Work Text:
Lestallum is hot .
It’s almost too hot, muggy and overbearing even after the sun has gone down. The temperature barely easing off as Regis tries to sleep and pulls him from well earned rest earlier than he’d planned.
It doesn’t help that Clarus’ arm is heavy over him, warm and solid and -
Wonderful .
Clarus’ arm might not help with the heat, that’s true enough, but Regis doesn’t want it to go away. Clarus is always close at night and Regis would rather melt to death than ever say anything to discourage this natural inclination to cuddle in his sleep.
Never perturbed by something as inconsequential as temperature Clarus shifts closer, nose nuzzling against the back of Regis’ neck and his bare stomach touching the scant inches of skin revealed where Regis’ t-shirt rose up in his sleep. Regis holds as still as possible, trying not to give into the desire to inch backwards, to press closer and tighter along his friend’s body.
This doesn’t mean anything to Clarus, this is just his subconscious seeking the easy affection he doles out in his waking hours, his preference for physical displays over grand verboseness.
But to Regis it means something - he wants it to mean something.
He wants it to mean everything.
Regis wants Clarus to reach out for him in his waking hours, not to pull him from danger and shield him from harm but simply because he wants Regis close. Simply because he wants Regis.
It’s not meant to be, Regis knows. Clarus teases and flirts, but he teases and flirts with everyone except perhaps Cid and Cor. Regis is not special to him, not like that , not when Clarus can and has his pick of lords and ladies alike - seducing the sons of politicians and coupling with the strong women of Lestallum all whilst, somehow, always being there for Regis any time he has need of him.
The decision to move closer or not is taken away from him when Clarus moves him, forearm bracing across his chest and tugging him back. A sigh whispers against the back of his neck and Regis shivers, Clarus' breath catching on the hairs suddenly stood on end.
It would take absolutely nothing at all for that breath to turn to lips, a soft caress against sleep warmed skin covered over in anticipatory gooseflesh.
Someone pounds on the door so hard it rattles and Clarus is awake in a heartbeat, pushing up on one arm in preparation of a perceived threat.
“Breakfast in five,” Cid calls gruffly through the door.
Clarus exhales slowly and gives Regis’ hip a bracing pat before pulling away completely and swinging himself off the bed.
Regis stays in bed for four of the five minutes Cid allowed them, not because he is particularly tired but because it's much easier to watch his Shield move about the room broad and bare chested to gather his things and provides him a blanket with which to cover his burning cheeks as he does.
-
They don’t have anything to do in Lestallum.
They’d handed in their hunts yesterday evening when they’d arrived - eschewing their payment to put back into the coffers and boost the rewards of easier, safer hunts. Regis has been sent out to help his people, to get to know them before he's trapped behind the wall for good. Forever. Regis will not take money from them to make his way when it's so completely unnecessary.
“Maybe we should head out,” Cor says, military cap perched perfectly on his head as always.
“We already paid for a second night at the Leville,” Weskham reminds him.
Cor shifts restlessly and crosses his arms over his chest. He does so hate being completely idle .
“Let’s just refill on supplies,” Weskham suggests. He jostles Cor by the shoulder and when not immediately shoved away slips one around them and turns their youngest friend towards the main thoroughfare of the city.
“I caught Clarus reading the fire evacuation manual yesterday so I hazard a guess he wouldn’t mind a trip to the bookstore,” Wesk continues as everyone falls into step behind him and Cor.
No one really looks at them as they meander through the streets. It's both surprising and oddly pleasing to Regis. Often he'll be recognised once he starts talking, when people get to look at his face for a solid stretch of time and they'll recognise his face from where he often stands behind his father during televised addresses.
Being recognised has benefits and drawbacks, but the taste of anonymity is nice.
“That’s my job ,” Clarus tries to argue.
Cid hrmphs . “Like you wouldn’t just pick our little prince up and run out of the building at the first sign of smoke.”
Clarus laughs but doesn’t argue further and Regis tries not to picture it in his mind. Being picked up and carried by Clarus – carelessly and effortlessly slung over his shoulder as he's carried away from harm.
It's intriguing to think about, appealing in it's very baseness and also utterly unlikely to ever happen.
Regis is not quite so desperate that he’ll consider setting fire to the Leville.
Besides, being rescued in such a way would only reinforce the fact that his friend is his Shield first and everything else second.
Down one particular alley – a favourite of theirs – sits a nice liquor store who's door faces that of a bookstore. The decision to split up is simple, Regis goes with Clarus, which would be his preference even if it weren’t deemed necessary.
The notion that Regis would ever prefer perusing wine bottles he holds almost no preference for as yet and watching his heart’s desire fulfil one of theirs is laughable.
Cor waits outside, perfectly poised between both stores to keep an eye on both. The young Crownsguard has no real interest in the stock of one and isn’t technically old enough to consume much of what’s offered by the other.
Clarus loses Regis quite quickly inside the store. Or, more likely, Clarus loses himself, vanishing between tall shelves in the blink of an eye. Regis is content to wander alone, using his familiarity of Regis' tastes to select something for him. He plucks the first of a saga from a shelf, the first tome thick and heavy enough to keep even a reader voracious as Clarus busy for some time.
Clarus isn’t fussy about what he reads – he’s flicked through the dictionary before when there’s nothing else to amuse him - but he is fussy about what he enjoys .
Clarus reads because he needs to, some fundamental part of him not quite satisfied without taking in the written word. With his entire being he allows himself to fall into fictional tales that capture him, fulfilling a need for adventure and variety that is not met in his day to day existence.
Regis finds Clarus not lost between the stacks of books as he’d imagined but leaning up against the front counter speaking with the pretty girl that works here.
Not just talking to her but flirting with her. That much is obvious by the way her fingers twist into her tumble of chestnut coloured curls and the spots of pink that bloom across her cheek when a smirk accompanies whatever Clarus says next.
There’s just one book on the counter, a measly little thing that’ll last Clarus all of one car ride but it's not surprising Clarus would risk his future enjoyment for a chance of a little fun now. Nothing so meaningless has ever stopped him from such before.
Regis is used to this, is used to arriving for training sessions to find Clarus standing just a little too close to a fellow Crownsguard for it to be casual or finding him at a ball with his hand on the waist of a councilman's daughter he was only introduced to a quarter hour before.
Regis has never liked it but he’s never been in a position to do anything about it either, nor want to if it makes him happy. If Clarus wants to have fun while he’s willing and able then Regis wants him to do it. He does. He just -
Wonders if Clarus could find his fun elsewhere.
Somewhere Regis is never at risk of seeing.
She giggles and leans forward towards his - his friend and Regis’ distaste for what he's watching builds up and up, burning and sour like acid in his chest.
Regis strides forward and slams the book down on the counter with enough force to upend the small display of novelty pens. The girl blinks at him but Regis ignores her.
“Are you done?” he asks Clarus.
“I only have one book,” his friend laughs, “You know that’s not -”
“Two,” Regis says, nudging his selection forward, “I want to leave.”
Clarus’ eyebrows draw down over his dark eyes, pinching almost completely together.
“Is something the matter?” the girl asks.
“I want to leave,” Regis says again.
Clarus stares at him for a long moment, eyes intense and focused. Then he grins , eyebrows softening again as his entire body relaxes.
“Don’t be jealous,” Clarus teases. His voice is low, pitched towards secrecy but she must be able to hear and it boils the acid inside his chest.
They’ve never talked about it – Regis certainly has never talked about it. He's never admitted aloud to the ache in his chest seemingly reserved only for Clarus t. Self aware he may be, but honest he cannot be.
“I’m leaving,” Regis snaps, “And I’m not jealous.”
Regis turns and storms out the door.
Cor looks almost startled at his appearance but steps closer to stand with them.
“They’re not done yet,” Cor tells him.
“I want to go back to the hotel,” Regis says.
