beat near fit to burst. He released Sartauvoir’s belt and took a pace back, unable to keep his gaze from dropping to Sartauvoir’s lips, his sweat-damp chest under his shirt, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Don’t be late.”
- - -
The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass by slow as molasses. Basch went through his tasks in a daze, unable to keep his mind from returning to the thought of Sartauvoir in his bunk. He signed requisitions and gave opinions to his Centurions, paid some extra attention to filing away half of the paperwork that had been building up on his desk and had a bite to eat as the sun made its slow way through the sky, showing its progress through the narrow window high up the wall until it finally passed below and the military issue clock showed the end of the work day.
Basch sat back and stretched, back cracking satisfyingly. He stood, surprised into a groan as his knees twinged. He steadied himself on the desk, and was stretching out and testing movement in his leg as the door to his office slid open.
“Right on time,” Basch said with a smile. He darted a glance up over his glasses at Sartauvoir, who had set the door to lock and crossed the room in shockingly little time. “My knees. I’ve been sat too long, again.”
“Ah yes, the trials of being a Legatus. More paperwork than you can shake a sword at.” Sartauvoir tipped his hat back and eyed the neat stacks tucked into their metal trays “I could always set those on fire for you.”
Basch laughed. “Aye, I’m sure you could. And then I’d be certain to send all the complainants directly to you when they come to me, demanding to know where their requisitions are and whether I’ve signed off on their leave.”
“Could set fire to them too. That would give you some leave, for once.” Sartauvoir leant forward, resting both hands on the desk opposite Basch. “You work too hard.”
“Are you saying that as my Centurion or my-” He paused. Hm.
“As your Centurion, of course. Sir.” Sartauvoir grinned, apparently not noticing the pregnant pause. “Now, I’m assuming that you’ve eaten already, by the empty crockery, and since your work seems to be complete, and mine certainly is, I’ve a mind to see that you relax.”
“And here I was thinking it was me inviting you to my quarters.” Basch stood upright and shook out his legs one at a time, knees still twinging unhappily. “But I see where you’re coming from. Come, then.”
Basch led the way to his quarters - the room was attached to his office by a small door, and he paused to set it to lock as well before flipping the lights on. “Nothing special, as usual, but-”
His words were cut off as Sartauvoir surged in close, wrapping both arms around Basch’s waist and bending down to kiss him, hard. Basch slid his arms around and down to rest on Sartauvoir’s arse, holding him close and sweet as they kissed like dying men gasping for breath.
“All damn day,” Sartauvoir gasped as they broke apart. “All the damn day I’ve been thinking about you, you infuriating cocktease of a man!” He walked them backwards and pushed Basch down onto his bunk, a light in his eye that would not be quenched by anything but physical contact.
Basch leaned on his elbows, looking up at Sartauvoir as he shrugged off his coat and dropped it on the floor, then followed him onto the bunk, straddling his prone thighs. He leaned in to kiss Basch again, tipping his chin up with one hand, and Basch reached up to the brim of Sartauvoir’s hat, sliding it up and off his head and to the ground.
Sartauvoir broke the kiss, eye showing wild and breath coming fast. “Leave it,” he murmured, voice hoarse, “please Basch. Not now.”
“As you wish.” Basch’s fingers had gone to the eyepatch without thinking, and he grazed the edge of the swathe of fabric before sliding his hand to the back of Sartauvoir’s head, spreading his fingers across the column of his neck where the hairs were fine and soft. “I never realised you had so much hair under that hat.” He tipped his head back up, a flower leaning towards the warmth of the sun, and Sartauvoir kissed him again, muscles relaxing now that he wasn’t in danger of revealing more than he wanted to.
“Easier to keep it up and out of the way.” Sartauvoir pressed his forehead against Basch’s, and he smiled, snatching kisses between words. “We can’t all be like you, with that unruly mane of yours.”
“I think you would look well with your hair down. May I?”
Sartauvoir nodded, and it was the work of a moment to unfasten the tie holding his hair up. It cascaded down about his neck, and Basch ran his fingers through it, marvelling at the soft sleekness of it.
A shudder under his touch, and Basch grinned. “Feels good, hm?” He sunk his fingers to Sartauvoir’s scalp, then tightened his grip and pulled him down on top of him, taking his mouth greedily. “You’re not the only eager one,” he murmured between kisses. “Take me, and quickly! It’s all I’ve been able to think about all day.”
