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The first time it happened was in the midst of battle, as nothing more than a lightning-fast reflex.
On the altar of the cathedral, Crick and Temenos were facing off against the formidable beast that had slain the pontiff. They had been fighting for quite a while, both of them covered in blood, sweat, and mud from the beast's claws.
Crick had gotten a gash on his cheek and looked over to the Inquisitor, who was breathing raggedly as he prepared a spell of light. Crick hoped the spell would finally finish off the gigantic beast.
The beast bared its fangs at them and snarled. It raised a sharp claw in the air, preparing to attack the cleric in front of it.
"Temenos! Watch out!" Crick shouted, his voice rough.
As the beast swung its arm towards Temenos, Crick lunged forward and slid his hands around the other man's narrow waist. He yanked Temenos backwards, his feet lifting off the ground, eliciting a yelping sound from him. The beast's claws scraped against the marble floor, right where Temenos had just stood.
Crick stabbed his sword into the wolf's fur and took several steps back. His armored chest was pressed against the Inquisitor's back, and his arms were still wrapped around his waist in an awkward half-embrace. Being the shorter of the two, Temenos' feet were lifted off the ground.
Crick found it interesting how a man as strong as Temenos felt as light as a feather in his arms. Despite all his lamb-related nicknames for Crick, it seemed like Temenos was the more lamb-like of the two of them. His lithe body felt very warm against Crick's chest, not to mention the softness of his hair. From their close proximity, Crick could even smell the sweet, citrus-like scent of Temenos' hair. It was quite pleasant, in his opinion.
His musings came to a halt when Temenos finally spoke up.
"So, are you going to place me down?" he said with a teasing lilt. "Or shall I stay here, while you smell my hair until the beast mauls us?"
Gods, what was he doing? A newly anointed Sanctum Knight such as himself should not be holding the Inquisitor like this. And he certainly should not be having opinions about the man's scented hair products! His face and ears went cherry-red.
"Ahh, I am very sorry, sir," Crick yelped. He eased his grip on Temenos' waist and let him down. His palms had decided to sweat an awful lot. "Won't happen again, sir."
Temenos hummed in response, looking amused. "Now, now, that wasn't so bad, little lamb. After all, you did save me from our little friend over there."
He nodded towards the altar, where the beast was growling. Its state was weakened, though it wasn't dead yet.
"Oh, yes, sir." Crick narrowed his eyes at Temenos. "You mustn't be so reckless, Temenos. You were standing right in front of it. What would have happened if I hadn't been here?"
Temenos smirked, like he often seemed to do. "Indeed, now where would I be without you, my dear Godsblade?"
Crick blushed even more, if such a thing was even possible.
"But fear not; I can hold off on my own in battle." Temenos stepped towards the beast. "Now, I shall finish casting the spell this beast so rudely prevented me from casting."
Crick watched as his hands began glowing with a divine light, so bright it almost blinded. Temenos pointed his hand towards the wolf and muttered a few incantations. All of a sudden, the light covered every corner of the room and Crick could no longer see anything.
"Temenos?"
When the light dimmed, the beast was lying silently on the floor, dead. Temenos was standing over it with a smile.
"Well then, shall we take our leave, little lamb?"
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The second time Crick picked Temenos up, it could also be counted as being necessary.
After the battle against Vados and the subsequent meeting with the Sacred Guard, both Crick and Temenos were exhausted. They were slowly making their way out of the ship, both men's clothes filled with tiny cuts from Vados' attacks.
The moon shone brightly down on them, as they walked in silence. Crick thanked the Gods that they, along with Temenos' seven companions, had a room in the inn. Though he was thoroughly tired, Crick smiled as they walked side by side, the waves providing some soothing background noise.
The peaceful atmosphere was quickly broken by a groan of pain coming from his friend. Temenos clutched his ankle and rested his weight against Crick.
"Temenos? Are you unwell?" Crick questioned, the worry clear in his voice. "You didn't break your ankle, did you?"
"It looks like a simple sprain." Temenos' face was etched in a frown.
"B-but, aren't those quite easy to heal with magic?"