Cor frowns but nods, “We should tell the others -”
“Get back here,” Clarus' voice says as he joins them under the Lestallum sun.
Regis scowls over his shoulder, noticing that Clarus is clutching both books in his hand, paper receipt sticking out of the larger one.
“We need to talk about this,” Clarus says and he sounds so infuriatingly calm . Like having a discussion about Regis’ feelings might somehow be easy and meaningless to him.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Regis argues, “I wanted to leave, I left.”
Clarus smiles again and Regis wonders if teasing him like this is the most fun he’s had all week. His shield isn't necessarily cruel – the farthest thing from it – and it must only be his naivety to Regis' feelings that allows him to push on in the manner.
Regis could almost laugh himself - just a few hours ago he was blissfully drowning in his own sleep derived fantasies without even considering the fact he may one day have to face the reality of them in the waking world.
“If you’re jealous we need to discuss. So it doesn't fester,” Clarus says.
Cor shifts uncomfortably beside them and takes an awkward step to the side, turning his back like he’s trying to give them some privacy in this public space.
“Why would I be jealous of you ?” Regis says, attempting calm disinterest and probably falling short. It’s a little difficult to look away from Clarus now that he is looking, the midday sun lighting up his thick mane of hair so it gleams almost burnished gold.
“I don’t know,” Clarus says, “Why would you?”
“Are you two bickering again ?” Cid interrupts.
Weskham sighs, “We left you for twenty minutes.”
“We don’t bicker,” Clarus argues.
“Yes you do,” Cid scoffs.
Cor scuffs his shoe on the ground and adds, “Like an old married couple.”
Clarus flushes a little, a dusting of soft pink on his cheeks and Regis isn’t sure he’s ever seen it happen before, not like this . Flushed with exertion after a tough hunt or sprinting around the training track in the Citadel, certainly, but never from this - never from embarrassment .
“Here,” Wesk says, pushing a full bag of bottles into Clarus’ chest so he’s forced to take them, “Now. What seems to be the problem this time?”
Regis glances at Cor but his youngest friend does nothing to suggest he's considering relaying the things he’d heard Clarus say. Regis always has been able to trust him.
“Nothing,” Clarus says, bracing the bag with one arm so he can rifle through the bottles. They clink together pleasantly and the Shield nods in satisfaction at whatever it is he sees.
Weskham touches his arm and Regis looks up into a face drawn tight in concern.
“Nothing,” Regis echoes.
-
The wine is good , Clarus’ beer almost better.
Regis doesn't get to return to the hotel as he'd demanded but they drink the offerings as afternoon turns to evening and beyond. Splitting bottles over food from the nearby stands and the pack of cards Cid keeps in his pocket. More cards are tossed in frustration than Regis can keep track of and more than one mother glances at them askance as someone swears, caught out in a bluff.
Cid passes Cor one beer and he nurses it slowly throughout the evening, without wincing the way Regis would have at his age, just slowly drinks it down like its nothing more than water.
The sun dips below the horizon and the shard powered lights of Lestallum flicker to life around them. Perhaps they should get to bed soon, with another long way to drive in their future, but Weskham deals out more cards and Cid fetches more skewers. Wordlessly and unanimously it is decided that tomorrow will begin with a leisurely start. Cor doesn’t mind this kind of idle.
Clarus doesn't sit beside or in front of him as he usually chooses, Cor separating much like he does in the car in what feels like a calculated move. Regis doesn't apologise for snapping and Clarus teases him no further. Whenever he gives in and looks at his shield he seems pensive and he loses more hands than he normally would, drinking barely more than Cor.
Regis tries to offer him a smile, to start to soothe over this crack in their relationship like they have managed with all others but Clarus seems determined not to take notice of him.
It’s truly late when they head back to the Leville, all other guests long since gone off to their own beds.
His and Clarus' room is little more than a double bed and a well appointed bathroom. It houses armchairs comfortable enough for Clarus to read in if he’s not yet ready to lay down yet and a coffee table littered with pamphlets for local attractions. They’d visited the important ones right at the start of the road trip, Regis collecting an ancestral weapon and turning tail away from the Archaean on the minuscule chance he might have something to say.
Clarus had steadied him when the ethereal blade of the first king had pierced his chest, the strength going right out of his legs while the blessing had settled over him. Regis wonders if Clarus would do that now or if he would keep his distance the way he has done all evening.
Regis wonders if he should have asked to sleep in the other room tonight, braved the empty spot next to Cid or sent Weskham off to be snuggled by Clarus and slipped in beside Cor instead. No one would have agreed, he doubts, Clarus had split them up the way he did because that’s what’s safest and never has a disagreement between them made him neglect his duty before.
“Are you ready to talk to me now?” Clarus asks.
Is he -?
It’s not him that’s at fault here. He hasn’t been doing the not-talking, that’s all on Clarus. Of all the preposterous things -
It makes that acid climb again, not forgotten as Regis had hoped but dormant until prodded once more.
Regis turns his back and starts to undress, shedding his jacket and pulling his shirt free from his waistband.
“Reg,” Clarus says and a heavy hand settles on Regis shoulder. Regis spins around, away from it and takes a step back.
“You have no reason to be jealous,” Clarus says, “I don’t know how you -”
“I’m not jealous,” Regis insists. He feels as though he's said it a thousand time today, more times than he ever has before in his entire life combined.
Clarus steps forward and Regis moves back again. Something of Clarus’ first grin from inside the shop earlier is present in his smile again now.
Clarus hums thoughtfully and moves even closer. Regis attempts to keep the same two arm spans of distance between them but his back collides with the wall after just a few more steps.
“Okay,” Clarus says, “You’re not jealous.”
He moves right into Regis’ space, palm flat against the wood beside his head. Clarus is so big, his arms so long that it doesn’t bring them that close together, certainly not unusually close, but Regis has never been so aware of his body before, not the breadth of his impressive shoulders or the rich hints of his almost gone aftershave.
“I think I’m going to kiss you,” Clarus says, like they’re in the midst of a normal conversation and this is a normal thing to announce, “Or I’d like to at least. If you don’t mind.”
Clarus inches just a little closer and Regis’ mouth works but no sound comes out.
“Tell me not to,” Clarus promises, “And I won’t.”
A hand, all rough padded fingers and warm skin, cups Regis’ jaw, thumb barely brushing the corner of Regis’ mouth. Regis shivers.
Regis wants to pull him close, to shove their mouths together roughly and not pull apart until their panting desperately for breath – perhaps not even then.
This is all just a charade, some kind of trick on Clarus’ part and Regis should be smart and shove him away, not play into this game that has the power to hurt him so terribly. If Clarus knew how Regis really felt - if he could sense the longing building and twisting into form right next to his heart - he would never do this to him, he knows. Regis should push him away to preserve himself and not take advantage of his friend’s teasing spirit simply to have a taste of what he’s always wanted.
Clarus’ body presses right up along his own and Regis holds steady, baited breath and almost quivering with eager nerves.
Their noses brush together in a deliberate touch, a sweet shot of affection that makes Regis’ belly turn over even before Clarus’ mouth is covering his own, firm without being forceful. Before he knows what’s happening Regis has his fists clenched in the front of Clarus’ shirt.
It’s everything while almost nothing at all. Clarus doesn’t pry his mouth apart and plunder him greedily with his tongue like Regis has imagined under the security of his thick duvet back home. Clarus simply presses their mouths together over and over, almost chaste in it’s illusion of sincerity, his thumb stroking across Regis’ cheek and his pinky finger trailing almost aimlessly along his jaw.
When Clarus pulls apart his eyes are intense, dark and almost foreboding - his breath a little short though this could have taken very little effort from him.
“Better?” Clarus teases.
Regis shoves at his chest, a bucket of ice water tossed over the warmth building inside him, and Clarus moves just enough for Regis to duck under his arm.
