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Flins became aware of his surroundings when they started moving, his lantern picked up from its resting place to be set down — oh so gently — on top of a pillow. The place was still warm, the mattress and pillow still carrying the shape of their former resident and Flins basked in the warmth and pleasure of such an opportunity for a moment longer, the solid heat radiating from the side of the bed slowly dragging him under.
Still, it was rather early in the morning and he had rested enough already, and curiosity got the best of him, as it often did.
Leaving the bed felt harder than he had anticipated, but not impossible; not when he knew that he was merely trading one comfort for another.
The floorboards under his feet were rather cold, but the house was warm and raw sunlight was slowly spilling inside the rooms through the windows, heralding a brand new day as he made his way down the stairs to follow the faint noise coming from the kitchen. There, moving around as if the place belonged to him, was the hulking figure of a man clad only in his sleep pants, his feet bare on the aged steel, his chest naked while the mess of his moonlight hair was tied carelessly at the back of his head.
Rerir must have sensed his approach, yet he did not make a move to acknowledge Flins until he was close enough to wrap his arms around Rerir’s waist, their similar heights making it possible — barely but it worked — for Flins to peer over his shoulder.
“It needs more salt,” he chided the man, his hand patting the hard planes of his abdomen and he couldn’t see, but he could feel the way Rerir rolled his eye at him.
“You talk as if you know shit,” the Sinner grumbled, yet he reached out for the salt container on the countertop to add just a pinch of it. “Go back to sleep.”
A tempting suggestion, considering who was currently occupying the bed upstairs, but Flins found himself drawn to this just a little bit more. It was in the way Rerir moved without a care for Flins’ leeching on his back, yet he did it slowly enough not to fully disturb him. It was in the way the man was kneading dough with his bare hands, his muscles bulging as his sticky fingers worked the mixture of water and flour into something smooth looking.
It was in the warmth at Flins’ back, coming from the sunlight spilling into the room to bathe them in its increasing glow and in the quietness of the room save from the sounds of a knife slicing tomatoes and a spoon stirring a pot. The tangy smell of bread rising, the rich aroma of vegetables roasting over the fire, the dark scent of freshly grounded coffee and the increasing warmth coming from the stove.
“You pest,” Rerir murmured, his hands once again working the dough into whatever form he wished out of it and Flins smiled, tilting his head to press long kisses along the line of a very relaxed shoulder. “Won’t you leave me to do my work in peace?”
Where would the fun in that be?
“I find it that you’re doing a wonderful job with me here regardless.”
The Sinner grumbled, picking up the ball of dough to drop it into a tray before his hand reached back, his long fingers — dusted white — dragging along the side of Flins’ face. His knees bent just so and suddenly, the hand on his face turned just a tad more demanding and Flins followed its guidance all too happily.
The kiss was slow and careful, unrushed for there was nothing new to find in such a gesture. It was a continuation of tiny movements, of soft sounds as their lips kept coming back together. Once, twice, thrice, so many times that Flins lost count of them, his eyes falling close somewhere in the middle of it, before Rerir’s tongue brushed along the seam of his lips and Flins opened them easily, welcoming the wet muscle inside with a sigh.
His hands slid up and down the Sinner’s abdomen, more in an indulgent type of gesture than anything else, touches that mapped the already explored inches of skin and scars. Rerir’s body was rather cold to begin with, and Flins himself shared the same trait with him but right there and then, his hands were warm enough to heat up the skin under them.
Slow, hazy, thick like syrup, sweet in the way firewater burned down his throat and Flins’ sigh turned into a little breathless moan as Rerir pulled away.
“Greedy little thing,” the Sinner whispered as Flins chased his lips, leaning back in for one last kiss as Flins’ hands settled on Rerir’s stomach, his thumbs rubbing circles into the soft skin there.
Rerir’s body would forever be frozen in time, needing the barest of sustenance and ready to unravel at the wrong step, yet Flins could swear on his lantern that the days of leisure and indulgence could be felt and seen, if one touched and looked carefully enough. Perhaps he was simply imagining things, he’d have to ask Illuga his opinion on it.
Later.
“Enough.”
Cruel man. Flins did not stop though, his mouth falling once more on Rerir’s shoulder, following its curve, the shape of the flesh and muscles along his shoulderblade, the skin warming up under his lips as he traced the lines of the tattoo etched into Rerir’s upper back. He was benevolent enough to wait for a moment when Rerir wasn’t doing anything to open his mouth and close his teeth round the pink tinted flesh at the back of Rerir’s neck, to nibble on the skin, much to the Sinner’s apparent exasperation.
