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Truly the world was a remarkable place.
Naught but curiosity had driven Quirrel so far into the lightless depths of the earth, fighting through vicious, writhing swarms of spiny worms and pale skittering creatures that crawled out of the stony soil savage and biting. Woe to the trespasser in this place, but Quirrel relished the thrill of it, his wits and senses honed sharp as his nail.
These hot springs were the last thing he’d expected to find down there, with pale bioluminescence lending the cavern a soft glow that was enough to see by but not so bright as to be fearsome. A long time ago, an enterprising Hallownest denizen had erected a bench beside the pool, perhaps in the hope of establishing some lucrative little outpost that had never come to be. No other trappings of civilization remained, but neither was there any incursion from the violent creatures that preferred the deepest dark. Here, it was peaceful.
Leaning his nail carefully against the bench, Quirrel lowered himself into the warm water with a grateful sigh, finding a stone at the perfect level to recline on. He felt the heat seep into his carapace, the stress of the day softening away. It made its way into every joint of his limbs, soothing the aches and pains of hard travel. He lay back, deep in bliss, his gaze rolling upwards until he found himself rather absently considering how the ceiling of the cavern disappeared into darkness who knew how high above.
There was very little sound aside from the trickle of spring water, with even the din of tunneling garpedes not too far away muted by the rock walls. It came as something of a surprise, then, when Quirrel thought he imagined a small shape dropping out of the cavern’s heights, only to be thoroughly convinced of its reality by the loud splash it made as it landed in the middle of the pool. He gave a soft laugh of delight as a familiar figure scrambled back to its feet, the shallow water still engulfing much of its short stature.
“Hello, hello!” he called out in greeting. “What a thrill this is, to find such warm comfort amidst the den of beasts.”
The small knight had offered neither name nor gender to him at their previous meetings, and he knew it owed him neither, but their repeated encounters and quiet solidarity as fellow travellers had endeared it to Quirrel all the same. He considered it a welcome sight on his journey and hoped it felt the same way. Not long ago, he had run into Hornet closer to the surface, and they had exchanged some words about the one she had called ‘ghost’, with a strange air to her voice which seemed to carry something of fascination, revulsion, and hope all at once. He supposed he could see it—there was something about the knight that seemed other than entirely physical sometimes, and there was the sense that behind the holes of its mask lay not black, beady eyes but something deeper and darker. But Quirrel had no reason to fear such a creature—the world was a wide and wonderful place, full of much he didn’t understand and all the better for it. As far as he was concerned, it was simply a wandering knight, and had no need to be anything further if it didn’t so desire.
Still standing in the water, it straightened its grey cloak and checked the binding of its nail to its back.
“This is a ferocious place, no doubt,” Quirrel agreed, sympathising with the need to check on one’s weapon after a long drop. No doubt this knight had done its own share of fighting through the savage darkness to reach this place. “Supposedly there’s a village deep in the warren. Its inhabitants never accepted Hallownest's King.” He felt himself chatter away, the words seeming to come from somewhere other than his own memory, but the knight had never minded listening to his musings. It nodded thoughtfully, glancing down the western tunnel, then hesitated, as if reluctant to press on quite yet.
Quirrel had no desire to see it move on so swiftly either. “Why not join me for a time?” he offered. “These waters do wonders for weary legs.” He stretched out his own as if to demonstrate, sighing in satisfaction at the warm, loose feeling in his limbs.
The knight seemed happy to be given an excuse to stay, placing its own nail on the side within easy reach and settling down next to him, only needing to slip down a short way for the water to lap at the underside of its mask. Presently, its head dropped forward a little in relaxation. Quirrel studied it ponderously, the warmth slowing his thoughts to a pleasant crawl. It was nice, he thought, that in this pool large enough for dozens it had nonetheless chosen to sit next to him, yet not quite so close as to be touching, a companionable yet polite distance. Truly, Quirrel wouldn’t have minded had it chosen to shuffle up next to him to lean against his side, but maybe it wasn’t one for such expressions of affection. Or, perhaps it was leaving the decision to close the distance up to him. Perhaps one of them would need to be brave.
Slipping his arms beneath the surface of the water, Quirrel quested out with one hand to find that of his fellow traveller’s. To his gratification, as he brushed his own claws out, he felt his companion’s close around them and squeeze gently, the horned mask tilting up a little to regard him. Its claws were strangely soft, almost unformed to the touch, as if the impression of digits rather than the real thing. Quirrel was once more consumed by curiosity.
“Come here, friend,” he whispered, tugging a little. Eager and unresisting, the knight let itself be guided as Quirrel pulled it against his front, its arms coming to rest around his soft underbelly, hugging him tightly. He sank down a little lower so that the water covered both of their bodies, the knight’s grey cloak billowing up to float on the surface like rippling wings. It was the work of a moment to slip his hands beneath it to wrap his arms behind its back and hold it close in return.
To his surprise, he found neither shell nor carapace beneath his claws but something like flesh, firm yet slightly yielding. He swiftly tempered his touch to gentleness, stroking its back in small, delicate movements. This seemed satisfactory to his friend at least, who tucked its mask against his thorax in contentment. Quirrel leaned his head back and relaxed, allowing his eyes to slip closed, continuing to let his hands drift soothingly over the knight’s back, the two of them soaking in the warmth together in mutual comfort.
