New Attempt at writing!
Aug. 28th, 2007 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skull_bearerNow, there is no guarantee that I'll finish this, but I'm going to take a damn good stab at it. And it'll be something to distract me from the misery of what I've been writing. It'll also let me fill in the blanks of the biggest blank spot in the series, the whole five-years-as-mercenaries thing that I never covered because the bunnies were too impatient to get stuck into Chronicles (regretting it, are we?) I'll try and do them in order, but if the bunnies bite... well, we all know what spoiled brats they are.
| 01. | Celebration | 02. | Surprise | 03. | Pleasure | 04. | Past Times |
| 05. | Forgiveness | 06. | Pain | 07. | Understanding | 08. | Loss |
| 09. | Comfort | 10. | Hope | 11. | Love | 12. | Anniversary |
| 13. | Questions | 14. | Answers | 15. | Reflection | 16. | Symmetry |
| 17. | Home | 18. | Cherish | 19. | Future | 20. | Memories |
Um, this was meant to be a drabble, but obviously Raistlin and Dalamar were so sick of the shit I've been dishing out for them that they wanted some quality time together.
01
Celebration
Year Beginning 347
Then from his eyes
Spring fireflies
Breathing life
Into a roaring disguise
The celebration after the castle had been taken was riotous, but quite frankly, Raistlin wanted none of it. In fact, he was seriously considering giving this mercenary business up entirely.
He felt sick, and the worst part was that he had been expecting it. It had been his first sight of real battle (the mad riot in Haven didn't count), and he had expected it to be bad. He'd heard dozens of scarred veterans relating to his brother how their first battle had been the worst. How they had fainted, or thrown up or considered giving up after it was all over. He had known it would be like that, and braced himself for it. He'd thought that would be enough, that his stubborn will would control his emotions well enough to bypass that particular bit of nastiness. But apparently he'd been deluding himself.
He drew his cloak a little tighter around him. It wasn't cold this far north, but he needed to comfort. Ideally, he have liked to have Dalamar's arms around him rather than this cloak. Warm arms and an equally warm chest against his ear, the steady beat of the Dark elf's heart calming his nerves. but Dalamar had gone off somewhere, only telling Raistlin to wait there and slipping away before Raistlin could ask where he was going.
Raistlin had sat down inside a lonely strand of trees, one of the few orchards not burnt by the invading army when they had stormed the castle, their boughs heavy with unpicked winter fruit. The castle had already been under siege for several months by the time the reinforcement they were part of arrived, and the desolation was obvious. All supplies within ten miles had been gathered for the army, and the field and trees subsequently burnt. The only reason this orchard had survived was because it was close enough to the castle for the archers to open fire on anyone approaching. They couldn't get the fruit either, if they ventured out the army would cut them down, but apparently the principle of the thing was worth a few wasted arrows.
It was all so pointless.
Most of the soldiers didn't know what they were fighting for, and didn't care, but neither Raistlin or Dalamar wanted to go into a fight without knowing the reason for it. The lord of the castle had turned traitor, apparently, and allied himself with the strange new army from the north. The ruler of the land, a ridiculously short fat man calling himself 'the Duke' had ordered the place razed to avenge his wounded pride. And it had been done.
Raistlin knew it was nothing to do with him, that he should focus on the generous steel they were receiving- the Duke might have been a pompous and laughable windbag, but his steel was good. But Gods, why did it all have to be so stupidly pointless? He'd seen the 'traitors' with his own eyes. Terrified and half-starved men and women, certainly not trained soldiers. They'd been cut down the moment the portcullis had come down- something he and Dalamar had been responsible for.
He refused to let himself feel guilty, if it hadn't been them, it would have been somebody else.
His train of thought was interrupted by Dalamar's return. The Dark elf was smiling triumphantly, holding up jug of wine in welcome. He was carrying more food he had obviously stolen- from their army, Raistlin was sure, by the look of the castle's inhabitants they must have been down to eating rats. He didn't return Dalamar's smile, instead turning away when the Dark elf sat next to him. Dalamar might feel like celebrating, but he certainly didn't.
Dalamar didn't ask him what was wrong, nor did he touch him. Raistlin felt his eyes on him for a long moment, then he spoke, voice soft and gentle, touched with sympathy and perhaps the lightest hint of amusement. "That bad?"