"Yes, but alas, I've no spirit left for any more spells." Temenos looked up at Crick, something flickering behind his eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to carry me, little lamb."
Crick blushed and sighed. They've been through this many times before. "Must you always call me that? As I've stated before, I do, in fact, have a name."
"Well, perhaps I could fulfill your wish," Temenos said with a sly smile playing on his lips. "That is, if you'll return the favor."
Crick didn't answer; he simply bent down to place his hands under Temenos' knees and on his back, sweeping him into a bridal carry. His heartbeat started racing as soon as Temenos slid his hand to the back of Crick's neck and, for once, smiled an honest smile.
Crick stared at him with wide eyes, realizing how close they were. Temenos had such beautiful eyes, he thought—shining and blue with flecks of silver. Crick was inclined to compare them to the ocean's waves lapping against the sparkling sands, but didn't disclose his thoughts to his friend. Instead, he adjusted Temenos' position to be more comfortable, which inched their faces a bit closer.
"Is this an acceptable carry, sir?" He asked, walking along the pier towards the town.
Temenos' head swayed with every step Crick took. "More than acceptable, I would say." He looked into his knight's eyes and smiled. "Quite perfect. Thank you, Crick."
Crick hoped the darkness of the night would hide his blush. He tightened his grip on Temenos.
As they walked past Crick's fellow knight, Ort, on the pier, he waved at him as a passing greeting. Ort responded with a nod, and as they walked away, Crick could have sworn that he whispered something akin to "I knew it".
What that meant, Crick couldn't possibly guess. He was too tired to care about anything other than the man in his arms.
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The third time it happened, they were both quite inebriated, and Crick would later insist that the drinks were the ones to blame. It wasn't like he wanted to be constantly holding Temenos in his arms. It had just spontaneously happened a few times, and who was Crick to tempt the Gods' plan? Besides, it's not like it meant anything, right?
The evening in the tavern had passed quickly, with both alcohol and friendly conversation flowing freely. The best spirits in all of Harborlands, the barkeep had said, and not even Temenos could doubt his claim once they had finished their third round of drinks.
Crick was glad to finally get to know Temenos' seven odd friends. All of them were great folk and even better drinking companions, although Crick had the sneaking feeling that any of them could cut him to pieces, if he were to hurt their friend. Though he would never do such a thing, Crick was glad Temenos had friends so loyal.
The night was full of shared memories and laughter, but after their sixth round, Crick and Temenos decided to call it a night and head for the inn.
They walked side by side in the chilly night, shoulders brushing on every other step. Both men were intoxicated, the alcohol staining their cheeks red and making it harder to stay balanced.
Crick looked over at Temenos, who was swaying with each step. Being usually so prim and proper, it was weird seeing him like that, but Crick didn't mind this side of him either. In fact, the knight had noticed that he quite liked every side of Temenos, from the authoritative inquisitor to the teasing detective, as blasphemous as he may sometimes be. A familiar warmth settled in his stomach while he watched Temenos' flushed face in the twilight.
Crick's thoughts were interrupted by him stumbling and tripping over nothing in particular. Surprisingly, he managed to not fall on his face, though he inwardly cursed himself for getting so distracted. That seemed to have happened a lot lately.
Temenos chuckled. "I suppose not even an honorable Sanctum Knight such as yourself can walk straight after a night like this. Have you had one too many drinks?"
Crick frowned. "W-well, you speak as though you've not been affected by the spirits, Inquisitor! For you have also been constantly stumbling and bumping against me."
Temenos widened his eyes and placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Oh, pardon me? I do believe it's quite reasonable for me to be throwing myself into the arms of such a handsome young knight," he said with narrowed eyes and a teasing smile. "And at least I have managed to not trip over nothingness, my dearest lamb."
My dearest lamb? Crick was sure his entire face was on flames now. Gods, how did he manage to say such things with an expression so carefree! With the alcohol lowering his inhibitions, Crick was determined to give Temenos a taste of his own medicine.
"In that case, allow me to carry you to the inn if you so wish to, uhh, throw yourself at me, as you put it." Crick felt a little bit insane, but continued: "I wager I could carry you all the way to our room, without stumbling once."
