8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Marcos' fingers were trembling so hard that he could barely pick up the rough-hewn spoon that Evander had set in front of him.

They were supposed to be eating. This was the first hot meal they'd had since leaving Beaulieu—since he barely counted what they'd eaten at the run-down tavern—but Marcos was stuck in a moment five minutes earlier.

How long had he dreamed about kissing Evander? Ravishing him until his knees grew weak and Marcos followed him to the floor?

But then he'd never imagined it under these circumstances either.

That Evander would kiss him, and that he'd do it because he was angry, and wanting to prove a point. That he would regret it afterwards.

Or that Marcos would discover that he simply did not care.

That he'd want to throw his spoon down, splattering stew every which way, and pin Evander's body to the table, and kiss him the way he'd really been dreaming of doing for all these years.

But doing any of that would be a mistake. Just as much of a mistake as Evander had claimed he'd already made.

"How is the stew?"

Tasteless. Bland. Probably would've been delicious, if I hadn't just had my mouth on yours.

Marcos knew that Evander was trying his best to be polite after the argument and then the cataclysmic finale to the argument, but being polite took more than he had to give right now.

In response, he grunted.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for another handful of minutes, and then because Evander couldn't give up—it was simply not in his nature—he spoke again. "Would you like some bread?" he asked, still with that innocuous, overly diplomatic tone, like he was back at Beaulieu, in charge of one of his interminable council meetings.

Marcos chanced a glance up. There was something still wild in Evander's eyes, even if he sounded so calm, so collected. He'd felt something. He was still feeling it.

"No," he said, and then returned his gaze back to his bowl, mechanically eating without really tasting anything he was putting in his mouth.

"I suppose," Evander said, like Marcos hadn't just made it plenty clear that he wasn't interested in polite dinner conversation, "that the Mother would be an excellent cook. I should not be so surprised that the fare at her table is excellent."

Marcos rolled his eyes. Annoyed, in spite of how he kept trying to clamp his temper down.

Temper meant something cataclysmic almost certainly happening again.

He was trying very hard not to let Evander seduce him into a temper.

Or seduce him into anything at all.

"Maybe," Marcos said sarcastically, "you should suggest to King Emory that he hire her for the kitchens at Beaulieu."

He felt the heat of Evander's look.

Not so bland now, he thought with satisfaction. But the heat, that was definitely the problem. Not the solution.

Evander sighed. "Are you never going to look at me? Or talk to me again?"

"Both seem like very possible outcomes," Marcos said.

"I apologized, twice if I recall. And you didn't acknowledge either of them."

How could he? Acknowledging Evander's apologies would mean acknowledging that the kiss was a mistake.

It hadn't felt like a mistake. Not a single heart-stopping breath of it.

He grunted again.

Marcos knew he was leaning into the worst kind of cliches about who he was. Only mindless fools avoided conversation by grunting, but maybe he was more of that mindless fool than he'd imagined.

Evander had certainly turned him into one with that kiss.

"Don't do that," Evander said. "I suppose you aren't going to look at me again, either."

Oh, but he wanted to. The desire had always been strong and fierce. But now it had grown claws. One taste and the grasping beast inside of him wanted a thousand more.

But instead of looking up, meeting Evander's eyes, he kept his gaze glued to the bowl.

"You are the most infuriating man," Evander continued. "You'd think . . . well, I'd think you were disappointed."

Marcos rolled his eyes.

"Why," he said, in clipped tones, daring a glance up at where Evander sat, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, "are you trying to provoke me? Why can't you just leave me alone? Haven't you done enough today?"

"You are disappointed," Evander said, and now he sounded disappointed.

"You're talking even crazier than usual."

Marcos didn't understand why but this finally, finally silenced the other Guardian.

They ate the rest of their dinner in silence.

It didn't taste any better than it had before, but Marcos kept scooping up bites and then chewing, and swallowing. He didn't know what they'd face at the Well, but chances were it wasn't going to be good. He'd need his strength.

Marcos heard Evander stand. "I'm going to take a bath," he said. "I'm disgusting, and I'm not sure you're much of an improvement."

He wasn't.

And still, Evander had practically crawled into his lap.

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"I will get in after you," he said.