Raistlin drew his shoulders up into a shrug. More images blinking before his eyes. It had been worse after the resistance crumbled. Perhaps it wasn't always like this, but after months of laying siege to the castle and with the Duke's orders to raze the place, the scenes afterwards had been ones of horror. The houses had been torched, heedless of if there were still people in them. Bodies lying in the streets, uniformly butchered regardless of age or gender. And one man, he remembered that one best, for all it was the one he most wanted to forget, dragging a young woman away, tearing off her clothes...
Raistlin shook his head as though to shake away the memory, and that which inevitably accompanied it. Amberyl.
He shook his head again. Stop.
Dalamar pressed a kiss to the back of his head gently. The elf hadn't seen the man with the woman. It had gone too fast and Raistlin knew he too would have missed it if he hadn't been standing in the right- or wrong- place.
"Is it easier for you?" He enquired, trying to keep his voice level, he turn to look at Dalamar. "This is your first battle."
Dalamar shrugged, "Violence is violence." He settled himself closer to Raistlin, "It doesn't matter if it's done with fists and knives or swords and pikes. It's all the same." He carded his fingers through Raistlin's hair, something that always helped him relax. "That's why we are mages, hmm?" He smiled.
Raistlin managed a smile back, and didn't even have to force it. "Yes. That's why we are mages." He reached up and caught Dalamar's hand. "And if that's so, and it's all the same, why are we celebrating?" He raised an eyebrow at the food Dalamar had brought- a loaf of freshly baked bread, a piece of roast beef, several midwinter apples that had probably come from the very orchard they were in, and something that smelled suspiciously like an apple tart snatched from the Duke's own dinner table.
Dalamar smiled, and lifted the jug of wine in a wordless toast to the stars. "Because we survived." He grinned at Raistlin, "And there are plenty today that cannot make the same boast."
Raistlin felt his smile turn brittle on the edges, the memories reminding him of just how many wouldn't be making that toast. Still, Dalamar was right. Knowing that others had died shouldn't make their own survival mean any less, in fact, it should make it mean more.
And there had been moments when they nearly hadn't made that toast. An arrow zipping past his ear when a feint brought them too close to the castle walls. An unexpected guard on the portcullis mechanism. A maddened guard, charging at them with a battleaxe, screaming at the top of her lungs-
Dalamar raised the jug again in a toast, his eyes fixed on the sky- on Nuitari, Raistlin realised, his eyes picking out the hollow in the sky- and took a gulp, gasping. "To surviving." He choked out and handed Raistlin the jug.
A little warily, Raistlin raised it, "To surviving," he echoed, his eyes locking on the warm, red glow of Lunitari.
The liquid in the jar wasn't wine but cider, cider so strong it burnt his eyes and stole his breath. He choked, coughing. Dalamar rubbed his back with a chuckle.
"They like their apples here, I see?" Raistlin remarked dryly, glancing at the apple tart. He didn't look at it too long, because it smelt delicious and he didn't want to see it rot and spoil his appetite.
Dalamar saw the target of his attention and chuckled. "The Duke had half a dozen on his table, I assumed he wouldn't miss one." he raised his eyebrows and Raistlin laughed, risking another mouthful of cider. It wasn't so bad a second time around, but even this small amount made his head start to spin, and he handed the jug back to Dalamar, not wanting to get too intoxicated. Dalamar smiled and took a sip before laying it aside and taking out his dagger.
Raistlin raised an eyebrow as the Dark elf started to peel an apple. "I hope you washed that since you last used it," he said dryly, remember the last 'use' Dalamar had had for it- slitting the throat of the guard overlooking the portcullis.
The Dark elf didn't answer, continuing to peel the apple. "Don't look." He warned.
Raistlin blinked, "Don't look?" He repeated.
"Close your eyes." When Raistlin just looked at him, confused, Dalamar nodded, "Trust me."
Raistlin felt like saying something on the exact state of trust between them, but the day had been bad enough that he didn't want to make it any harder than it had to be. Obediently, he closed his eyes.
Without sight, his other senses sharpened. The sound of Dalamar's knife on the crisp skin of the apple seemed much louder, the sharp smell of the fruit far more poignant. He heard the snick of the knife splitting the apple, then the rustle of grass as Dalamar came closer.