Even in this island of relative safety, in the company of a trusted companion, it would not do to let one’s guard down completely. Quirrel kept alert for any shift in the ambient sound, his senses sharp for changes in the air, though as it happened, what he began to notice was occurring right on top of him.
There was no sudden change, only a gradual awareness of a different sensation making its way down his body, the warmth of the water against every nook and cranny of him not replaced, exactly, but supplemented by another feeling—a pressure, perhaps, though that almost made it sound uncomfortable. No, it was more like the sensation of being held, somehow, across every part of him. Not just the tight band of the knight’s arms around his front just beneath his own, though that was pleasant in itself, but further down his body as well, pressing into every joint and hollow, seeping into every crack of his plating.
He lay motionless save for the ongoing stroking, observing without alarm but with some faint astonishment as the feeling moved lower still, pushing gently into his lower abdomen, even nestling around the parts of himself kept tucked away except for when in amorous company, yet keeping them there rather than coaxing them out. It was most certainly erotic yet somehow… innocent wasn’t quite the right word for it—perhaps a better one was undemanding, asking nothing of him save to let himself be held. He did so, uttering no objection and indeed no sound at all that might interrupt whatever strange and delightful thing was occurring.
Quirrel cracked his eyes open a little to see himself immersed in a pool of black, with dark tendrils bleeding into the rest of the spring like spreading inkdrops. He couldn’t see his legs or indeed the edge of anything except for the cloak still floating on the top of the water, attached only to the base of the knight’s mask. Where his claws caressed his companion’s back still felt like a solid surface, more-or-less, so he kept them there. Some small part of his mind wondered faintly if he ought to be worried, but the knight seemed so comfortable in his arms, and as for himself, well, he felt wonderful.
If Quirrel couldn’t see any part of himself with his eyes, never had he felt more aware of his own shape and surface, the sensitivity across every part of him heightened as if he’d gained a second shell and could feel every inch of it, held snug and safe within. It moved with the gentle in-and-out of his breath without constriction, warm and comfortable as a tight embrace but more so, little shivers of pleasure rippling through his body and only being amplified as the enveloping sensation shivered along with him.
Eventually it all got rather too much for him to be able to bear in silence. Managing at least to hold back from writhing in ecstasy, he tossed his head back, unable to stop himself from letting out a single, quiet, “ah!”
The knight twitched in his arms, seeming to come to its senses with a jolt, and quickly collected itself—both figuratively and entirely literally, the spreading pool of black vanishing in a moment as its little body reformed through what seemed to be sheer force of will alone. The all-encompassing pressure was gone, and Quirrel felt a rush of sensation over himself once more at its sudden absence. He couldn’t quite suppress a second, “ah!” as he gave a full-body shudder, overcome with a sudden, heady feeling of release—not orgasm but not entirely dissimilar to it, his nerves fried and tingling all over from the warm water that sloshed back over him.
“My goodness,” he murmured, a little dazed.
The knight quickly scrambled off him and stood next to him in the pool, looking down at him intently with one of his hands still clutched very tightly in its own. Quirrel took a moment to parse its meaning. It occurred to him that, in the knight’s place, if whatever had just happened hadn’t been entirely deliberate, he might be feeling rather mortified right now. He reached out to take the base of its mask and leaned in with his own to meet their brows together with a soft clack, a gesture of affection and respect.
“I…” Quirrel found himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words. “Ah…” He gave a soft chuckle at his own speechlessness. “...Just because I don’t have the words to describe exactly what that was doesn’t mean I didn’t like it, dear friend,” he said eventually in reassurance. “Because I liked it very much.”
The knight’s shoulders sagged downwards a little in relief and it tapped its mask against his own in return. He felt only slightly bereft as it left the water, brushed off the remaining droplets, sheathed its nail once more and sat itself down upon the bench. It felt like there was a glow inside of him and his nerves were all alight, though it would be crass to do anything like touch himself with the knight still present, so he simply watched, endeared, as it carefully arranged its charms, then took a quill from its pack and made some painstakingly neat additions to a map. In a kingdom full of marvels, this was a uniquely fascinating creature. Quirrel couldn’t bear to look away.
He hoped that the world would never stop surprising him.
Finally, the knight packed its things away as neatly as it had taken them out and hopped down from the bench.
“Back on the road once more, then?” Quirrel asked as it pattered back over to where he still reclined in the spring. He tilted his face upwards to regard it properly and was greeted by another soft clack as the knight leaned down to touch its mask to his again, the same gesture as before, sweet as a kiss.
“I hope we see each other again soon, dear friend,” he said in parting, watching with an overwhelming fondness as the knight scurried off into the dark without further ado.
Quirrel vaguely contemplated the idea of following along with it, but they were both solo travellers and he trusted his own words to be true—hadn’t they been, so far? And besides, he didn’t quite feel like getting up just yet. The water was warm, and he was still somewhat aroused, with the privacy now to do something about it.
The depths of the world could wait a little longer.