"What?" Evander said, in a pseudo-shocked voice, "you don't want to share?"

He was trying to provoke him, and for the life of him, Marcos could not understand why. But whatever the reason, he'd reached the end of his rope and the last bit of it was fraying with temper.

He slammed the spoon down onto the table and shoved the bench back as he stood.

"Why?" he demanded.

He had at least a foot on Evander, and generally tried not to loom, but now he didn't care. He loomed with every single bit of his extra height. "Why won't you just leave it be?"

Evander stared at him, those pansy-blue eyes as wide as he'd ever seen them.

"I don't know how you can just leave it be," he said. "Don't you . . ." He swallowed hard, and didn't finish the sentence, which frankly, Marcos thought, was better for him.

"Yes," Marcos burst out. "Yes, I had wanted to do that for a long time, and then you did it, and you told me you wished you hadn't. So if you want me to be blunt, this is me being blunt. I'm big, I'm awkward, I'm terrible at this, so this is the only way I know of telling you to leave it be."

One of the things that Marcos had always admired about Evander was that he never shrank from a fight or a challenge, and that intimidating him was basically a useless exercise. It couldn't be done, and it was a waste to even try.

"You're not awkward," Evander said.

"Well, thank you," Marcos retorted. "I'll make sure to focus on that gracious compliment tonight when I try to fall asleep. Now if that's all, I'm going to go do a quick check outside while you take your bath."

He turned to leave, but suddenly, Evander was there, in his space. Placing a hand on his shoulder. "No," he said very clearly. "No, I didn't tell you that I wished that I hadn't. I didn't think that at all."

"But you said . . ." Marcos felt like he was a breath away from stuttering. Embarrassingly.

So many ways he'd dreamed this would play out, and none of them had been nearly this humiliating.

"No," Evander repeated again, his lips turning up into a smile. A soft, intimate smile. "I said that I shouldn't have done it. And I shouldn't have. It was . . . it was unfair to you, because I did it out of anger, and then it was unfair to me, because I discovered that I didn't want to kiss you only to prove a point."

Marcos wasn't sure he'd heard correctly, but the luminous way Evander kept looking at him made it difficult to misinterpret.

"You . . . I . . . what?" He just plain stuttered this time.

Evander patted him on the shoulder, and then removed his hand. Marcos wanted to snatch it back.

"Do your check outside, though I know the Mother will make sure we're safe," Evander said. "And then," he added, with a twinkling smile that ratcheted Marcos' heartbeat up, "I'll meet you in the bath."

"You . . . you . . . you must really trust her," he said, even though he was thinking, you must really trust me, you must really want me, and I can't understand why, though I'm not going to argue you out of it.

"Yes," Evander said simply. "You felt it too, I think."

He had, and he'd felt it too when Evander's lips had touched his.

Which was why it had hurt so badly when Evander had leapt away, and muttered, I shouldn't have done that. Except that he was finally beginning to realize that Evander hadn't regretted the kiss—only the circumstances surrounding it.

He nodded, and even though he wanted to turn back, to grab Evander back and erase the memory of the first kiss with a second, he let him go.

Evander was right; they were both filthy dirty, and though he'd had a handful of dirty post-battle fumbles with willing soldiers, he wanted more for Evander.

He wanted everything for him, and everything with him.

It was eerie outside, the cabin situated in a stretch of forest comprised of a handful of spindly trees with scaly gray bark, and expanses of banked white snow. Nightfall had arrived, but Marcos could see nearly as well in the dark as he could in the light, so he walked around the structure, verifying that there was nobody there, that it didn't feel like there was a single person around for leagues, and then after stamping the snow off his boots, went back inside.

Evander had disappeared, likely into the room with the tub, and he paused halfway across the room, hesitating.

Had Evander's offer been legitimate? Did he truly want to bathe with him?

You are not afraid of anything; your nerve has never failed you, not at the brink of a battle or in the middle of a fight. Are you really afraid of him?

Marcos knew he was afraid of what havoc Evander could wreak if he used him and then left him.

He'd cared for him for too long to be able to let that go.

But without risk, he knew there was never any benefit.

"Come in," Evander called out. "The water's so warm."