Sartauvoir’s deft hands made quick work of Basch’s clothes and glasses, used to weaving flame from the air as he was, and Basch thrilled at his touch. Warmer than warm hands grazed his hips, his stomach, pushing through the downy hair there and then up to his chest and nipples. Basch gasped as Sartauvoir pinched one, fingers hot and precise, then moved to the other and back down again, tracing every plane of his body with those heated hands, a shimmer of flame coating them and rippling softly with every movement.
Basch lifted himself off the bed on one elbow and scrabbled for the edge of Sartauvoir’s tank top, pushing it up and off him to finally - finally - get a look of what lay beneath that heavy robe. Sartauvoir wasn’t as muscled as he was, but he had a lithe trimness to him that begged for Basch’s hands; a light dusting of hair across his chest and belly, and as he divested Sartauvoir of his trousers, Basch could see the rich blonde extended down to a soft thatch framing his heavy cock. Longer than Basch’s own, but not as thick, somewhat mirroring its owner.
He trailed through Sartauvoir’s hair and took his cock in hand, weighting it in his palm before dragging his hand to the tip. Basch wet his lips, aware that he was staring but unable to look away, and Sartauvoir ducked his head, ears pink from the attention, though he looked up from under his lashes to meet Basch’s eyes.
“I hope it pleases you,” he said softly, biting down on his lower lip. “I…rarely bare myself this way. I haven’t, in a long time.”
“You please me,” Basch insisted. He lifted Sartauvoir’s chin and ran a thumb across his cheekbone, enjoying the slight scratchiness of beard against his palm. “Now, I would have your mind in the moment. Keep that heat on your hands and open me up, then I would have you inside me.” Basch’s eyes lidded as his cock twitched in anticipation. “Please,” he lifted his hips a little, grinding their cocks together with a harsh intake of breath, “I find myself unable to wait any longer.”
Sartauvoir twitched his hands and they brightened, nearly glowing in the dimness of Basch’s quarters. “Move back a little.” He pushed Basch by the thighs, shuffling him back on the bunk to give himself some room. When Basch was settled to his liking, Sartauvoir ran both hands down the insides of his thighs, the heat from his flames sending a heady sensation to Basch’s cock.
His head fell back onto the mattress, arse clenching with anticipation as Sartauvoir spread his thighs with those hot, hot hands. It was like a massage with warmed stones that he’d had once, back in his youth before Landis had been taken, but with the suppleness of skin instead of unyielding stone, and something about the way Sartauvoir held it all in control, the notch of concentration between his brows, the intense way he watched Basch’s every movement, was hugely erotic.
Hands slid under his arse and lifted him, then Sartauvoir ducked his head and pressed his tongue into Basch’s hole, nuzzling in close to allow him more depth.
Basch gripped the covers beneath him and groaned, long and low, with a hitch of surprise as Sartauvoir brought his heated thumbs into play, pulling him open even as he plunged in and out with his tongue. Even though it wasn’t quite long or thick enough to bring him to orgasm by that alone, there was plenty of wetness and movement and heat, and Basch couldn’t bear it any more.
“You.” he panted, lifting off the bed and sinking a hand into Sartauvoir’s hair, pulling him up and onto the bed over him. “I want you in me.” He wrapped both legs loosely around Sartauvoir’s waist, lifting his hips enough off the bed to give him access and then Sartauvoir pushed his way inside and oh, all other words were driven from Basch’s lips.
There was almost too much friction, not quite enough lubrication, and he knew he’d be sore as all hells in the morning, but the feeling of Sartauvoir sheathed all the way inside him was so damn good Basch wasn’t about to complain.
He tightened his thighs and dug his heels into Sartauvoir’s arse, then slid both arms around his neck, pulling him down for a messy kiss.
“Basch…” Sartauvoir panted into his mouth, “by the flames, you feel so good…” He rocked his hips, barely pulling out at all; just rolling and pressing against Basch’s prostate over and over with every stroke. His eye was squeezed shut, head bent and their faces hidden from the world by his hair sheeting down, giving them a private intimacy that made Basch’s stomach flutter.
