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The two raid leaders stayed past the very end of the war council, sorting notes and putting away maps. For a given meaning of 'stayed', of course; it had become their custom to end the day's strategy meeting with a stroll towards the waterfall before turning in for the night.
William liked this new tradition. The rush of falling water gave them leave to freely discuss difficulties which would be irrelevant or distracting for the raid at large. Strangely, he and Shiroe had never actually spoken about which matters exactly necessitated privacy. Instead, they just found themselves falling into a silent concord that some things were better spoken of alone, and even then carefully. It was in these half-enunciated conversations that William discovered that the Debauchery Tea Party's strategist picked up on things left unsaid as easily as if they were shouted from the rooftops. The moment William raised an issue, even if it were nothing more than a half-formed sentence, Shiroe would snatch the matter from thin air, his mind working through it mercilessly, as if the solution merely required a little effort to unearth. Thus far, the Strategist's digging always brought back diamonds.
Today's problem, however, was definitely not for the Strategist to solve—and knowing this hardly helped William's dark mood.
In William's experience, such problems came up much less often in Elder Tale than on Earth, but when they did, they came with a vengeance. And Earth had a different advantage, too: even as a shut-in raider, he could resolve the matter all by his lonesome, thinking of women who were thinly-veiled abstractions, all silky skin and huge, soft breasts... It used to be enough, more than enough.
No longer, not in this new world. Here things were so much worse.
Trying to jack off to a fantasy didn't even work anymore—and not for lack of trying. Instead, from time to time William suddenly found himself laser-focused on a particular, living, breathing person, and he could think of nothing else, want nothing else, while the rest of the world faded into a surreal grey fog. The targets of this focus were always someone close: a comrade, a friend, someone whom he admired or hated. Some of them—most of them—had been his raidmates, and there was no damn way William would let them see him panting after them like a dog in heat. So he'd wait the unnatural focus out, endure the twelve or so hours in which touching himself brought no release, but instead inflamed him further. It ended, always, in several hours of feverish trance, when he could almost feel phantom fingers running across his skin, phantom lips kissing him wetly, and slick and throbbing touch below, even when his hands were clenching the sheets... William had a sneaking suspicion that he spoke in that trance, or maybe even screamed. Usually his privately-instanced room solved the problem of being overheard. But they were in the middle of a damned warcamp. Of all the times...
He'd learned to recognize the approaching mood early. The feeling was still quiet: a soundless hum on the edge of his consciousness, a slight shiver in the tips of his fingers. But William already knew the night was going to be excruciatingly long.
"Time to get some sleep," Shiroe yawned next to him. "Long day tomorrow."
"Yeah," William agreed. And sat down nearby, wrapping himself in his cloak.
The Strategist looked at him with some surprise.
"Planning to stay here for the night?"
William only shrugged. Shiroe cocked his head to the side, eyes glinting. William could almost hear the incessant gears whirring in the Strategist's mind, clamping down on any inconsistencies and strange details like a vise. Of course he couldn't leave well enough alone.
A quiet voice which could only be called reason whispered: that's a good thing, you know. Just tell him. Shiroe can at least keep the rest of the raid away from you, make up some excuse if this goes on too long.
No way, William thought back. He can't know. Not him. Not now.
"Hmm," Shiroe finally said. And ventured: "Can't sleep?"
"Yeah."
The white cloak rustled as the enchanter knelt beside him. A careful hand reassuringly touched William's shoulder, and he shuddered at the sensation.
"I need a raid leader who won't be falling asleep during raid tomorrow," Shiroe said softly, clasping his second shoulder and tugging to pull William up. "Come on. It's late. We need real rest."
"I'm fine right here. Let go," William closed his eyes and turned away, lips pressed together in a thin hard line. This was unbearable, but he'd be damned if he...
A hand lifted from William's shoulder and came down upon his brow instead, as if checking for a fever. Then it slowly moved to William's cheek and stayed there, pressing gingerly—a silent request to look Shiroe in the eye. William felt himself grow hot; blood flushed his cheeks, his ears and—damn it all!—he was beginning to grow hard. That was the last thing he needed!
"Are you feeling all right?" the enchanter inquired quietly. "Talk to me."