“Reg,” Clarus says but Regis ignores him, quickly finishing taking off his shirt and stripping down to his under-shirt and boxers without responding. He’s shaking, adrenaline pounding through his body and making the task difficult. Regis is still breathing heavily when he slides onto the bed, pushing himself right up to the edge so there’s more than enough space for Clarus to join him without having to lay close.
He’s an idiot .
He should have said no . How is he supposed to go on now? Now that he’s felt what its like to be so close, now that he can so clearly picture in his mind what its like to be affectionately held by Clarus of his own will - know how to imagine it would be if all Clarus wanted from Regis was the sweetness of a kiss .
The bed shifts, blankets lifting and mattress dipping.
“Regis,” Clarus whispers.
Regis is still shaking, a tiny shiver he can’t control no matter how tightly he clutches the blankets.
There's no way Clarus can truly believe his affectation of sleep but he crosses the mattress all the same and hooks his arm over Regis’ waist like he does every night.
“We don’t have to talk about it if it upsets you,” Clarus sighs, “I never wanted to -”
Clarus cuts himself off and Regis stays silent, eyes squeezed shut to keep up the pointless charade. No matter what just happened Regis doesn’t want Clarus to move away and he breathes easier when his shield remains close, moving even closer so his chest is at Regis’ back and his breath perceptible against his shoulder.
Regis isn’t sure he’d ever have fallen asleep otherwise.
-
“We’re supposed to be heading to Meldacio to see if there’s anyway to help the hunters,” Regis says. He cups both hands around his coffee and breathes in the smell - almost as invigorating as consuming it will be and often much more pleasant than the drinking.
“I feel like we could all use a breather,” Weskham says, holding his own coffee in a similar manner, “Unless you’re eager to get our tasks done and be on our way home.”
“Definitely not ,” Regis says. Home is comfortable, certainly, but being on the road with his friends is free . They only camp when the weather is fine and sleep in hotels and motels when it's not. It’s fun watching Wesk enjoy conquering the challenge of the campfire, experimenting with whatever Cor and Clarus manage to bring back from their excursions.
Regis wishes he could settle his feelings, bury them back down as he had done in Insomnia and continue on as they had been. He wishes he hadn’t reacted so strongly yesterday, that he had never given Clarus a reason to call him jealous, to tease him and goad him with a kiss he could never have again.
“I thought as much,” Weskham says, “And Caem was lovely last time we were there - rejuvenating. It will give Cid a chance to poke around the lighthouse again.”
Regis hums and sips some of his coffee. “Cor will be annoyed to be delaying more hunts.”
Wesk smiles but it only lasts briefly. He touches Regis’ arm.
“Everything with you and Clarus, it’ll be alright?”
Regis nods carelessly, like there’s nothing to worry about.
But he’d slid from the bed this morning as soon as he’d woken, Clarus jerking awake when his arm had slipped from his waist onto the mattress. Regis had ducked into the bathroom to shower quickly and change, disappearing into the other bedroom before Clarus could even attempt to convince him into a conversation had he been intending to do so.
Regis holds Clarus no ill will, as he suspects his Shield fears, he just needs a little time to get his thoughts in order - to bury them again – and afterwards he’s sure things will go back to normal.
His sleep had been unhelpfully plagued; intense dreams only exacerbated when he’d woken up with Clarus along his spine, arm heavy on his waist and breath scorching against the back of his neck. They had been nice dreams, the kind he would have languished in had he been alone, settled back and thought about all his favourite details as he’d dealt with the morning arousal straining the front of his boxers.
In his fantasy it’s no trouble at all for Clarus to move his own hand between Regis’ legs, cup him in his large palm and tease him until he’s twitching and messy in his boxers. Regis would roll over onto his back and Clarus would climb straight between his parted legs, his own cock hard and ready against Regis’ hip and -
And this is exactly why Regis needs some time to cool off . A little space to clear his head so these things are not so easily dwelt upon.
A casual touch from Clarus is likely to set him ablaze right now and the markedly less than chaste thoughts bouncing around his head feel unfair to his oldest friend.. Clarus may be casual with his physical attentions, no matter how intimate they may be but that doesn’t give Regis the right to take advantage of him in his own mind.
“We’ll be alright,” Regis says. He’s sure they will.
And sure it’ll be his fault if they’re not.
-
Cor fills the middle seat in the car.
An arrangement based only on a love of teasing Cor about his age and not because he's actually the most suited to it. Regis would perhaps be the most comfortable there but Clarus and Wesk unanimously decreed the safest spot is the one behind the driver and that is where Regis eternally sits.
Clarus reads for the whole journey, once again only talking only to Regis in conversations where everyone is involved so it feels like he is not speaking to him at all. The book in his hand is the one Regis picked out for him and Regis tries not to let the affectionate twinge in his chest overtake him when he realises.
Lestallum to Caem is one of the drives with the best scenery to observe, particularly in the second half. Regis is able to rest his chin in his palm and push his more troublesome thoughts out of his mind for a while as the scenery changes from city to country to coast as late morning turns to early afternoon.
Wesk is right, Regis thinks, a few days of salt fresh sea air and exploring the tide pools and small caves hidden on the Caem coast is just what he needs. Yet when the car is parked in the lay-by at the bottom of the hill and Cid says something about getting unpacked before getting started on dinner Regis doesn’t think he can bear to sit still, or be confined to a home small enough he’ll have to make himself alone to avoid staring at Clarus.
“I’d like to go for a walk,” Regis announces as they make their way up the hill.
Clarus had taken Regis bag from the trunk of the car along with his own before he could grab it himself and looked at Regis with such honest hope the prince had breathed an earnest thank you and turned away before his face could colour.
Even here Regis cannot be left completely alone, the cape is not open to the public but there’s nothing specifically in place to prevent someone with ill intentions wandering in and attempting to cause harm. Regis looks at Clarus with almost a challenge, daring him to refuse his prince the pleasure of a walk when he's asked for one.
If Clarus comes Regis will not fight him about it and perhaps after a lap around the vegetable garden he could find it in him to draw him into a conversation.
Clarus adjusts the bags he’s holding so one is over his shoulder and he’s got a free hand to hold out.
“Cor,” Clarus says, reaching for the young soldier’s bag, “Go with him.”
“Sir,” Cor agrees.
Regis catches the flicker of Wesk and Cid turning to glance at one another but avoids looking at it, spinning on his heel to continue climbing the heel. He hears Cor’s footsteps behind him, hurried at first, then settling again as the distance is closed between them.
Regis is almost disappointed .
He’d wanted Clarus to follow him, for his devotion to him in at least this to hold steady and strong even when Regis is acting as though he wishes it weren't true.
Silently they climb until the ground flattens out the first time, a smooth patch of slightly overgrown grass that leads to an overlook of sorts - a short wooden fence rail allowing a decent view of the cove and the rushing waters waiting for them on the shore.
Regis rests both forearms against the railing and leans into it. The wood creaks as Cor rests his weight against it as well.
“So, uh. What did you and Clarus fight about?” Cor asks.
“Nothing,” Regis says reflexively. He glances at Cor’s face but his friend seems pleasantly impassive, not even a twitch of his brow to suggest he doesn’t believe Regis.
Regis sighs and scrubs his hand across his face.
“He kissed me,” Regis admits, “We kissed.”
“That’s good,” Cor says, “Finally - right?”
Regis shifts so that only one of his arms is resting against the rail, his body turned more fully towards Cor.
To say he is shocked would be an understatement.
“You like each other,” Cor says and he rolls his eyes, “Even I can tell.”
“No it’s -”
“You need to get better at being a liar before you’re King,” Cor points out.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Regis says.
Cor does look surprised at that, one eyebrow shifting slightly up towards his hat.
“Doesn’t mean what?”
“He was teasing me. Making fun of me - when we kissed,” Regis rushes on, “It was just a joke to him. I mean. The whole thing was a joke.”
“If you think Clarus would mess with your feelings like that, maybe you two don’t know each other as well as I thought,” Cor says.