His hands were not too forceful, but their grip was sure as they enclosed Flins’ wandering own hands, pulling his right one away from the waistband of his pants and stopping the left one from reaching up to his chest.
“No funny things in the kitchen, you depraved little thing.”
A rule imposed by Illuga himself after a certain incident. But the man was still sleeping, blissfully unaware.
“What he doesn’t know,” Flins whispered, nuzzling against the wet spot left behind by his mouth on Rerir’s nape. “Can’t hurt him.”
With a click of his tongue, Rerir shook his shoulders enough to push Flins away just as he was trying to take a bite of his flesh once more.
“No funny things in the kitchen because I say so.”
“Fine,” he bemoaned, pressing his face against Rerir’s back, knowing that the Sinner would be aware of his faux pout. “Cruel man.”
With a huff, Rerir placed Flins’ hands back on his stomach, a relative safe distance away from any dangerous places.
“When did you even come here?” he asked as he started brewing the coffee, occasionally also stirring the pot of food he had on the stove.
Flins sighed, pressing his cheek harder against Rerir’s back as he looked at the window across the room. The sunlight was turning brighter, which meant that Illuga was oversleeping.
“In the middle of the night. You were both blissfully passed out by that point.”
Rerir hummed, swaying from side to side as he waited for the water to boil, his left hand placed on top of Flins’ intertwined hands on his stomach.
“How was it?”
The question was simple, yet the weight to his voice made Flins turn his head to place yet another kiss along the spine of the man.
“Better,” he admitted, his voice just a little bit quieter as Rerir took a deep breath, his hand pressing harder against Flins’ to mask its shaking. “Barely any sighting of the Wild Hunt, and what I encountered was so easily dismissed they could have been mere ants trying to climb up a mountain. My route even intersected with a patrolling team from Illuga’s squad. They were taking a rest, some of them catching up on sleep.”
Rerir seemed to melt, his body turning so heavy that Flins had to support his weight for a moment. He did not mind.
“You did well, Rerir.”
With a kiss at the side of Rerir’s head, Flins used his hold on him to pull him closer, turning it into a full embrace.
The man remained silent and Flins did not wish to disturb him.
It was the water reaching a boil that broke the Sinner out of his stupor, his body regaining its strength as he pulled away from Flins’ embrace.
Cursed coffee.
“Stop pestering me,” the man grumbled, his voice low as to hide the rawness of the emotions tinting it. “Go wake up the little bird.”
Flins did not argue, knowing that Rerir really wanted, and needed, a moment to himself. He left after he placed one last kiss to Rerir’s back, stopping only for a moment in the doorway to watch Rerir bend over the countertop, his arms barely supporting his weight as he took deep breaths in and out to calm himself.
Back up the stairs, to the bedroom flooded by light and to the still sleeping form tangled with the blankets.
Illuga looked the most peaceful when asleep, but only in a bed shared with one of them, never when he slept on his own. His hair was a bird’s nest, peeking from under the blanket pulled up to his chin while a naked leg was thrown over the bunched fabric under his body, the limb long and pale, marred here and there by new and old scars.
By old and new bruises in the shape of two different mouths.
His lips were parted slightly, and he was drooling on the pillow and Flins felt his form tremble, his fire threatening to spill all over from the sheer intensity of his feelings. Love, still such a difficult concept to fully explain with words.
It encompassed his worry and care, his possessiveness and hunger to devour, the tenderness pulsing in between his fabricated ribs and the wish to touch, to see, to simply feel — the curiosity he couldn’t get rid of. It made him step closer, in a daze, to sit down at the edge of the bed, his bare fingers reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of Illuga’s face. Something warm and overwhelming bubbled up deep in his belly when the man scrunched his nose, the hair probably tickling his face even if Flins had tried to be careful.
Slowly, as if he was the second coming of the dawn itself, Illuga started waking up and Flins drank in every detail of it, from the way those pale eyelashes fluttered to reveal bleary eyes behind them, to how the man’s lips moved, trembling a little before his mouth opened wide in a yawn.
Weak and aching, Flins placed his hand on the side of Illuga’s face, this thumb rubbing circles into the soft and warm flesh of his cheek, tapping gently on the little beauty spot at the corner of Illuga’s eye.
“Good morning, beloved.”