Then something was touching his lips, wet and warm from Dalamar's hands. He tried to open his eyes but Dalamar's other hand covered them, slender fingers warm and dripping with juice. He opened his mouth and his teeth closed around the firm apple quarter.
"Keep your eyes closed," Dalamar warned him. "I don't want you to lose your appetite."
Raistlin smiled, and opened his mouth to receive a second section. It was delicious. Slightly dry, like all winter fruit, but tangy and fresh and wonderfully crunchy.
He heard Dalamar eat the next piece, and offer the next to him. This time he caught hold of Dalamar's hand, and after he'd finished the fruit he held the elf's fingers to his lips and carefully licked them clean, one by one.
Dalamar's breathing grew more laboured, and he quickly pulled his hand away. "Not yet," He voice was a purr that went straight to his groin. "Food first, dessert later. Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"
"Not quite like this." Raistlin swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
Dalamar chuckled, and Raistlin heard him start peeling a second apple. This time he ate the first slice, and fed Raistlin the second. "How's your throat?"
Raistlin swallowed the mouthful, it hurt a little going down, but no more than normal and his cough seemed content to leave him alone for the moment. He nodded, "I'm fine."
"Good." A fourth slice, and the crunch as Dalamar ate the last. His ears picked up the faint snarl as Dalamar used his blade to cut though something tougher than apples, then something quite different was held to his lips. "Do you think you can manage some of this?"
It was the roast beef. Raistlin hadn't liked meat much since his Test, and considered it ironic that Dalamar, an elf, found the stuff more appealing than he did, but he decided to make an exception in this case. The meat was tender and well cooked, flavoured with spices and herbs. He took some time chewing before he risked swallowing it, and decided it was much easier to eat meat when it didn't look like you were depriving dozens of maggots of their meal. He smiled to show his assent, and happily took another piece, this time directly from Dalamar's dagger, the tip grazing his tongue.
"Careful," Dalamar's voice was heavy, aroused, and Raistlin could imagine him licking his lips, "It's sharp."
Raistlin grinned, and made of show of licking his own lips. "Dessert?" He inquired innocently.
Dalamar laughed huskily, but rather that warm lips, the next thing Raistlin felt against his lip was rather different. In fact, he had no idea what it was, and opened his mouth tentatively.
Sweet sugar, spicy cinnamon, and the warm luxury of well-cooked apples met his tongue, the pastry crumbling in his teeth. Raistlin raised his hand to keep it all in his mouth, and licked his lips for any spare crumbs. The Duke had made a grievous loss when he'd hired Dalamar.
Dalamar must have eaten the next piece, and his opinion echoed Raistlin's in the small noises of pleasure he made while eating it. Raistlin grinned, remember other times Dalamar had made such sounds.
The third piece was his, and this time, Dalamar didn't pull his fingers away, instead sliding them into Raistlin's mouth. Raistlin swallowed the last of the pastry, and wound his tongue around the slender digits that seemed to want to be the next ones eaten. He sucked on them gently, then harder and felt more than heard Dalamar groan. The elf was closer now, so close Raistlin could feel his body heat. Still keeping his eyes closed, he slide the elf's fingers from his mouth.
Dalamar leant forward eagerly, but Raistlin had anticipated this, turning his head away and instead capturing the elf's other hand and bring it to his lips.
Dalamar's fingers tasted of the spiced meat on the tips, and apple juice further along their lengths, the palm still warm from the apple tart. The tastes should have clashed unpleasantly, but somehow the Dark elf's own taste blended them together perfectly. He took his time, one finger at a time, listening as Dalamar's breathing became faster and more irregular. He lapped at the wrist, the pulse beating rapidly under his tongue, then Dalamar's control was shredded and the warm hand was wrenched away, to be replaced by the elf's burning lips.
And that, Raistlin thought muzzily as Dalamar's tongue plundered his mouth, was by far the most delicious thing he had tasted all evening. The sharpness of the apples, the spice of the meat, the sweetness of the pie, the faint hint of alcohol and above at the sharpest, sweetest, most intoxicating taste of all, the taste of Dalamar himself.
Raistlin groaned into the kiss, wrapping one arm around the elf waist and pulling them close, their bodies touching. He felt Dalamar's erection digging into his hip, and repressed a groan as his rubbed deliciously into the elf's thigh.