“He’s not doing it on purpose, he doesn’t -”
Cor pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs so deeply that his resemblance to Cid in that moment almost makes Regis laugh.
“Of course he knows,” Cor tells him flatly, “Everybody knows.”
That was something that Regis hadn’t seriously considered. That Clarus could possibly know the true affection Regis holds in his heart for him.
“Why did he never say anything?”
It’s remarkably unlike Clarus to leave anything left unsaid that could be resolved upon once said.
Cor shrugs, “Now you’re really getting into the stuff I don’t understand.” Cor leans forward, mimicking Regis’ earlier position.
“Why don’t you guess,” Regis suggests.
Wesk would be the better person to talk to about this, but with Weskham comes almost too much understanding sometimes. Weskham always has to fix , to solve a problem laid in his lap. Clarus allows for venting and posturing, a run on of meaningless ideas that don’t necessarily require attention.
It is not lost on Regis that the person most helpful to him right now is the one person he’s not sure he can face. Clarus, his best friend and closest confidant. If this dilemma were about anyone but him Regis would already be in the house and pouring his heart out.
Cor scratches his nose.
“Why did you never say anything?” Cor asks him.
Regis doesn't answer and Cor sighs.
“My guess , is that he was leaving it up to you to make a move for whatever reason.”
“And it's not that - that he doesn’t return my feelings? That he doesn’t just feel obligated -”
“Woah,” Cor says, straightening up quickly, “ Nothing Clarus does for you is out of obligation. Not even the stuff that probably should be.”
Regis frowns.
“You think he carries your bag because that’s his job? Or he thinks you can’t handle it?” Cor shakes his head, “He does it because he likes to take care of you. Any way that he can.”
“I thought you said you didn’t understand this stuff,” Regis says, attempting to tease.
“I don’t,” Cor snorts, “I heard him say it a few weeks ago - Cid was calling him out for spoiling you and Clarus essentially said ‘good, that was my intention’ and told him to screw off.”
“Oh,” Regis breathes.
Cor smirks and gestures further up the hill.
“Did you want to finish your walk or should we go back to the house?”
They go back to the house.
Regis breezes straight past Cid and Weskham in the main room when it’s obvious that Clarus isn’t with them. He takes the short flight of stairs two at a time and bursts into the smaller of the bedrooms while his resolve is still firm.
He has to try .
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as Wesk would say.
Maybe it can’t be forever, maybe Cor is wrong and it can’t even be for right now but Regis will never know if he doesn’t just -
“I think I may have made a mistake,” Regis says to announce himself.
Clarus looks up in surprise from where he's unpacking his bag - slotting his things into the drawer right alongside Regis’.
“Reg,” Clarus breathes, “Are you alright - what kind of mistake?”
“Yesterday when you kissed me…was it - did you mean it?”
Clarus only looks more surprised.
“Of course I meant it,” Clarus says, “But if it's not - if you don’t want -”
“You weren’t just teasing me?”
Clarus opens his mouth and snaps it shut again.
“I was teasing you yesterday,” Clarus says carefully, “But I meant the kiss, the kiss was not a joke to me.”
Hope blooms in Regis' chest, bright and vibrant and beautiful.
“I was jealous,” Regis blurts.
Clarus half smiles and something flutters in Regis’ chest.
“I know.”
“But not of you. Of her .”
Clarus' smile is full now. The edge of a tease is jus t noticeable for how well Regis knows him.
“I know .”
Regis rushes forward four steps and Clarus startles enough to take one back but its not far enough to put him out of Regis’ reach when he puts both hands on Clarus’ shoulders and pulls him down into a kiss.
This time Clarus does kiss him like Regis dreamt about in his lonely bed, large hands spanning his waist and tugging him closer, taking advantage of Regis’ gasp when their hips press together to sweep in with his tongue and steal the rest of his breath away.
Fingertips press into his hips through the layers of his casual wear, pin points of possessiveness unlike anything Regis has ever had the fortune to experience before.
Their second kiss lasts much longer than the first, Clarus keeping Regis literally on his toes to have the leverage to plunder his mouth, but like all beautiful things it does end. Regis is utterly breathless when it's over and Clarus brushes soft kisses against the edge of his mouth and along the curve of his cheek.
“Better?” he asks.
Regis laughs and falls properly onto the flats of his feet, resting his forehead against Clarus’ chest so that, if he concentrates, he can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Hands smooth up Regis spine and he feels utterly content in this moment.
“Reg, what I said yesterday,” Clarus says.
“Hmm?”
“About you having no reason to be jealous, I meant it,” Clarus says.
Regis scoffs playfully, “Yes the wildly different expanses of our experience attests to that.”
Clarus squeezes him tighter and presses his mouth into Regis’ fine hair.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“You could have anyone Clarus,” Regis mutters, trying not to sound bitter, “And I don’t know if we can -”
“None of that. I can have anyone -” Regis can hear his grin though he doesn’t pull away to look at it lest it break his own resolve to be serious “- I’ve had plenty. But if the choice is between any one of them, every one of them, and you, I know what I chose.”
“The pretty girl in the book store?”
Clarus drags his fingers up to Regis’ ribs and digs them in playfully, tickling Regis until his legs almost give way and Clarus is forced to cease or knock his prince to the ground.
“Regis,” Clarus says softly, and a hand touches his jaw to bring his face back up for another kiss.
Like most things Regis enjoys they are interrupted by a knock on the door. Weskham doesn’t bother to wait for a signal before peering in which means they’re mostly still wrapped in each other’s arms when he gets his eyes on them.
Weskham’s eyebrows raise a fraction but instead of commenting he says, “The housekeeper left us a note on the table.”
“Something amiss?” Clarus asks. Regis attempts to step away but Clarus stops him from getting too far by putting a hand on his hip and pulling him back close again.
Regis could get entirely too used to such things.
“Not exactly,” Wesk says, “Seems there’s something troublesome on the coast making it out of bounds. She was going to put in a request with the hunters but - “
“If it’s serious then me, Clarus and Cor will see to it,” Regis says at once.
Smiling Weskham says, “I thought you’d say that. I’ll prepare for dinner under the assumption it’ll be seafood so if we can’t eat whatever it is you're about to kill make sure to catch a few crabs before you come back.”
-
It’s a messy fight.
Not in a near miss kind of way, but in the literal sense. They’re walking back up the hill with barely a scratch between them - Clarus and Cor both hefting giant claws over their shoulders for Weskham to take a crack at for dinner.
It started raining almost as soon as they reached the bottom of the hill, an unanticipated storm rolling over in a thick blanket of grey clouds. It's the only reason the fight took as long as it did, the three of them sliding and stumbling in the mud as they dodged around the creature's tail and grasping claws.
Clarus had stepped in front of Regis to shield him from a blow and Cor landed a hit that had the retaliatory attack knocking him clean onto his back. Cor had rolled away from the next blow completely unharmed but by the time Clarus had wrenched his sword free from it’s twitching corpse they were all in need of a hot drink and a hotter shower.
If there’s one drawback to Caem - and it's never been a drawback until now - it’s that it only has two bathrooms, one off each bedroom. They send Cor off to one, by far the messiest of the three of them, and after a little persuading Regis convinces Clarus to take the first shift in the other so long as Regis has a chance to scrub his hands and face first.
Outer clothes discarded in a heap by the door Clarus continues to strip as Regis makes his way into the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him and turning the tap in the sink on to warm. It’s just shy of scorching when he sticks his hands under the water, scrubbing the dirt off his skin and from under his nails.
He happens to glance up as he’s rinsing hand soap from his fingers and Clarus is behind him in the mirror. Regis catches sight of his chest hair first and the trail of it down his torso is so enticing Regis follows it with his eyes -
Heat rushes to his cheeks so fast it’s almost a prickling pain. Clarus chuckles behind him, stepping closer to brush a kiss against the edge of his jaw.