Illuga’s gaze struggled to focus, his beautiful eyes misted over by the dregs of his slumber, but the sound of Flins’ voice seemed to bring his awareness forth for he closed his eyes again, his lips curling up into a smile before he turned his face to the side. The brush of lips against Flins’ palm was his undoing.
With care, he used his touch to turn Illuga’s face back to him, for his mouth to find those plush lips for himself.
The kiss was just as tender as the one he had shared with Rerir, a moment of loving touches that seemed to stretch into eternity, Illuga’s mouth lazy under his as soft sighs escaped his lips. Were Flins to continue for much longer, he was sure that Illuga would fall back asleep just like that. A rarity, for the man to even sleep in so long, let alone for him to go back to sleep so easily.
All thanks to a certain someone and his endeavours, which also included waking up early enough to prepare breakfast for Illuga with his own hands.
Still, Illuga seemed to be strong enough to fight the lull of sleep, at least long enough to speak. “Morning, when did you come?”
Or so Flins interpreted his mumbling.
“Some time past three in the morning,” he whispered as he started pressing kisses all over Illuga’s face, eliciting an adorable little whine from the man.
“What abou—”
“All is well,” Flins answered the question before Illuga could mumble more of it. “Dare I say Vlaicu’s patrol ended before it even started, for there was nothing for him, nor the others, to encounter during the entire night.”
That seemed to wake up Illuga, his body turning away from Flins as he sprawled on his back, hands rubbing at his eyes before his back arched off the mattress, his legs trembling just so as he stretched. All that moving pulled the blankets to the side, revealing more skin, more flesh marred by scars and loving touches alike.
“Gonna eat me?”
He knew that the smile gracing his lips as he leaned over Illuga once more was all parts predatory, and felt the effect it had on the man when their mouths brushed once more, from the way the flesh on Illuga’s stomach trembled as Flins pressed his hand on top of it. Oh, he wished to!
“Rerir would have my head if I made you late for breakfast,” he whined sadly against the side of Illuga’s neck, placing tiny wet kisses along the warm skin, red and marred with pillow creases marks.
The tiny gasp that escaped Illuga’s mouth had more to do with the newfound knowledge that Rerir cooked breakfast for him, than with how Flins’ hand was rubbing against his stomach. Thwarted by food of all things!
Alas, if all things went according to their schedule, they had the entire day free for themselves, Nikita’s signature on an official leave request submitted by Illuga himself — stranger things had yet to happen — attesting to that. Even if the Wild Hunt were to attack, Illuga was to be contacted as a last resort, a certainty backed up by Columbina herself as she promised to keep watch over the abyssal activity in Nod-Krai for the day.
“Up you go, Young Master, lest our dear Sinner grow incensed with my deterring you from a warm, freshly served breakfast.”
Illuga snorted, tilting his head up to ask for one last kiss before he started wriggling his way out from the tangle of pillows and blankets. That too was a new development, for him to feel so secure and relaxed in his slumber that he’d move around, content to simply bask in the warmth of the bed instead of his body being tense and unmoving, his mind on high alert, even in slumber.
If Flins remained seated, admiring the view of a fully naked Illuga stretching once more once he made his way out of the bed, well, he was but a man admiring the shape of his beloved. Later, he told himself, willing his hands to remain on top of his thighs, content to watch Illuga walk to the side of the room to pick up a pair of pants and a loose shirt — his, left there at an already forgotten moment in time — to dress himself in.
A shame, to hide that lovely body, yet a necessity.
“Gods help me today,” Illuga muttered as he threw Flins a glance, his unimpressed stare a tell-tale of how aware he was of Flins’ desire. “What was that about food getting cold and a pissed off Rerir?”
So Flins made his way down the stairs again, only that the second time around he was accompanied by Illuga who was still rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. They entered the kitchen exactly as Rerir got the bread out of the oven, his head turned to the side just so to make sure that Illuga was there too, before he continued with the bread.
There, in the kitchen, Flins made his way to the cabinets to pick up three plates and three cups, but only two forks and spoons while Illuga walked towards Rerir, his pace slow and unhurried, before he reached out, his hands high above his head.
Rerir hesitated for only a moment before he crumbled into Illuga’s embrace, his broad hands falling down to Illuga’s waist to keep him close as he buried his face into the mess that was the man’s hair.
“Morning, little bird,” Flins heard him whisper, his voice raw as Illuga hugged him tighter..
“Good morning, Rerir.”