Temenos looked uncharacteristically surprised, but quickly regained his composure with a sly smile. "How could I refuse such an offer? I do warn you though; if you drop me, I shall have no other choice but to call you my little lamb for the rest of my life."
Crick let out a long-suffering sigh. The reasonable part of his brain protested, but to no avail. He wasn't going to back down now. Instead, he once again swept Temenos off his feet into a bridal carry and began walking.
Temenos smiled smugly and wrapped an arm around Crick's neck. He relaxed against Crick's broad chest and began circling his fingers on the back of his neck. The action caused a familiar bubbling warmth in his stomach, and made his breath hitch. Crick had to utilize all of his willpower in order to not keel over.
A comfortable silence fell over them. Crick kept walking with slow, steady steps on the cobblestone pavement. Nights in the Harborlands were mellow and safe, nothing like they were up north.
Eventually, Temenos broke the silence. "You know, I told you why I wished to be in your arms. You've yet to return the favor," he said, looking up into Crick's eyes.
"Huh, what?" he stammered, oh, so eloquently.
"Pray tell me, why is it that you keep picking me up, dear Crick?" Temenos' tone was teasing but his eyes looked honest.
Crick's steps came to a halt, and he breathed deeply. Maybe he shouldn't say this, but his loosened tongue didn't care. Besides, it was nice to talk honestly with Temenos, for once.
"Uhh, well, one could say that you're easy to pick up," he said. Gods, give him strength. "You're as light as a feather, you know, Temenos. And well, you appear to fit in my arms quite well. It feels right, I suppose." Crick felt very exposed, face as red as always.
Temenos was staring up at him with soft widened eyes. His mouth curved into a pleased smile. "Careful, Crick. If you keep saying things like that, you won't want to put me down at all. This might even become a habit."
Crick tore his eyes away from Temenos, wanting to hide his face. "I doubt that will happen," he muttered.
Temenos hummed as Crick continued walking.
"We'll see."
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It kept on happening. Four, five, six, seven times. Crick couldn't remember when he lost count, but it was around the eighth time that he realized it had, in fact, become a habit.
But what else was he supposed to do? Crick had sworn to protect Temenos and stay by his side. As short as his career as the Inquisitor's knight had been, he still chose to live by those promises. Thus, whenever Temenos requested his help, he would oblige. It just so happened that a lot of those requests involved picking him up.
Like the time Temenos had struggled to reach the library's highest shelf. Surely, Crick lifting him up on his shoulders was a reasonable solution.
And the time Temenos had suffered a minor head injury in battle against some roadside bandits. Despite the cleric insisting he was fine, Crick had decided the best course of action would be to carry him back to the camp in his arms.
Or when he'd made a drunken wager with Partitio about how he could run around the tavern at least ten times while carrying a certain long-suffering cleric. That had not been a good idea, in hindsight.
There had been many other occasions like these, and Crick remembered each of them when he laid alone in bed at night. The memories were accompanied by the feeling of warm fluttering in his chest. He'd felt that sensation a lot lately, alongside clammy palms and flushed cheeks.
Crick wasn't stupid, he knew what that meant. He just didn't know what to do about it. Would Temenos feel the same? At times, Crick was sure that he did, but ultimately, it was always impossible to tell whether the man was being genuine or not. Temenos was an odd one, that was for sure.
Crick sighed and rolled over on his side. He'd found that it was nigh impossible to fall asleep whenever his thoughts strayed to Temenos.
He probably should stop the habit of picking Temenos up, as it would only lead to deepening feelings. But who could blame him for wanting to maintain a close proximity with his friend, a man that he held dear? After all, he'd never had the privilege of forming personal connections or musing over matters of heart during his time at the Sacred Guard. Such things would have only served as distractions from his duty. But once Temenos had come along, Crick had realized that maybe there was more to life than blind faith and a rigorous sense of duty.
Thus, surely it wouldn't be so bad to indulge in a harmless form of closeness with his friend. Not even the Gods could smite him for that.