He didn't open his eyes, but slowly pushed Dalamar backward, hoping the his lover wouldn't let them fall on top of anything. The grass brushed against his hands, then he slowly moved them back up to press down on Dalamar's chest.
Repressing the urge to open his eyes and see how wonderfully debauched Dalamar must be looking, Raistlin returned to kissing him. First his lips, then his chin, still sticky from the apple juice, then starting to move down.
His fingers started undoing the ties of Dalamar's robes, easing them open as he worked his way down the elf's neck. The skin was always so wonderfully warm and soft, incredibly tender. Raistlin nipped the hollow of his jaw, teasingly.
Dalamar groaned, and lifted his hips, rubbing his erection against Raistlin's thigh. Raistlin moved his leg away, clamping it on the elf's hip, holding his down. Dalamar groaned again, in frustration. "Raistlin. Please."
It was true, there had been enough foreplay, Raistlin decided. They were both far too hard when this started, and if he continued like this it would be over too soon. There were other parts of Dalamar he wanted to taste before that.
He continued licking his way down to Dalamar's chest, allowing himself only a few licks an nibbles at collarbones and nipples before moving on. He slowed when he got to the elf's abdomen, sliding his tongue into his navel- musky taste- and along the faint trail of hair that ran from there to his groin, far fainter than that on a human.
Dalamar bucked his hips up and cursed. Raistlin chuckled, and held him down again, rubbing his cheek gently over his erection. Smiling as he felt Dalamar's muscles tense. He was fully hard now, the veins standing out in stark relief as he ran his tongue slowly up the length. Dalamar swore again, and there was a thump that was either his fist of his head pounding against the ground. Raistlin's lips quirked against the slick skin, "Now, none of that," he purred, letting his words reverberate. Dalamar's response was a non-verbal moan, which turned into a sharp gasp as Raistlin allowed his erection to slip past his lips and into his mouth.
The taste was musky and sweaty, something that he would probably have thought disgusting before he'd met Dalamar. It was certainly strange, but he'd learnt to enjoy it. Something that was doubly easy to do with Dalamar writhing under him. The texture was definitely nice, the skin silky and smooth, and again, far enhanced when Dalamar's hands caught hold of his hair, as they were doing now.
Raistlin smiled, and started working his way down. It had taken him a while to get this right, he'd had to relearned after his Test and even now it was hard to get right without risking a coughing fit, but Dalamar's reaction always made it worth it. He managed not to gag when the elf's erection hit the back of his throat, relaxing his throat enough to take it in, rewarded by a constant stream of gasps, curses and expletives from Dalamar, and the fingers tightening in his hair.
Raistlin licked slowly around the rock-hard length, taking it fully into his mouth, grinding his own erection against the Dark elf's leg. He was close, they both were.
He swallowed, then hummed, then Dalamar's hands were wound painfully tightly in his hair and he was coming with a shout. And that, Raistlin thought muzzily, rocking his hips insistently against Dalamar's leg, was an odd taste, musky, salty and slightly bitter. Nice though, and nicer still now he'd learnt how to swallow without choking- that had not been fun.
Dalamar rolled over and Raistlin opened his eyes stiffly, the dim light dizzying after so long with them closed. Dalamar pushed him down on the grass obviously eager to return the favour. Raistlin shook his head, grabbed the elf's hand and drew it to his erection. Never mind that, he wanted this now, never mind how. Dalamar smiled, his hair was mussed chaotically, his eyes glittered and his lips were swollen. He pressed those lips against Raistlin's, obviously not minding the taste either, while his hand slid inside he robes and his fingers wrapped themselves his cock.
Raistlin mumbled something incoherent against Dalamar's lips, and gasped as he started to stroke him, hard and fast. It didn't take long, and Raistlin was coming in turn, head thrown back, gasping his pleasure to the night sky.
He slumped back down against Dalamar, his head of the Dark elf's shoulder. Those lips were kissing his neck now, arms pulling him so close his nose was pressed into the fabric of his robes, breathing in the scent of magic and apples and warm Dark elf.
"What would you say," Dalamar murmured against Raistlin's neck, "If I were to offer to set out the bedroll, wrap us both up inside it, and carry this celebration on for the rest for the night?"
"Hmm." Raistlin smiled his agreement. Why not? It was a pleasant night, his cough wasn't bothering him, and the army wouldn't be ready to leave for at least another week.
It was good to be alive.
Skull Bearer