“Cute,” Clarus murmurs and Regis expects to feel shame or annoyance but instead it just stirs a pleasant feeling in his gut.
Clarus pats his hip affectionately.
“Run the tub?”
“A bath?” Regis asks.
“We didn’t warm up properly before the fight,” Clarus says very seriously. Too serious, in fact, to be genuinely sincere. “A soak is the best way to relax the muscles after such a thing.”
“Oh,” Regis breathes. He dares to turn his head and capture Clarus’ mouth, aware that further discussion needs to be had by them but wanting to live in the here and now at least for a short while. It's a relief anyway, to be able to act on his impulses without fear. Regis pulls away as quickly as he’d pushed forward, moving to the tub and only allowing himself to glance at Clarus again when the shower door opens.
Clarus is impressive that much is certain. But Regis had already known this, has seen Clarus undressed before, though never to this extreme. He’s broad in all the right places, thick with muscles and dusted in dark hair and the darker lines of his tattoo. Regis longs to fun his fingers over all of it.
Water rushes from the dual tap noisily, a steady stream that rapidly fills the porcelain with water hot enough to soothe . Clarus hums as he showers, a bright little melody likely to play on loop in Regis' mind long after Clarus stops.
Regis sorts through the bottles lining the edge of the bath, discarding anything too floral or citrus without even testing it. Eventually he selects a bottle labelled black pepper and ginseng which smells unfamiliar but like it will be at home on Clarus’ skin. He adds in a healthy pour and watches the bubbles start to froth up, forming a thin layer on the surface of the water as the tub continues to fill.
Behind him the shower stops and Regis turns to watch Clarus climb out, not bothering to wrap himself in a towel as he all but struts over. Regis lets his eyes take in the fine black detail of his eagle tattoo and no lower. Proud of himself for not ducking his head like a bashful maiden.
Regis gets another pat on the hip as Clarus steps round him, sinking into the water while it's still filling. When he’s fully submerged and everything truly enticing hidden from view, Regis allows his eyes to wander again, imagining all the things he’d caught a glimpse of before.
“You know,” Clarus says, “You fought hard today, too.”
“Thank you.”
Clarus laughs. “I wasn’t paying you a compliment - well not only a compliment.”
Regis blinks down at him, admittedly distracted by the charming display Clarus makes but not sure that’s entirely to blame for the fact he can’t seem to put together whatever Clarus is trying to tell him.
Clarus laughs again, his chuckle fond and rich.
“You deserve a soak too,” Clarus says.
“Oh,” Regis says, “Perhaps when you’re finished -”
“Plenty of space,” Clarus interrupts.
That’s not exactly true . Regis could fit in at the other end, but there will be no sense of personal space, no way to stop their legs overlapping, slick skin limbs entwined under the water.
“If you don’t mind,” Regis says without thinking about it.
“You might want to rinse off first,” Clarus says, “Not that I mind a bit of filth -”
Regis flushes scarlet again and rolls his eyes.
“Incorrigible,” he mutters.
Without saying any more he walks back across the room, turning the shower on and keeping his back to Clarus as he removes the rest of his clothes. Clarus whistles as Regis pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs and he feels a strange pull in the base of his abdomen at the very thought of his body being appealing to Clarus in some way.
Regis isn’t sure what his preference really is - men, he thinks, though women are not un appealing to him. He’s even less sure of Clarus’ preference, not sure there really is one at all. He’s lain with men and women alike since the time Regis became aware that was something Clarus did. His choices seem to be attractive people that found Clarus attractive in turn.
Confidence fails when he’s finished the quickest shower of his life and he grabs a towel when he steps out, loosely draping it around his hips to cover up the parts of him Clarus has never had the opportunity to see before. Clarus is leaning forward to turn the tap off as he approaches.
“Do you want me to cover my eyes?” Clarus teases and he raises a hand to do so, spreading his fingers so he can peek through.
“ Clarus ,” Regis sighs, trying not to laugh.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs and he actually does close his eyes this time, turning his face away as though he doesn’t trust himself not to give into temptation, “I’ll behave.”
Regis drops the towel to the ground with a flump that feels too loud and steps into the water at the opposite end of the bath to Clarus. At first he tries to keep his legs tucked up close to his chest to be unobtrusive but Clarus feels him sit and peeks one eye open first then uncovering his face. Clarus taps Regis’ thigh with his foot and tentatively he extends them over his shield's lap. Clarus' seizes one of his feet almost at once, working his thumbs into the sole of his foot.
Nothing is said for a long time and Regis watches Clarus work at his feet, intense and focused as he massages every ounce of stress out of him. Regis can’t fully recline without knocking his head against the metal taps and Clarus seems to notice it the same time Regis does. He drops Regis’ foot and Regis cannot stop the faint noise of disappointment from escaping his throat.
“Come here,” Clarus suggests, holding his hand out, “Bet your shoulders are tense too.”
Regis hesitates, eyeing him warily. Regis wants to, boy does he ever want to but he also appreciates what might happen if he sits himself in Clarus’ naked lap when they’ve not even discussed anything. Clarus raises one eyebrow just a fraction and Regis' resolve crumbles.
Large hands manoeuvre his hips beneath the water so his back is to Clarus’ chest and as his ass settles against Clarus’ thighs he feels the hard length of him against the small of his back. Regis gasps and Clarus kisses his shoulder, soothing his hands from his hips to his waist and back again in a soft caress.
“Sorry about that,” he says, not sounding sorry at all and dropping another hint of affection against his skin.
Regis feels his own cock stir to life as Clarus’ hands move over him, his nerves perhaps having held him back before.
“You can be forgiven I suppose,” Regis sighs.
Regis drops his head back against Clarus’ shoulder and he takes advantage of his bared throat by attacking it with his lips, the barest hint of teeth appearing to nip the junction of his shoulder. Fingers trail over ribs and across Regis' chest , slowly making their way back around to the thickest part of his shoulders. Clarus’ hands are heaven , noticeably warm even in the water , solidly pressing into every knot Regis didn’t know he had.
A moan warbles out of him but he feels too good to be embarrassed by it, inhaling sharply when the erection at his back twitches at the noise.
“Clarus,” Regis says breathlessly, “Shouldn’t we talk?”
“What is there to talk about?”
“Us?” Regis says, “What we want, what we are?”
“What do you want?” Clarus asks. Clarus kneads harder at his shoulder and another noise punches out of Regis’ chest, somewhere between a gasp and a groan.
“You,” Regis says, feeling soft and honest, “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”
“Well then, that’s all that matters,” Clarus says. Another kiss to his neck then Clarus nuzzles his nose into the wet strands of hair behind Regis’ ear.
“But what about you?”
“Regis,” Clarus sighs, “I want you , however you’ll have me.”
Regis forces himself to pull away from the heaven of Clarus’ hands and turn slightly where he’s perched on his lap. Placing one hand on Clarus’ firm chest he looks into deep brown eyes, softened to almost sleepiness with affection.
There’s a thousand things they should talk about, check they’re both satisfied with. This may not be able to last forever and even if it can there will be some fundamental change coming. At least one of them will probably have to get married in the future but Regis knows from his own parents' marriage that a wedding and a child does not preclude someone from all other entanglements.
So he should ask if all of that is okay with Clarus but instead he picks out some of the lighter honey-toned flecks in Clarus’ eyes and teases, “And you don’t mind abandoning all your other suitors for me?”
Clarus smirks and tugs Regis closer by the hip until Regis is forced to part his thighs over Clarus’, straddling him as he tangles his fingers into wet strands of thick hair.
“Now who’s being incorrigible,” Clarus teases. Almost reverently he cups Regis’ jaw and draws him close to kiss, a series of soft pecks that belay the hardness of the cock resting against Regis’ thigh.
“You don’t even know what that means ,” Regis accuses.
The noise Clarus makes is almost a growl .
“I absolutely made it into the I's when I started the dictionary a while back.”