Crick breathed easier now, and closed his eyes. Still, for all his warm feelings towards the Inquisitor, he did wish that Temenos would stop calling him a lamb.
He drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
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The sun shone brightly upon them, coloring everything in its reach a beautiful hue of gold. It was the perfect weather for a trip to the market, which was why Crick and Temenos were out running errands. They had been circling through different stalls for the better part of the hour, searching for something fresh after spending days in the wilderness fueled by nothing but Ochette's jerky. Crick admitted it was the best jerky he'd ever had, but a knight couldn't survive on meat alone. Thus, he and Temenos were standing in front of a fruit stall.
"What say you, little lamb?"
“Huh?” Crick shook his head, shaken from his thoughts.
“I was merely asking your opinion on which ones we should buy," he said. He was holding an apple and a pear. "But your thoughts seem to be straying off elsewhere like wayward lambs." Temenos tilted his head with a twinkle in his eyes.
He was right, as he most often was. Crick had been getting distracted a lot lately. Whether it was by the familiar peals of Temenos' laughter, the small dimples on his cheeks, or the way his eyes seemed to sparkle when teasing him, Temenos just had the uncanny ability of making Crick forget all his surroundings. There was just something about the way the cleric carried himself that always caught his eye. Even now, Crick noticed how the afternoon sun framed Temenos' elegant features and its glow seemed to create a fragile halo around his soft hair.
"I suppose we'll take the apples, then."
Temenos' voice brought him back to the real world. Gods, he really should stop getting so distracted. He felt himself blush.
"Ah, yes, that's quite fine. That's everything, right?"
"Just so, my little lamb," Temenos hummed as he paid for the apples and began walking away, heading towards their inn.
Crick followed after him, a few steps behind. As they walked, a silence fell over them. Perhaps not the most comfortable silence, but the kind that allowed Crick to mull over his thoughts in peace. Thoughts that mostly concerned Temenos.
It was after their stay in Canalbrine that Crick had realized the nature of his feelings for the cleric. The bubbling warmth in his chest and the constant fumbling of words around Temenos had made those clear. Even the way his cheeks would light up whenever the Inquisitor would use those Gods-forsaken nicknames. It wasn't that Crick disliked them, it was more so that he hated just how much of an effect they had on him. Not that he'd ever let Temenos know, as he would become even more insufferable than usual. Although Crick would concede there was something very endearing about Temenos even when he was at his most insufferable.
"A leaf for your thoughts?" Temenos' question broke the silence.
"O-oh, it's nothing," Crick said. "I was just, uh, admiring the weather."
Temenos let out a disbelieving hum. "Is that so? By the look on your face, one could assume you were thinking about something," he was smirking again, "or someone very special. Although, I would never make such assumptions, my dear Godsblade."
Crick's face flushed a familiar shade of crimson.
Temenos' tone got a bit more sincere. "I have, however, noticed your recent habit of staring into space with a rather wistful look. Is everything quite alright? I'd hate to see such a handsome young knight be so troubled."
"Ah, yes, sir. I can assure you nothing is awry," Crick responded. He was sure Temenos already knew that, as his eyes always seemed to read Crick like an open book. "Quite the opposite, in fact." His voice was barely above a whisper at that statement.
A smile tugged at Temenos' lips. "If you say so, my little lamb."
And there was that name again! Crick was about to voice his objection to it, when Temenos spoke up.
"Well, it seems we've arrived at our destination," he said.
They were standing in front of the town's shabby inn. The building in question was probably only a few strong gusts of wind away from collapsing. Their band of nine weary travelers had arrived there the same morning and had reserved as many rooms as possible. However, due to the inn's cramped quarters, and to Crick's absolute mortification and mild excitement, he'd been forced to share the inn's smallest room with Temenos. He hadn't even had the chance to check out the room before leaving to run errands with Temenos.
Temenos pushed open the inn's door, only to be greeted with the savory smell of stew and the very familiar sounds of his friends arguing. Ochette seemed to be protesting against having anything other than meat for dinner, while Castti was slowly stirring a pot on the fireplace, looking like a tired mother. At the opening of the door, her head perked up.