Steeling himself, Marcos crossed the main room, and then stood at the edge of the doorway.

The tub filled most of the room, and it did look warm, steam still curling across the surface of the water.

"I think it's a magic tub," Evander said, "charmed or something. Because the water should not still be this hot, and yet it is."

He was naked, and in the tub. If Marcos leaned closer, he could've seen the rest of Evander's body, beneath the water. But he'd seen it already, both before he'd been banished, in the huge underground cavern of baths at the Castle at the Top of the World, and then a few days back, when they'd bathed together in the freezing stream.

But just because he was familiar with the elegant grace of Evander's perfectly formed limbs didn't mean his heart stayed calm or his blood cool or his cock soft.

"The Mother has indeed been generous," Marcos said, and began the process of unbuckling and removing his light leather armor, one piece at a time.

Evander watched. Intently, if Marcos had the words to describe it.

It had been a miracle that he'd managed to hide his erection at the stream. There was no way to hide it now, and Evander, who, as far as he could tell, hadn't spent much of the last thousand years indulging in many pleasures of the flesh, didn't seem particularly perturbed by the possibility that he might get an eyeful.

Marcos leaned down, and pulled his boots off, grateful for the fur lining, and then let his last garment, his breeches, fall off him.

He looked up to see Evander regarding him steadily, gaze steady but alert, and Marcos told himself not to blush as his cock, heavy with blood, bobbed as he leveraged himself into the tub.

The heated water hit his skin and he groaned in pleasure.

"Come," Evander repeated, gesturing next to him.

It was more than he'd expected. It was probably more than he deserved, but Marcos wasn't going to be stupid enough to say no.

He floated over, resting his back against the circular wall of the tub, feet brushing Evander's.

"See?" Evander said smugly. "Isn't that better than being all the way over there?"

"I don't know, is it?" Marcos teased. Evander knew how he felt. He'd figured out his secret, and there was no point in denying it except the way that Evander's eyes lit at the provoking statement made Marcos smile.

Evander didn't answer his question with words. He shocked the breath right out of Marcos' chest by turning, and straddling him, wet skin brushing wet skin everywhere. Marcos' pulse skittered with anticipation. For a long moment, Evander just stared at him. It felt similar to that moment so long ago, the night of Evander's banishment, when he'd spoken to Marcos in his chambers and it was as if he'd seen him for the first time.

He was seeing Marcos now. There was no question of it.

Evander's fingers were slippery on his skin as he pressed them into Marcos' shoulders. "I don't usually do this," he said quietly. A confession. Something else that Marcos knew he didn't do very often.

He'd been the Guardian of Secrets for a reason.

"Only with Vanya," he added, as if Marcos hadn't already known that. "I didn't really think I wanted to, and then . . ."

It was impossible to stop his smile. "And then?"

Evander rolled his eyes, but it didn't make Marcos' cock any softer, and it didn't make Evander's, currently rubbing against his own every few moments, any softer either. "And then you insisted on getting naked in that stream," Evander pointed out. "You're . . . you're very nicely formed. Everywhere."

Marcos raised an eyebrow. "Everywhere?"

"Yes," Evander said lightly. "Everywhere."

"I was of the opinion it started earlier than that," Marcos said gently. "After the fight."

They'd almost kissed then. Marcos had been a heartbeat away from giving in to so many long years of denial and just pressing his lips to Evander's. It would've been reckless, but it was also nearly irresistible.

"That was just the battle. Bloodlust and all that," Evander said, biting his lower lip. Marcos' fingers trembled as he settled them on the smooth skin of Evander's waist. He had exceptional self-control, but it was only a matter of time before he gave in to everything he wanted.

Everything they both wanted.

That much Marcos could admit to now.

"I've felt that, many times," Marcos said seriously, "and it's never felt like that before."

"What does this feel like?" Evander wondered. Like he didn't want to just know what Marcos felt, but he wanted Marcos to give it definition, so he could understand it too.

"Everything," Marcos said roughly, and tugged Evander another inch closer, covering his mouth with his own.

There was nothing angry about this kiss. Nothing hesitant. Nothing unsure. It was all fire and heat and the slickness of their skin as Evander rubbed against him.