The words choked up in William's throat. It was all he could do to keep looking away. It helped that William didn't want to see Shiroe's concerned, compassionate gaze—or was it perhaps calculating, like always? Not particularly erotic. He wanted to see something different. Hungry, passionate.
Impossible. Even in his mind's eye, William couldn't imagine Shiroe half-mad with desire. Shiroe could be serious, could be focused, could even be caring, perhaps... But that wasn't what William wanted. What he wanted wasn't real. The careful touch just added insult to injury.
William turned further away, fleeing the concerned gaze...
And needily pressed his half-open lips right into Shiroe's hand.
He could feel Shiroe jerk in surprise—and yet the enchanter did not pull away. Instead, he quietly noted:
"You really aren't well."
"This's happened before. It'll pass," William muttered. "Go on, get out of here already."
But the bastard wasn't going anywhere. To the contrary: his hand trailed William's cheek, slipped softly to his lips, then crept up along his cheek bone almost to his ear, only to slip down to the lips again. The rhythm was irresistible. William gingerly caught the roaming fingers with his mouth and licked the fingertips.
Then he mustered the last of his willpower and pulled away.
But Shiroe remained, kneeling next to him, holding William's shoulders, so close that their almost-touching bodies aroused a rage and a want in William. He wanted to close the distance, he wanted to push Shiroe away; he could only sit, paralyzed, as a war raged in his body.
"What the hell are you doing, Strategist," William found his own voice rough and rasping. "I told you to get lost."
"I don't think I should be leaving you like this," Shiroe answered. "Come on. Let's get you to your tent. I'll see if I can help."
"There's nothing you could possibly help with," William snapped, and realized that he'd have to spell things out after all. "You don't even like men."
Of this, William was completely certain. Shiroe and women had chemistry; there was none between him and the men.
"Actually, I've never tried," Shiroe sounded more amused than daunted. "Like many other things in this strange new world."
"Why the hell," William still couldn't bear to look at him. "Why the hell would you even wanna bother with this?"
"If you must know, I've been in your place before," the enchanter admitted calmly. "And... Well. I was helped. The rescue was timely and... Friendly. Really. They were just helping a friend out. So I'd be glad to pass on the favor. If you let me, that is."
"You don't get it, do you? You really don't... It's not just anyone. I can't want just anyone. Doesn't work like that. Not anymore."
"I won't do, then? Hmm. That'll be more complicated, unfortunately... Still, maybe we can find something useful at camp..."
"You are an actual idiot," William moaned pitifully and fell silent, feeling his harrowed breaths turn into gasps.
"Oh." Shiroe quieted for a few seconds and then stood up, pulling William with him, pulling him close and stroking his hair, watching for the closed eyes, the quiet whine. When the result he was looking for surfaced dutifully, he whispered in a reassuring tone. "Now I do understand. We should definitely go back. If your condition is anything like mine was, this will help."
The way to the tent was already lost in the damnable grey fog, and Shiroe's hands were the only thing to guide William as he stumbled back blindly. At least waking others was less of a concern now: the camp was deep in slumber, and William's tent was pitched somewhat further away from the rest, so as not to wake others as he inevitably tossed and turned through the night—the main reason for why he'd never shared the tent. William thought of his surreal luck as Shiroe sat him down near the tent's entrance and busied himself with the set-up: unrolled a single sleeping bag and moved William's things so that the two of them could both rest their heads.
"I'm asleep," William said, watching the Strategist move the less-comfortable equipment to the edges of the tent. "This is the weirdest dream ever."
"Of course you are," Shiroe answered calmly. "Come on over here. Sleeping in your armor can't be comfortable."
Even in that twilight state of mind, William noticed how confidently Shiroe's fingers unfastened his leather armor and knew that it was the unmistakable nimbleness of expertise.
"So... Who helped you?"
"Sorry," and Shiroe's hand crept under the fastenings of William's coat, gingerly stroking naked skin. "That's not my secret to tell. Could you scoot closer, please?"