"Ah, Temenos," she said, sounding relieved. "Did you bring the vegetables I asked?"
"Yes–"
"Temmy! Can't you tell Ma that we have enough jerky to feed us all? There's no need to add those greens to the tasty stew," Ochette proclaimed, cutting Temenos off.
As Temenos began lecturing her on the benefits of eating vegetables, Crick hung back near the door. He had traveled with the group for weeks now, but he still wasn't sure if he could handle an argument with the small but fearsome hunter. Castti sent him a weary look across the room, signaling similar feelings. Ochette had probably been at it for quite a while.
Crick decided to excuse himself and head upstairs to shed the heavy layers of his armor. The creaky stairs led to a narrow corridor, at the end of which was his and Temenos' shared room.
Crick opened the door with a click and took in the room. It was dusty and tiny, barely larger than a broom closet, though that was to be expected. What was, however, not expected was that the singular piece of furniture in the room was a bed. One bed that was quite clearly meant for two.
Crick felt his face light up and an uncomfortable heat rise through his chest. His armor felt tighter around his neck, making his breathing heavier. Crick took off his gauntlets, then pulled at the leather straps holding his breastplate in place and let it fall on the plain white bedspread. He hastily dismantled the rest of his chest's armor and felt his breathing slow.
Surely Temenos hadn't known the room would only have one bed. Right? Truth be told, he wasn't completely convinced this was a mistake, knowing Temenos' teasing nature.
Crick sighed and sat down on the bed, rubbing at his flushed face. With his cuirass and pauldrons laying on the bed, he was left with only his thin white undershirt. Still, he didn't feel any less heated. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair; a nervous tick of his.
What really did not help the situation was the sound of the door opening, and a familiar pair of footsteps slipping into the room.
"I managed to persuade Ochette into adding some non-meaty ingredients to the stew," Temenos said, as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "So, you'll not have to worry about the state of tonight's dinner, my dear—"
The endearment fell quiet on his lips, as Temenos took in the room's furniture — or lack thereof. "Ah," he let out a small surprised sound.
Crick looked up at him with an awkward smile. "Um, I believe there's been a misunderstanding regarding the rooms' reservations," he said, gesturing at the bed he was sitting on.
Temenos nodded slowly, then tilted his head to the side. "Indeed, it seems so." He looked contemplative for a spell, then continued with an expression Crick couldn't quite name. "Unless this was your plan all along. To lure me into such a small room with only a single bed." Now he was wearing an unbearably sly grin. "Oh yes, that must be it; why, you've even stripped off your breastplate, my dear Godsblade."
What. Crick sat there frozen, barely comprehending what was happening.
Temenos went on, with a hand raised to his chest and an astonished expression on his face. "My, my, how audacious of you to tempt an innocent clergyman such as myself. Although I must say it's not an entirely fruitless effort, my little lamb."
Upon hearing the familiar nickname, Crick shot up from where he was sitting, and exclaimed: "T-temenos! What in the Gods' names are you saying?" He was sure his entire upper body was redder than a tomato.
"Oh, I'm sure you know. After all, you are a smart man, aren't you, my knight?"
Crick couldn't take it anymore. This man was going to be the death of him, he was convinced. So, Crick strode across the small room in a few steps until he was just an arm's length away from Temenos.
"My—”
Whichever nickname he was about to say was abruptly cut off, when Crick reached his hands under Temenos' arms and lifted him up in the air. The Inquisitor looked like a mischievous kitten picked up from the neck, as a cat-like grin spread on his face.
"Please, Temenos! Cease calling me those names," Crick insisted.
Temenos didn't seem fazed by this. "You know, if you wished to silence me, my dear, there are a number of other ways you could have done it," he said with a smile. Then he proceeded to wrap his legs around Crick's waist, which elicited a small yelp from the knight.