Clarus returns to kissing him again before Regis can reply and there’s nothing remotely chaste about it this time.
Hands wander eagerly, though seemingly content to remain mostly above his waist, just occasionally dipping below to palm the curve of his ass and use it to try and drag him closer.
Regis is the one to try and move things along even though he has, by far, the least experience. He reaches into the water to wrap his fingers around Clarus’ length but he only gets one exploratory stroke before Clarus gently takes his wrist in his hand and tugs it back out of the water.
Clarus frees his mouth from Regis’ and softens the blow of both rejections by kissing across the pads of his fingers, water wrinkled surely but Clarus makes no complaint.
“Not here.”
“Why not?” Regis demands, trying to free his hand.
“For starters, you deserve better than a first time in a bathtub where our friends are likely to overhear,” Clarus says. Regis flushes again , not ashamed of this but certainly a little embarrassed Clarus had known without being explicitly told. “And secondly. Dinner will be ready any minute and I’m famished .”
Regis had been so consumed by all his other desires he had not noticed the pangs of a different hunger.
“I suppose you’re right,” Regis allows.
“Bound to happen once in a while,” Clarus says. He pats Regis on the ass playfully, “Up you get before I change my mind.”
Regis sneaks just a few more kisses before he concedes.
-
Dinner is lively, the awkwardness from yesterday long forgotten in today's good cheer. They share a large pot of chowder and fresh baked soda-bread family style around the wooden table.
More cards are had when they're done eating and they head upstairs for a few rounds of darts to solve some sort of posturing match between Clarus and Weskham Regis doesn't manage to follow.
The dartboard hangs in the room Clarus unpacked their bags earlier and its only when the darts are over - Clarus just scoring a victory he’s liable to brag about for days - and Cor simply throws himself down on the second bed that Regis realises he and Clarus will not be alone tonight.
It would be tempting , but ultimately unfair to ask Cor to sleep in the other room, force him and Weskham onto the same mattress when it would leave an empty one in here.
Instead he enjoys the sweetness of Clarus’ hands slipping beneath his pyjamas as he cuddles in, skin against skin as he cradles Regis back against his chest. Clarus won’t allow anything else, pinning Regis still when he tries to wiggle and grind back against him and eventually pushing his thigh between Regis' to pin one leg to the mattress and limit his movements even further despite his own obvious enjoyment of Regis' actions.
“Behave,” Clarus whispers roughly against his ear, “You’ll traumatise Cor.”
Cor isn’t quite the light sleeper Clarus is but it’s close. The unfamiliar noise of a moan shattering the air is sure to be enough to startle him from sleep so while Regis wants like he’s never wanted before he succumbs to the feel of Clarus softly petting his back rather than focusing on the sheer weight of the thigh between his own and falls asleep with the same surprising ease as the night before.
- - -
They spend most of the next day making use of the coast they'd made safe.
Weskham collects mussels and all sorts of other little shellfish that Regis doesn’t recognise and wouldn’t trust anyone but Weskham to cook for him.
Cid even joins them, spending the day sitting in his camp chair on the haven, working on a new mod for the Weskham's firearm while he has the opportunity to tinker. Clarus carries his tool box down for him and he seems content to watch the others at what amounts to play while he works.
Nothing has really changed behind them, Regis finds, not in the way they exist together. Clarus somehow manages to be affectionate without overbearing or drawing more reaction from their friends than Cor rolling his eyes and looking away.
When Clarus disappears after dinner Regis thinks nothing of it, knowing he’s safe around the fire with the others and understanding that even someone like Clarus needs time alone now and again.
Regis simply hopes he’s not taking this time to think, to reconsider what they’d decided in the pleasantness of hot water and sweet smelling bubbles.
“There you are,” Weskham says when Clarus appears at the edge of the haven again, “All set?”
“All set,” Clarus confirms, “We’ll see you in the morning.” Clarus has two sleeping bags slung over his shoulder and he holds out his hand for Regis to take.
“Have fun,” Cid grunts.
Regis takes Clarus’ hand.
“Where are we going?” Regis asks him as they move away. The others fall into conversation behind them but the thread of it is quickly lost to Regis as they make their way across the rocks.
“Somewhere for a little privacy,” Clarus explains.
Clarus leads him up the hill and past the house towards the lighthouse. Turning off before the stone steps that climbs to it’s base he leads Regis around to the small copse of trees covering one of the stretches of flat land.
Regis hears the crackle of a fire before he sees it, quickening his pace so he’s the one dragging Clarus behind him, eager to set eyes on the place Clarus had made for them. For him.
“This is what you were doing?” Regis asks.
Clarus hums, “You think I left your side for anything other than something for you?”
“Don’t tell me you’re a romantic ,” Regis teases.
“Maybe I am,” Clarus says back. He slows Regis’ quick pace by pulling on his arm, raising it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.
“I can’t wait to find out.”
The fire is small but hearty, a wash of pleasant yellow light in the small clearing. The tent is set up but their bedrolls are laid out by the fire, pillows and blankets stolen from the house piled on top. It's beautiful . A pretty little facsimile of seclusion.
Regis glances up and through the branches of the trees he can see stars glimmering overhead.
“A night under the stars? You are a romantic.”
Clarus swats at his ass and Regis jumps but turns to him anyway, wrapping his free arm around Clarus’ shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss.
“Do you like it?” Clarus asks, voice oddly hushed and Regis realises he’s nervous .
Regis kisses him in answer, nibbling at his bottom lip until he opens up and Clarus takes him by the waist again, tugging firmly so he’s up on his tiptoes like their second first kiss. Clarus takes control of the kiss - of him - hands sliding up his back to trace the curve of his spine. Clarus’ hair is soft and thick and Regis thinks he’ll never tire of tangling his fingers into it, of stroking the length of it and tugging just enough to keep Clarus where he wants him.
“The tent?” Regis asks, forehead pressed against his lover’s. Clarus’ fingers twist into his belt loops and playfully rock him from side to side.
“Just in case it rains again,” Clarus says, “I’ve got a little electric heater and we can curl up together - zip the sleeping bags into one.”
That sounds nice.
“But if it’s alright with you I’d like to have you under the stars, keep you warm between me and the campfire.”
That sounds even nicer.
Regis gifts him another kiss, fleeting and tempting - he hopes - and makes to move closer to their makeshift bed but Clarus tightens his hold on his belt loops and drags him back, reaching to cup his jaw tenderly with one hand.
“I mean it. Only if it’s alright with you.”
Regis rolls his eyes and when he pulls away this time Clarus lets him go. At the edge of the blankets Regis sheds his jacket, warmth of the fire already palpable and steps out of his shoes, stuffing his socks into them for safe keeping. He settles on the side closest to the fire to avoid any arguments and looks up to find Clarus watching him with an expression Regis can’t quite make out.
He looks curious but there’s something else there, something so warm it prickles against Regis' skin as his eyes pass over him and Regis clenches his toes against the blankets. Smoothing a palm over said blankets he looks at Clarus with what he hopes is an alluring expression, patting the spot next to him invitingly.
Clarus also steps out of his shoes, going one step further and stripping to his waist completely so when he settles down beside him the light washes over his bare skin. Regis puts his hands to it at once, fingers gliding over surprisingly soft skin and scratching through the thatch of hair on his chest that trails down, down, down -
“Eager,” Clarus says playfully and his own hand touches Regis’ chest, working up to briefly rub his shoulders and back down again, going for his shirt buttons. Clarus seems to hesitate, taking his time over the first one but Regis doesn’t stop him or ask him to slow down just shifts to grasp Clarus’ biceps to get his own arms out of the way and, perhaps, distract him from his task with more kisses.
None of the shyness he’d felt yesterday arrives. Maybe it's feeling more secure in them , maybe its the knowledge that everyone and everything looks attractive by firelight, but either way it doesn't come.