Basch arched his back, rubbing his cock up against Sartauvoir’s stomach, and Sartauvoir bent to suck and bite the arc of his throat, the join between shoulder and neck, the bobbing apple as Basch swallowed his moans of pleasure.
“More heat,” Basch gasped, “please Sartauvoir, more- ah!” His words cut off as Sartauvoir obliged, channelling heat to his cock and then to his hands - one of them cupped Basch’s face, pressing their foreheads together even as the other slipped between them to take Basch’s own cock in hand, jerking him in time with his rocking until Basch couldn’t hold it back any more, orgasm crashing through him in a wave of intense heat.
He felt Sartauvoir’s cock get hotter, dimly, then the thick spill of seed inside him; Sartauvoir’s fingers dug into Basch’s mane of hair, clenching and glowing brighter until he got himself back under control, forehead pressed against Basch’s as their breathing slowed.
Basch smiled up at Sartauvoir, eyes sliding closed as he caught his lips in a satisfied kiss. He flopped back onto the bed, body heavy and sated, arms still around Sartauvoir’s neck so that he could tug him down too, and finally uncurl his legs with a wince. “Stiff,” he murmured, then hissed as Sartauvoir’s wet cock slipped out of his arse.
“Allow me.” Sartauvoir rolled onto his side and hauled himself into a sitting position, then pulled Basch’s legs and arranged them so that they draped across his thighs. He held up both hands, wiggling his fingers as flames kindled back to life, then bent over Basch’s legs and began to rub: he applied pressure with palms and fingertips, kneading and soothing until Basch was putty in his hands.
“Where did you learn that?” Basch managed, words slurred with pleasure and exhaustion. He lifted one arm and tucked it behind his head, watching as Sartauvoir worked. Ah, but that face of concentration was far too attractive, and that little half smile, twitching up the corner of his moustache.
“Read it in a book. Keep still.” Sartauvoir darted a glance at Basch, then flushed to see he was being watched so intently. “If you start to move around, it will make the muscles tense and hurt more, when I apply more pressure,” he explained, focusing his attention back onto Basch’s thigh.
“Mm, alright. That heat is amazing, too. I fear I may become addicted to this…” Basch closed his eyes and lost himself in sensation: skilled hands kneading tension and aches from his thigh muscles, his knees and calves; the satisfied looseness of his whole body after a good fucking; the heat of Sartauvoir’s flames casting a warm glow that tinged the inside of his eyelids pink; the little noises of concentration Sartauvoir made as he recalled what he’d learned of the body from his books - and wasn’t that just like him, to learn a skill such as this from a book.
“I can’t say as I would complain,” Sartauvoir replied, softly, after some time had passed.
Basch half-opened his eyes, drowsy. “Well, good. Oh- ouch!” He jumped, as much as he was able with Sartauvoir’s hand holding him down, as the other did something to his hip - some twist and dig - and then heat washed through him as the pain receded, pain he hadn’t even realised was plaguing him.
Sartauvoir gentled over his hip muscle again, open-palmed with smooth, long motions, and Basch relaxed again under his ministrations, right up until he bent over and did the same brutal motion to Basch’s other hip, then soothed it too.
“Ngh okay, I could do without that part.”
“Your muscles there were like knots of old oak.” Sartauvoir narrowed his eye at Basch, but his expression soon softened. “If we do this regularly, it will not hurt so. You have my word.”
“Regularly? Mm, that sounds good.”
“You’re falling asleep, Basch. I’ll be right back.” Sartauvoir’s words were soft, and Basch barely felt his legs being moved. He settled back onto his arm and drifted, warm and happy. He heard the splash of water on cloth, a light humming of some nonsense tune, and then the next thing he knew Sartauvoir was back, cloth in hand, cleaning him up and drying him off and manhandling him around the bunk until he could pull the covers back enough to actually get underneath them.
“You’re staying?” Basch came round enough to smile up at Sartauvoir, as he climbed into the bunk and nestled under the covers.
“Seems that I am.” Sartauvoir rolled onto his side to face Basch and traced the line of his jaw with one hand, bringing their heads close together. “Go to sleep, Basch.” He pressed a kiss to Basch’s nose, then to his lips with a soft, sleepy sigh, then slipped one leg between Basch’s and allowed sleep to pull him down as well.