Flins let them be, knowing that Rerir needed the touch, the gentle words that Illuga was whispering against the side of his cheek, the chaste kiss they shared before Illuga deepened it just so, enough to leave Rerir breathless in a matter of seconds. He was content to fill the plates with food and the cups with water, and firewater, as Illuga cupped Rerir’s cheek, a smile on his lips before he tilted his head for one last kiss.
“The food is getting cold,” he said at long last just as the two of them pulled away from each other; Rerir’s clicking his tongue, Illuga huffing a laugh.
The sun was shining to its full potential, the kitchen warm with the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee, the undercurrents of the savoury smell of the dishes prepared by Rerir adding to the lovely atmosphere as they started eating. It took but a moment for Flins to place his lantern onto the table, the wisps of fire dancing over his plate to pick on whatever he could ingest from it while the others didn’t even bat an eye at what he was doing.
Rerir even allowed him a moment to take a sip of his firewater before he tilted his head at Flins, a lazy smile on his face as the brush of a naked foot against his ankle was the only warning he got before Rerir opened his mouth.
“Since you’re done already, you can go do the dishes in the meantime.”
Flins’ afforded gasp mingled with Illuga’s laughing and Rerir raised an eyebrow at him, since Flins refused to move.
“At least let me finish my drink.”
The man rolled his eye but continued to eat while Flins leaned back into the chair, his feet sliding along the floor to trap Rerir’s other foot in between them. Rerir scowled at him, his mouth opening to probably throw an insult at him, before both of them turned their heads to the side.
Illuga was sipping from his cup of coffee, his eyes half lidded as he enjoyed the taste, but his socket feet were resting on the place where Rerir and Flins’ were interlocking under the table. When he spoke, it was to demand more details about Flins’ patrol, and to reassure Rerir that it was the only instance he’d talk about work when the man tried to make his dissatisfaction with the subject known.
After giving him a brief report — detailed enough to put his mind at ease — Flins put his cup down and went to wash the dirty dishes left in the sink by Rerir. He was doing just that when he felt a looming presence at his back, two more plates added to the dishes remaining in the sink, before a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist, very much alike to what Flins himself had done earlier in the morning.
Instead of being as nice as Flins had been, Rerir let his body sag, his entire weight pressing down on Flins’ back and he stumbled just so, taking a moment to adjust to the pressure.
“Off,” he made the command sound like a huff and Rerir chuckled in his ear, his nose rubbing against the side of his head as his hands slid under Flins’ shirt so easily, it felt like that’s where they belonged to begin with.
“You two tried to do things in the kitchen, didn't you?”
When they turned, it was to see Illuga leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched them with his Captain Illuga is very disappointed in you stare.
“No.”
“Yes he did.”
Flins clicked his teeth and shrugged his shoulders, trying to throw Rerir off, much to no avail.
“You two,” Illuga sighed, a fond smile on his face before he pushed away from the countertop. “I’m going to take a shower. You better behave in the meantime.”
They did behave, because they always did — in a way — so when Illuga came back, his hair still damp and his cheeks rosy from the heat of the water, it was to find Flins sitting down at the end of the couch in the living room with Rerir’s head in his lap. The poor couch was not meant for two men of their height, but they made it work.
At least Illuga was small enough for him to make no difference as he climbed on Rerir’s lap, leaning down on his chest to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he pushed himself up enough for Flins’ mouth to press gently against his forehead.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Illuga asked.
Well, if Flins had his way…
With a grumble and his arms going around Illuga’s wait, Rerir pulled him down back on top of him, his grip so secure that Illuga couldn’t even struggle as he went down.
“Nothing, we do nothing.”
That worked too.
“We can’t just do nothing,” Illuga protested, his voice muffled into Rerir’s chest and Flins found himself chuckling.
“Watch me.”
Oh, how he loved them.
“Go on, little fae,” Rerir said, his eyes snapping up to Flins. “Start that tale of yours you wanted to share.”
“Of course.”
Soon enough, Illuga stopped struggling, and Rerir’s hold on him turned gentler, enough for Illuga to squirm in his embrace to find a better position for himself as Flins went on with his tale. They really must look a sight; Flins sitting there prim and proper while sharing stories of yore while his fingers ran through Rerir’s hair, the man on his back with his feet dangling from the other end of the couch.
And then, curled like a little kitten seeking warmth and comfort, Illuga on top of Rerir, their fingers laced as Illuga played with Rerir’s hand, his breathing even and his lips parted as he was clearly fighting the pull of sleep once more.
Whatever they’d do for the rest of the day it really did not matter that much, Flins knew.
As long as the three of them were there, the day would be wonderful no matter what.