Slowly his own skin is bared, shirt unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulders first and when Clarus is done exploring the soft lines of his abs and the dip of his waist he reaches for Regis’ belt, pressing kisses to his mouth, his throat and his shoulders all the while. Expertly the belt comes apart under just one of Clarus’ hands, Regis only just managing to get Clarus’ halfway undone before he’s being tumbled onto his back so Clarus can drag his pants and boxers down his legs.
Lips work against his chest, tongue working flat against a nipple to harden it in preparation for the softest bite of teeth. Clarus works a slick trail to the other one as Regis blinks up at the night sky, writhing against soft blankets.
He aches, hard and full against his own hip but Clarus pointedly ignores it. The hands that stroke near, that pins hips flat and bruise into the fleshy part of his thigh only teases him in the absence of touch. Regis is oozing a mess against his belly when Clarus finally pulls back from his chest to look at him, mouth pink and damp.
“Okay?” Clarus murmurs.
Regis nods, too eager to summon words but Clarus must take it for tentativeness for he lays down along his side to cradle Regis' face in his large palm.
This kiss feels different somehow. Clarus offers Regis his tongue and he tastes it quickly before offering his own in return. Teeth clash a little awkwardly as they try to push forward into the same space but it breaks the frisson of tension in the air, soft laughs intermingling in the inch between their mouths.
Regis waits for Clarus to climb over him, bracket Regis between his strong arms and make space for himself between his thighs. Instead he is gently, softly even, encouraged onto his side, back pressed to Clarus’ chest in an echo of how they spend most nights. Clarus’ pants never did come off and the cold metal of his zipper feels chilled against Regis' warm flesh.
“Clarus,” Regis mumbles, “Please.”
“I’ve got you,” Clarus says, “Relax for me.”
Regis reaches back but all he can do is grip onto the heavy fabric of Clarus’ pants with no way to offer any affection of his own. Clarus is hard too, Regis can feel the solid bulge of him pushed up against the curve of his buttocks but has no way to get at him from how Clarus had laid him out.
“Clarus, how do I -”
“Shh,” Clarus whispers in his ear, drawing the lobe briefly between his teeth, “Let me spoil you.”
The heavy arm that would normally drape over Regis’ waist directs a hand down the length of his torso, thumbing a distended nipple just briefly before skating along his ribs slowly, finger tracing each dip and rise like he’s taking the time to count them. Clarus lingers at his hip only long enough for a firm squeeze before travelling directly between Regis’ thighs and encircling his length in his long fingers.
Regis’ hips thrust into his hold without meaning and he draws back a little embarrassed but Clarus hums in what appears to be satisfaction.
“That’s it,” Clarus says, “Whatever you want.”
With no little effort Clarus manages to get his other arm underneath Regis’ side to brace across his chest and hold their torso’s firmly together. Regis’s hips however, he allows free reign to twitch and jerk as Clarus thoroughly explores his cock with teasing fingers.
A thumb swipes across his head and Regis feels dampness spread around then down the length of him and by the time Clarus has made a dozen passes with his loose fist it even sounds wet, the feeling getting better and better with every pass.
There’s almost as much satisfaction as rutting back into Clarus’ bulge as there is in thrusting forward against his palm. Clarus groans whenever Regis truly grinds against him, a little satisfied but a lot of longing too. Whenever he makes a truly delicious noise - that shoots straight to the pit of Regis gut - he turns his mouth to Regis’ throat, not quite remembering to be gentle with his teeth.
Regis relishes the thought of having to wear high collars to hide them, of carrying some secret mark of Clarus’ affection with him always. Perhaps he can have Clarus top them up each night, work the marks raw and fresh under the cover of darkness so Regis always has them in the bright light of day.
He expects Clarus to stop at any time, to say that’s enough or just roll him the rest of the way over to start getting him ready for the next part. But he doesn’t . Even when Regis is gasping and moaning out the words I think I’m going to come , Clarus doesn’t stop. He lets Regis writhe against him, thighs quivering with the strain of clenching down to prevent the rush of his release.
Clarus only makes it harder to resist, tightening his grip around Regis’ cock and working him faster the wet sounds louder now, the slickness almost unbelievable considering it's only come from his cock - drawn out by a talented, relentless hand.
The fire pops, the snap of a long breaking apart.
“Come on,” Clarus says, “Be a good boy, show it to me.” He plucks at Regis’ nipple with his spare hand, an almost brutal pinch.
Regis’ cry pierces the still air and later, when sleep plucks at his mind, he’ll wonder if the noise drifted down to his friends presumably still on the beach.
He comes in a sticky mess , most splattering against his quivering belly but some splashing down onto the blankets.
Clarus works him through, murmuring endearments Regis cannot comprehend for quite some time as he shivers and trembles back to reality. When he blinks his eyes back open he's belly down with Clarus petting along his spine, one of the thinner blankets thrown over him to protect from a non-existent chill.
“Are you back with me?” Clarus laughs, literally walking his fingers up Regis’ back.
Regis manages a garbled noise and rolls himself over, plastering himself against Clarus’ bare chest. If he minds the mess he doesn’t say anything about it.
“What about you, my love?” Regis asks. He tucks his face into Clarus’ neck and breath deeply, his usual rich cologne cut through with the scent of exertion and wood smoke from the fire.
Clarus’ eyes soften, crinkling at the corners in a way Regis has never seen before but now wants to see everyday of forever.
“I’m fine.”
Regis hooks his leg around Clarus’ thigh and feels him there, still rock solid in the confines of his pants.
“I’m not,” Regis says, “Not until you’ve enjoyed yourself too.”
“I did enjoy myself,” Clarus insists. He kisses Regis’ nose but Regis is resolved not to let him get away with such sacrifice.
“Clarus -”
“Will you be terribly upset with me if I tell you how beautiful you are?” Clarus says.
Regis feels his already warm face flush further but rolls his eyes and grabs Clarus’ arm to tug him close as he lays back and attempts to pull Clarus over him. This time Clarus comes, replacing the blanket with his own form, more satisfying and comforting that even the richest of fabrics could ever be.
“What do you want?” Regis asks him.
Regis has wants of his own, stirring to life in his mind and between his legs as he recovers. But if they don’t align with Clarus’ wants he will push them to one side to be fulfilled another day.
“I told you -”
Regis pulls on Clarus’ hair and glares up at him as much as he’s able.
“I want you to do that again,” Clarus says, “But this time I want to be inside you when it happens.”
Regis swallows.
As it so happens his wants align exactly with Clarus’. Words continue to fail him so he demonstrates his eagerness in the way he immediately reaches to finish unfastening Clarus’ pants, fingers shaking a little as they pop the button and drag down the zipper.
Clarus laughs, but it turns into a hiss as the evening air touches his bared flesh. His cock falls heavily against Regis’ belly, full and impressively large it leaves a damp smear along his skin as Clarus presses close reflexively. Distracted as he is by the kiss Clarus bestows him Regis has little else to do with Clarus’ pants being fully discarded, the shield rushing to do it himself. He feels his lover shift above him then the long, muscular length of him is laying close, pressing him into the ground so succinctly it pushes the air from his lungs.
The blankets around him are disturbed while Clarus hunts for something, letting out a low noise of victory when he closes around what he was searching for.
Clarus hooks one of arms under Regis’ knee and pushes it back towards his chest a little.
“This okay?” he checks.
Regis nods. Swallows around a ball in his throat that is equal parts nervous and excited anticipation.
“Do you want me to roll over?” Regis offers but Clarus is shaking his head before he’s even done talking.
Clarus kisses his nose and it's a strange counterpoint to the fingers that suddenly slip between his thighs and search up and in until they’re brushing against his hole.
“I want to see your face,” Clarus explains.
The hand withdraws and Regis draws in a full breath, filling his lungs completely for what he suspects may be the last time in a long time.