William certainly could, lying down as directed and resting his head on Shiroe's knees as the enchanter carefully undid his clothing. Finally, once the only item left to William was his pants, Shiroe let him down gingerly and moved down to his feet to remove his boots. First one foot, then the other—in his trance, William could only marvel at how Shiroe looked him over with a satisfied gaze and then dipped down to trail a series of kisses over his still-clothed leg. Shin, knee, inner side of his thigh—skipping his throbbing groin, but coming back to kiss William's naked stomach, sending hot shivers up his spine.
"Just... Don't think I'm always like this, all right?" William groaned, barely able to open his eyes to look up at Shiroe. "I'm not like that... Back home, you know. Just here. This place... It does something to me."
"Seldesshia, I assume, not the Abyssal Shaft itself?" Shiroe asked in a conversational tone, slowly drawing his hands down from William's shoulders to his belly. William nodded sharply—and threw his head back, moaning, when Shiroe probed under the rim of his pants. When the sensation receded, Shiroe added: "I believe you. It was the same for me, really... The condition itself was a little different, but the crux of the matter was the same. I think our new bodies have somewhat different preferences than we ourselves do."
"And what... Oh... Aah, damn... What do we... What do we even do now?" Somehow William found the strength to clasp Shiroe's forearms, bringing the enchanter's caresses to a momentary halt. "If this isn't... Isn't who we really are?"
"If you want, I can just try sleeping with you. I mean, literally sleeping next to you," damn, damn that unflappability of his! Was there anything that could phase the man? "Admittedly, I don't really know a lot about elven physiology specifically. Maybe you just need touch rather than sex— in which case staying the night nearby should help."
That smirk of his—so characteristically self-assured, or perhaps simply full of anticipation—was enough to send William over the edge of reason. Propping himself up on his elbows, William grabbed Shiroe's waist and pulled the enchanter on top of him.
"Far too late for that," he hissed, and wiped that smirk off the enchanter's face with a hungry kiss.
Shiroe kissed back with a matching hunger, holding William's head gingerly in his hands, and relying on his own elbows to keep him above William. That is to say, his hands were full, while William's were free, and William thanked this terrifying and wonderful world for elven grace as he did away with the white cape in two seconds flat and only needed to break the kiss momentarily in order to free Shiroe from his sweater and undershirt. Shiroe had removed his boots already, as it turned out, though William did not rightly know when. It must have been much earlier.
Now they were on equal footing: half-naked, in light pants, hands and legs intertwined. William's hand slid down to the belt of Shiroe's pants, but froze when Shiroe pulled back a little to meet his gaze eye to eye. The enchanter's eyes burned darkly. There could be no doubt left that yes, Shiroe did like men, too. Quite a bit.
If only William could be that sure about himself.
What the hell am I even doing, thought William. My first real... In a cave, during a raid, didn't even put my bow back into my inventory... And with another guy. This has to be some kind of stupid dream. Not sure I wanna remember it when I wake up.
"Are you all right?" The soft voice pulled him out of his rumination. "Shall I stop?"
And Shiroe withdrew ever so slightly, so close that William could still feel the warmth of his skin. William's body immediately began to ache, craving the enchanter's careful touch.
They could stop. Somehow William knew that Shiroe would stop. The ache, however, would not, and it was slowly growing unbearable. He knew it would pass in due time. Yet... Why wait?
A stupid dream, is it... Well, let's dream it, then! He thought, and reached for Shiroe, pulling him back in, rubbing skin against bare skin. The ache receded—and returned, burning, in his groin, demanding touch.
Catching on from the moan William had let slip, following his barely formed gestures as easily as if he'd provided detailed instruction, Shiroe's hand glided over William's pants, while his other arm gripped William's shoulders tightly. Confident fingers ran lightly over William's concealed member, and William wanted to swear aloud from the sensation. It was all he could do to bite into Shiroe's naked shoulder instead. The enchanter shuddered, but even through the mad rush of blood in his ears, William could hear the other man chuckle quietly. The anger and want merely made him clamp down his jaws tighter.
"It's all right," Shiroe whispered in his ear. "Bite. Scream. Let go. You'll feel better then."
The remnants of William's pride refused to comply. At least with the screaming.
But Shiroe's hand crept down below the hem of his pants, and it became difficult not to, even though Shiroe had hardly done anything—just pulled a finger across the tip. William let Shiroe's shoulder go, leaving one heck of a bite mark—who knows how many hit points that was?—and immediately bit into his shoulder again much closer to the neck, eliciting a choked-up gasp. William grinned fiercely, feeling his sense of control return.