"Temenos!" he exclaimed, as he steadied his hands around the man's lower back. Crick very pointedly avoided slipping his hands any lower, since this carrying embrace was already an awkward enough position. Their noses were nearly touching now, and Temenos' hands were circled around Crick's neck like a scarf. Their breaths mingled, and Crick couldn't tear his eyes away from the elegant curve of the other man's lips. They were slightly parted, curved into a sly smile. If Crick were to inch just a little closer, he could—
"What is it?" Temenos said. He was gazing intently into Crick's eyes with an indescribable look, that made Crick's heart skip a beat and his mouth dry up. "Cat got your tongue, my dear little lamb?" Temenos leaned even further forward, until their noses were brushing. Temenos' breath ghosted over Crick's lips, sending shivers down his spine. Gods, this man really did intend to drive him insane.
Crick managed to tear his eyes away from Temenos' lips for a spell, only to meet his blue eyes and whisper: "My name is Crick. You would do well to remember it." Then he closed the distance between them with a gentle press of their lips'.
Kissing Temenos did not feel like fireworks exploding or flowers blooming, like he'd often read in books. Instead, the kiss felt a little clumsy, with its awkward angle and with Crick's hands fumbling to keep a proper hold on Temenos. But Gods be damned if it didn't feel right. The way their lips slotted together, or how Temenos' fingers tangled up in Crick's hair, or just the overwhelming feeling of warmth bubbling in his chest; it all felt like it was meant to be. As Temenos' lips were brushing against his own with a surprising ease, he felt almost intoxicated. Crick's heart was beating with such a pace that he feared it would leap right out of his chest.
Crick had to reluctantly break off the kiss to gasp for air against Temenos' lips. As he stared in wonder at the man before him — face tinged pink and wetted lips slightly parted — a thousand questions flooded his mind. Oh, Gods, what had he done? What if he'd ruined their friendship? Would this be the end of his promising career, as he'd so sacrilegiously kissed the Inquisitor, out of all people? The look on his friend's face revealed nothing, since Temenos was panting quietly, lacking the usual teasing smile.
When he finally did open his mouth, Crick froze with anxious anticipation.
"Well, I'll be. That was quite something, wasn't it?" Temenos smiled and he seemed to be positively glowing. "If that's the punishment I shall be getting for calling you silly nicknames, then I will most certainly keep doing it, my little lamb," he said with a grin.
"What? N-no! I did that—" Crick lowered his voice. "—I, uh, kissed you, so you'd specifically stop calling me a lamb. That's more so the prize you'll get, if you finally cease with the nicknames." It felt very foolish to admit such a thing out loud.
"Oh, is that so, Crick? In that case, I shall play by your rules and use your name." Temenos then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Would you like that, my dearest Crick?"
"Y-yes, I'd like that very much," he said. The look in Temenos' eyes was bewitching, with his sparkling eyes directed at nothing but Crick.
"Very well, Crick, I'll happily indulge. And Crick; surely you won't mind if I do this, in order to get some more prizes, as you called them?" Temenos' lips curved into a smug smile, as he started repeatedly saying Crick's name. It almost sounded like a prayer of sorts.
Crick watched him in bewilderment, but once Temenos had said his name at least a dozen times, he said: "Hey, that's too many."
"Oh, really? Then, you'd better give me those prizes of yours."
Crick scoffed, but gripped Temenos' tunic harder and pulled him into another kiss. Temenos responded by placing one hand on the back of his neck, while sliding the other down the back of Crick's shirt. Crick shivered, and in turn adjusted one hand to hold Temenos from under his thigh.
This time, the kiss was more passionate, with their tongues hungrily slipping into each other's mouths. Their chests were pressed fervently against each other, hearts beating in unison. They broke apart ever so slightly to catch their breath, but the intoxicating sight of swollen lips and tousled hair soon drew them back for several more kisses.
Crick kept pressing soft kisses against every part of Temenos' gorgeous face — his cheeks, nose, neck and mouth — until he nuzzled his head into the crook of Temenos' neck to catch his breath.
Once he raised his head up, he was met with a soft smile from Temenos. "Well, surely that's not all? I do believe you owe me at least a dozen more kisses, my dearest Crick," he said with a most familiar teasing tone.
Crick refrained from commenting about who really owed who in this relationship. After all, this was a debt he very much wanted to repay.