There’s a noise and Clarus’ face pinches in concentration for a long moment. The hand returns, fingers cool and slick as they move to brush against him once more, swiping a long line of lube against where he’s barely been touched before.
Clarus has probably done this a thousand times before, that much is true in the way he teases at the hole for a few minutes before carefully breaching him. Sinking to the first knuckle in one move and waiting until Regis has sucked in a shaky breath before brushing their mouths together and inching deeper. The disparity in their experience should make him feel inadequate but he just feels safe and there is nothing but adoration and wonder in Clarus’ gaze when eyes flicker from Regis’ own to his mouth and further down to try and glimpse what his hands are doing to his prince.
It remains just one finger for a long time, Clarus reaching as deep as he can, stroking and teasing until Regis rocks down with his hips, eager for more and Clarus withdraws . It’s horrifying and awful and Regis will never forgive him, not until the day he dies he’s sure but then suddenly two fingers are pressing against his entrance, angling to slide in deep without enough friction to cause Regis any discomfort at all.
This time Regis knows how to ask for more as soon as he wants it, shifting his hips and grinding back as soon as he aches for more. Clarus laughs against Regis’ collarbone where he’s been mouthing almost aimlessly but draws his fingers back, the other hand that was gripping Regis thigh disappearing also and it takes longer for them to come back this time, Regis listening to the same noise as before, something he now understands to be the top of the lube bottle, before they finally return to him.
Clarus grips his hip and tilts him up as he presses down and in with three fingers. Regis feels wonderfully full, astonished that anything else could possibly stretch him further but knowing from the weight against his hip still that something will and soon.
His lover refuses to be rushed this time, fingers sliding in and partially out of him slowly long after Regis has started writhing impatiently.
Regis has to speak before Clarus will even contemplate being hurried onward.
“Clarus - gods, please .”
Regis isn’t sure if it’s his tone or if Clarus is just as long since ready as he is but he moves quickly then, fingers sliding free with an almost comical pop . Clarus rears back just enough to take hold of his own cock and smear the remnants of lube along it.
He teases the blunt head of his cock against Regis’ hole and when he hesitates Regis feels his frustration bubble over into -
“I swear to the gods if you ask me if I’m sure or if -”
The thick press of Clarus breaching him makes him groan, head tossing back into their blankets and probably matting up his hair where it’s sweat dampened against the base of his skull.
Clarus swears , a stream of words that goes on and on as the sensation of being filled by him goes on and on for Regis. It’s impossible. It’s wonderful. It's strange and perfect.
Thighs touch Regis ass and Clarus is boxing him in again, forearms either side of his head and one hand tangling in fine hair to anchor him in place for a scorching kiss. Regis worries he’ll have to beg him to move but he starts up of his own accord, the barest grind of his hips, rotating rather than thrusting so that sometimes he does feel almost too deep.
Regis whines when Clarus’ hips do eventually draw back and he scrambles his hands onto any part of Clarus he can reach one grabbing his bicep and hip, digging deep, probably scratching deep when the shield slams in again.
Somehow its both the tender soft joining of his dreams and the solid, visceral sex that consumed him late at night when no cold shower would turn his thoughts. When Clarus kisses him again he bites his lip, a far cry from the affectionate nibbles of before.
“Fuck, Reg,” Clarus grunts, “I always thought - I never imagined .”
Regis’ moan trembles out of him, wavering and honest.
“Love - I need,” Regis begs, not sure what he needs but knowing he needs .
“I’ve got you,”Clarus says.
He shifts again, bracing on just one arm and the slight change in angle brushes something deep inside him that makes Regis clench up unexpectedly. He relaxes when his body registers it as pleasure and fully sinks into the feeling with the next shift of Clarus’ hips against his own.
Clarus drags his hand through the half dried mess on Regis’ stomach, squeezing into the narrow space between them to once again take Regis’ cock in his hand. There’s no finesse like last time, just a steady rhythm that he matches with his thrusts, pulling the band inside Regis taught in under a minute.
It’s agonising waiting for it to snap and for a long moment Regis thinks it won’t happen, that coming again so quickly was too ambitious and foolish and no matter how good this feels he’ll never get there.
“Please,” Clarus whispers roughly in his ear, “Please, I need you - I’m so close.”
Regis tries to fold in on himself as he comes again, it’s too much for him to withstand and his cry of pleasure is either silent or he’s simply too busy feeling everything else to hear it.
He hears Clarus though, an almost soft grunt followed by a long groan and pressure inside Regis suddenly increases, burning hot in a wet rush that makes his channel weakly clench around his lover with the last flagging ounce of his strength.
Clarus is heavy but Regis wouldn’t want him any other way and he clutches him as tightly as his weary limbs will allow. Fingers rub against whatever muscle they’re closest too, hoping to offer up a wordless thank you for all his hard work.
“Are you alright?” Clarus asks, still panting softly. He raises up slightly and Regis is relieved and disappointed all at once.
“Perfect,” Regis murmurs.
And he stays perfect. Even when Clarus pulls out in a rush of mess . Even when he crouches by the fire to clean himself up as best he can while Clarus discards the dirty blankets and replaces them with fresh ones he’d tucked inside the tent in preparation for this eventuality.
He’s more than perfect just a few minutes later when Clarus has their bed sorted once more, arranging a nest of blankets, a cocoon almost, for Regis to slip inside and forget every brief moment of evening chill. Clarus offers an arm for him to lay his head on and he does gladly, pulling Clarus close and kissing his jaw as sleep try to claim him almost at once.
Regis isn’t sure if he’s supposed to hear it or not but he does .
“I love you,” Clarus whispers, kissing along his brow.
Regis lets Clarus have his private moment, lets the words wash over him as a gift where nothing is expected in return but they lodged inside him, nestling beside his heart where he had passed over and hidden so much of himself over and over.
Regis doesn’t say the words back but he's almost certain he feels them back.
- - -
They’re welcomed back to the house with little fanfare.
Cor and Cid are in the kitchen for a change, turning bacon over on a large grill pan while Weskham reads the local newspaper and drinks his morning tea.
Weskham takes in their appearance with one quick glance and says, “You might want to shower before breakfast. There’s a leaf in Reg’s hair.”
Regis avoids Weskham’s eye after that but Clarus brazenly plucks the offending foliage away and drops it to the ground with a grin.
They shower separately to avoid being left with nothing but cold bacon and Clarus makes it downstairs before Regis does, plate piled high with eggs, bacon and toast. As he approaches the table Clarus serves some food onto the plate opposite his as well, a heartier portion than Regis would normally eat but the gesture is punctuated with a wink and a raised eyebrow that lets him know it really is for him.
The moment he’s settled Clarus’ foot bumps against his own and he pulls his legs back guiltily. He hadn’t meant to invade Clarus space or take up his limited leg room. Clarus taps his foot again but he really has nowhere to go this time so he looks up in puzzlement to find Clarus is smiling at him. Still eating, Clarus traps Regis foot between both of his and drags it back toward him, slipping one socked foot up under the hem of Regis’ pants to rub against his ankle.
Oh.
Oh.
Regis blushes pure scarlet and Clarus laughs, causing their friends to all turn to look at them in one synchronised move.
“Ugh,” Cor groans.
Clarus strokes softly at his ankle once more and Regis looks up with a bashful smile, pressing into the touch to show the affection is appreciated.
Weskham gives Cor a hearty pat on the shoulder.
“Cheer up my friend. They may be insufferable now but at least you won the bet.”
“What bet?” Regis asks at the same time Clarus asks, “What did he win?”
They look at each other, both of them seemingly confused by the other's question. Clarus half shrugs and squeezes his foot underneath Regis’ to tickle at the sole. Regis huffs out a soft laugh and kicks at him playfully beneath the table.
“Ugh,” Cor complains again.
“Just think of driving the car, friend,” Wesk says.
“How did you make a bet about me and the prize was driving my car?” Regis questions.
“Because you were too oblivious to put a stop to us,” Cid tells him.