Marcos groaned into his mouth as he let his fingers skate down his thighs, and then up his back, reverently caressing all the places that he'd admired so many times. But only ever from afar. He'd only been able to look, but never touch.

Evander tilted his head and the kiss impossibly deepened, their tongues brushing together, delving deeper until he wasn't sure where he ended and Evander began. Marcos felt the flame of it in his blood, beating in time between his heart and his cock, and he wanted so much he felt like he might burst with it.

Then he felt the tentative reach of Evander's hand, soft and sure, as it wrapped around his cock. Pleasure surged through him and he broke the kiss, panting with it.

"You don't have to . . ." Marcos exhaled, each word punctuated with a breathy moan as Evander began to twist his palm up and down.

"I want to," Evander said, and his eyes were knowing, pupils blown dark with lust. "I really, really want to."

Marcos would have to be a much more foolish man to keep arguing. So he tilted his head back and let Evander explore. He clearly had some knowledge, but he was also a tease, giving Marcos just enough to keep him right on the edge, but never enough to send him over.

His thumb crested over the swollen head of his cock, and he gasped with the intensity of it.

"You feel so good," Evander said with wonder. Like he hadn't imagined it could feel like this.

It had been long enough for him, that maybe he'd forgotten.

Vanya—no, Marcos thought with resolution, you are not going to think about him right now. Not when Evander . . .

Then Evander leaned in, kissing him, deep and filthy and it was glorious, so much more than Marcos had ever let himself dream of, that he fell right over the cliff, spurting into Evander's hand.

When he opened his eyes, Evander was staring at him, impossibly smugger.

"You enjoyed that," he said.

"What gave it away?" Marcos teased again, trailing his hand up Evander's thigh. Nearly to where he strained for Marcos' touch.

"Maybe the way you moaned my name," Evander said.

Had he moaned Evander's name? He must have. He was going to count it as a win that he hadn't said anything else embarrassing.

Because the truth was, his heart had never felt fuller.

Maybe this wasn't love for Evander, but he was here, in his arms, sweet and gasping for it, and that was better than any fantasy he'd ever indulged in.

"What do you want?" Marcos asked.

"I want you to touch me," Evander said, staring at him straight in the eyes, no shame. Not a single ounce of it. "And I want you to kiss me. I really like the kissing."

It wasn't a hardship to do both, because Marcos really liked the kissing too.

It added an extra layer of thrill to an already glorious experience.

He slid his hand closer, and loved the way he felt Evander's skin tremble, and when he brushed the back of his hand against just the tip of his cock, it twitched, so eager.

"Like that?" he asked, after leaning in and nibbling right along the seam of Evander's lips.

"No," Evander said breathlessly, and he pressed his whole body closer, nudging his cock further into Marcos' palm, and then giving him the kind of kiss that would keep him warm for so many nights to come.

Marcos didn't want to tease anymore, just wanted to make him feel good, and so he worked him up and down, twisting Evander's cock with his fingers, noting how much harder he moaned into his mouth whenever the callouses on his fingertips rubbed him.

If Evander had a weakness for his sword callouses, who was he to argue with that?

With one last suck of his tongue, Evander gave a shout, and shook in Marcos' arms, falling apart in the most glorious sight he'd ever been privileged to witness.

When Evander finally stopped shuddering, they lay there, warm water still swishing around them, for a long time, not speaking.

Marcos didn't want to ruin the perfection of the moment, but he already knew Evander's brain was working, because even a really fantastic orgasm wouldn't be enough to slow it or stop it.

Finally, he did speak. "You don't want to try to defeat Deimos," he said.

Marcos wasn't particularly surprised by this change of subject. It didn't bother him. He shifted to the other side of the tub, and finding some soap, began to scrub the rest of the filth and sweat off him.

"No."

It had been a wild risk the first time he'd challenged Deimos, and he'd only done it because there was no other choice. Evander might not have known he was there, on the surface with him, but Marcos hadn't wanted to leave him.

He hadn't labored under the false impression that he had done much at all to help Evander, but it had been reassuring to know that he could if the need arose.

Evander joined him a second later. "And I do."

"You seem to want to tangle with him again, for reasons that I confess I don't entirely understand," Marcos admitted. "But that doesn't make your reasons any less valid."