But not for long. Because now Shiroe took his work seriously, allowing his nimble fingers to wander the length of William's shaft. William wanted nothing more than to return the favor, but couldn't control his shaking fingers so well as he would like. All he could somewhat control was his body's lewd writhing, arching towards Shiroe's certain hands or hiding on the enchanter's shoulder.
At a certain point the sensations became somewhat less all-consuming, and William was able to look at Shiroe. The Strategist's eyes had darkened even more, yet hungry as they were, they also gleamed with cool calculation.
Does that computer in your head ever turn off? William wanted to ask, but the arm around his shoulders suddenly let him go, as did the hand around his member.
Shiroe hoisted himself up above William, pushing down on his shoulders with both hands. Then he kissed William deeply and slowly, and then began slowly moving down with his tongue, slipping from William's neck to his chest, from his chest to his belly-button, and then... When did he, damn him, have time to pull down William's pants?
But at that point William completely lost the capability for coherent thought. All that remained was the desire to buck his hips, and to let the wet, hot tongue dance along the length of his shaft, and let the nimble fingers touch the sensitive skin at the base and between his hips.
It could not have taken long—a few minutes, perhaps?—but William completely lost track of time. When he came to, he was limp, and Shiroe was wrapping him in the sleeping bag, smiling like a strategy he'd invented on the spot had worked out beautifully. The enchanter's lips glistened white—a strange sight, but a pleasant one.
"What 'bout you?" William murmured sleepily, even though he really didn't want to move at all. Although he wouldn't say no to a certain warm enchanter just sleeping next to him now.
"Don't worry yourself on my behalf," Shiroe drew back a lock of William's hair and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll get my rest. Sleep well, Mythril Eyes. I will need your sharp sight and sharper arrows in a few hours."
"You can sleep well too. Right here," the commanding tone William was going for definitely fell prey to his somnitude. "Y'promised to help me sleep."
The enchanter chuckled, and William felt Shiroe lift the blanket and settle down next to him, hugging William from behind and wrapping him in warmth. There was something very definitely hard pressing into his buttocks, and William regretted for a moment that he had absolutely no strength left to reciprocate.
He couldn't keep awake any longer. The last thing he heard was a sudden complaint:
"Oof, that mane of yours tickles... William, did you?.."
But the rest of the question was lost as William drifted away.
***
Naturally, William woke alone. He sat up, blinking the sleep away, piecing the night's memories together.
That had to have been a dream, thought William while he fastened his armor. It was no use trying to figure out whether someone else had slept in the tent with him by the way things were arranged: William always thrashed around in his sleep and no matter how he arranged things, the tent was an absolute mess come morning. And anyway, the Strategist? In the cool morning air, especially as he struggled to get into his chilly armor, everything he remembered seemed completely absurd. Oh well. Chalk it up to the fever, then. Not for the first time... To hell with it.
And yet for some reason he felt much calmer, much more confident.
William climbed out of his tent, looked around the camp with a possessive eye. The camp woke slowly. People on watch cooked breakfast for the rest, while the others packed up the tents. There were no strange glances in his direction.
William looked for the Strategist and soon found him sitting at a table over a stack of maps, seemingly oblivious to everything around him. The only unusual thing was him rubbing his right shoulder and wincing as if from some mild pain.
No way...
"Good morning, Shiroe," William came closer. "Sleep well?"
The Strategist looked up, mirthful sparks dancing in his eyes. "Not particularly," he admitted. "Something kept tickling me and so kept me awake through most of the night. And you?"
"Slept like a baby," William grinned back. "Ain't gonna doze off on me on the battlefield, are you?"
"Not on the battlefield, no. One day is nothing to worry about," Shiroe replied lightheartedly. "I'll simply turn in early tonight. Might have a little trouble falling asleep, though..."
"Eh, we'll figure it out," William was in high spirits. The morning was bright, the raid felt like it would be no harder than a level 20+ instance, and one enchanter's sleep difficulties were nothing that couldn't be fixed with some simple and pleasant effort.
"Of course we will," the enchanter agreed, glasses glistening.