Evander smiled. "I knew you could see sense," he said, taking the soap from him. "What do you think we should do?"

Marcos ducked his head under the water and rinsed. "You're asking me?" He was surprised. Evander rarely asked for counsel; he always thought he knew best.

"I am," Evander admitted.

"I think we should go to the Well, and determine the scope of the trap," Marcos said. "Tell the Mother that we have yet to make a final decision."

"You think she will accept that?"

"I don't think she has much of a choice," Marcos said, slowly. "She is requesting this of us, and has admitted herself powerless in the situation."

Evander nodded.

"Besides," Marcos added, "I would rather only fight one battle at a time."

"Do you mean, we should only fight one battle at a time?" The expression on Evander's face was surprisingly playful, considering the subject they were discussing.

Marcos leaned back against the side of the tub. Enjoying the hot water. Enjoying this conversation, more than he ever expected he would. "Logically," he said, "it follows that the Guardian of War would do the majority of the battling."

"I will not disagree with you there," Evander said. He rinsed and joined Marcos at the edge of the tub, their feet brushing together under the water. It felt so companionable, so much what Marcos had always wanted, that his heart ached. "But the Mother said that we needed to be together. To be a partnership."

"Forgive my inclination to keep you safe with my not inconsiderable skill," Marcos said dryly.

"It is appreciated but unnecessary," Evander retorted. "If you've been watching me as long as it seems, you know I can take care of myself."

"I do know," Marcos admitted.

"And," Evander added, smiling, "I might even be an asset. How many Guardians can shoot fireballs out of their hands?"

"None," Marcos said. "Which was always surprising to me. It's an oddly offensive power for a Guardian who always liked avoiding fights."

"I like to think that the Mother knew with so much sneaking around, I'd eventually need to be able to blow someone to bits," Evander said mischievously.

"You should ask her." It was not the first time Marcos had considered all of the Guardians' magical gifts. Some of them, like his extraordinary skill with weapons, made sense. Others were more obscure.

"Perhaps I will, someday." Evander hesitated. "How far do you think we are from the Well?"

"We were perhaps two days' ride when we were caught up in the Mother's trap. But I do not know how far out of the way we were taken by the Mother," Marcos said, considering the question. "It is much colder outside than it had been, less trees, more in line with the scenery I'd expect near the Well. If I had to guess, I'd say we're even closer."

"The Well being near the Mother's home . . . that makes sense. Power gravitates towards power," Evander said. "She might have even created the Well. That wouldn't surprise me in the least."

There was nothing Marcos wanted more than to stay floating in the hot water, enjoying the comfort of being clean, and enjoying just talking to Evander. It had been so long, so many hundreds of years, since he had been able to talk to someone who understood exactly what he was, the responsibility that had always lain so heavily on his shoulders.

With Evander smiling over at him, the weight of it felt less pressing.

And Evander? He'd been alone for so long.

"I wish . . ." Evander paused. Suddenly looking very serious. "I wish you'd let me know you were out there a long time ago."

He was also feeling that intoxicating weightlessness, then.

Marcos thought back to all the many times he'd come face-to-face with Evander—when he'd been in one of his many personas—and then he'd walked away.

Why hadn't he reached out?

Every one of those times, it had seemed impossible.

"You said it yourself," Marcos said finally. "You didn't need my help."

Evander rolled his eyes. "No, I did not. But the company would have been nice. This is nice." He looked at Marcos questioningly, like he was wondering if Marcos was enjoying it too.

That was frankly ridiculous, because it was everything Marcos had ever yearned for.

"Come," Evander said, rising, water streaming off his naked body. A sight that Marcos had seen before, but it had never hit him like this, like a blow to the ribs. It hurt, left him breathless with the impact, and yet, it felt so wonderful that all he craved was more.

Evander reached out a hand, and Marcos took it.

"I'm tired," he said. "And that bed was comfortable."

Marcos had been prepared to sleep on the floor. But when Evander, after drying off, settled into the nest of furs in the corner of the main room, he looked up expectantly at where Marcos stood, awkwardly, one of his knives in his hand. He never slept without it.

"Well," he said, "are you joining me or not?"

And Marcos couldn't say no.