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Once a month or so, Flins would come down to The Flagship to sit with fellow lightkeepers, passing soldiers, and interested locals, and tell stories.
Varka knew he didn’t desire to come to Nasha Town more than a few times a month, but The Flagship did serve some good drinks. So he tended to make the most of his trips when he did venture out.
As a matter of fact, it was there, at The Flagship, that Varka first met him over drinks.
It was also the reason Varka made his way to the tavern that night.
With the crisis in Nod Krai…somewhat settled, Varka was looking forward to a return to normalcy for a while. And normalcy for the Knights of Favonius in Nod Krai meant visiting the Speranza and The Flagship during off duty to blow off steam.
Following the battle against Rerir, Flins excused himself back to his lighthouse to rest, but assured Varka he would return to Nasha Town in three days to replenish supplies.
Varka swung open the door of The Flagship, greeted by the familiar cacophony of voices, spoons scraping against bowls, and glasses clinking.The jukebox crooned out familiar tunes and a number of patrons called out his name in greeting as he passed.
He swept his gaze from one end of the tavern to the other. Huh, no sign of Flins so far.
Well, no matter. He ordered a mug full of cider to warm his belly and settled into a seat, striking up a conversation with the locals sitting nearby. Any opportunity, no matter how small, was a chance to gather more information.
Still, he was primarily there to see Kyryll.
He sat for hours, had dinner, and yet still, Kyryll did not show himself.
With the false moon high in the sky, Varka headed back to his accommodation with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He wasn’t upset at Kyryll for being a no-show--more just anxious to see him again after the face off with Rerir. Between running off to Ámsvartnir and the battle with Rerir, they’d rarely had time to see each other! He hated that they’d spent so much time apart, and was looking forward to making that up.
He settled on a plan for the next morning: gathering some supplies he knew Kyryll used most often, do a quick once over of the town to make sure he didn’t miss him, and then make the trek up to Final Night Ceremony himself. Barbatos forbid Kyryll had actually run into some trouble and couldn’t leave the lighthouse. It was good for Varka to go check on him.
As dawn broke the next morning, he did exactly that. A once over of Nasha town and some chats with the children delivering papers and shopkeeps revealed no signs of Flins, so he loaded up his pack and set off.
Truthfully, it was easier to catch a ride on a boat to the Final Night Cemetery than to hike all the way up Lempo. Many nights chatting over drinks at the tavern helped him grow close to the local boat captains. A fishing boat captain happily let him aboard, agreeing to drop him off at the fatui dock closest to the remote island.
The journey was chilly, but uneventful. Varka passed the time chatting with the fishermen and watching the waves.
Ahh, finally, Varka thought, as he laid eyes upon the shining lighthouse. Finally he would have abundant private time with Kyryll. The fae had probably just busied himself with something and put off his usual Nasha Town visit for a few days. Varka could take a guess at a few things--his bone puzzles, reorganizing his curio collection, or perhaps just sleeping the day away in the peace and quiet he adored so much.
Yes, surely it was just a simple oversight.
Stepping up to Kyryll’s front door, Varka knocked three times. “Flins?” he called out, avoiding the use of his first name just in case anyone was listening. “It’s Varka!”
Silence answered him from inside, the air only filled with the sound of the waves and the distant groaning of the fatui base.
After a moment, though, he heard footsteps.
They weren’t the even, measured steps of Kyryll’s sturdy boots, though. They sounded…heavier, perhaps barefoot or in slippers, and unsteady.
Then, the door swung open. Varka gasped.
Kyryll wasn’t so much standing inside as he was leaning onto the doorframe for support. He was dressed in comfortable clothes--long pants and a long sleeve shirt--which told Varka he likely didn’t have plans to leave his home anytime soon. His usually well kept hair was frizzy and unbrushed, and his pallor perhaps paler than usual. A quick once over revealed no obvious injuries, but Kyryll was breathing heavily just standing there.
A million possibilities flooded Varka’s mind, and along with it a million solutions. Did he need to get Kyryll back to Nasha Town, and to a doctor? How would he do that? No friendly ships would be passing back by until evening, and it was unlikely he would be able to flag one down, anyway. Would he have to bribe a fatui boat captain with some huge sum of mora, just to get passage for an injured man?
Before he could spiral more though, Kyryll raised a hand to him.
He heaved a labored sigh, and motioned Varka inside. “Come, I’ll explain. But I must admit I-I’m a bit dizzy, I need to sit down. You can close the door behind you.”
Varka did as he was told, stepping out of the chill wind and shutting the door behind him quickly. Flins was already back across the room and slumping down onto the couch by the time Varka turned back around. He rested his head against the armrest with a sigh, his bangs falling limply across his eyes.
“Kyryll, darlin’, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Varka asked, shoving off his boots and hurrying after him. He crouched down near Flins, taking hold of his hand. The house smelled…odd, he noticed. He couldn’t exactly place the smell. Perhaps metallic? It didn’t make any sense. He’d never noticed such a smell before when visiting.
Kyryll squeezed his hand back, cracking open his eyes. “I’m not hurt, so temper your fretting, knight,” he teased. Varka’s brows knit together. Whatever could be causing him to be laid up in his house, then?
“What’s the matter then? What can I do to help?” he said, frustration with seeing Kyryll in pain edging into his voice. He covered Kyryll’s hand with both of his.
Kyryll sighed. “Varka, you have women on your expedition, yes?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
Varka nodded, eyebrow raised.
“And you know they must occasionally…how to put it…perhaps, take rest? About once a month?”
“Are you talking about their ‘time of the month’, Kyryll? What’s that got to do with you?” Varka asked, growing more confused by the second. Well, it wasn’t like he was unaware that Kyryll didn’t follow the typical binary of human gender. He was, actually, overly familiar with that fact. But he’d known the man for more than a year. Did Kyryll really experience…? How had it never come up before?
“Yes, well…” Kyryll said. “I must have experienced my heat while we were planning to oppose Rerir. Between all the stress and fighting, I didn’t notice any symptoms. My symptoms have always been quite mild, anyway. Now I’m dealing with the aftermath, as it were,” he explained. Then he suddenly grimaced and groaned as he curled in on himself, pulling his hand away from Varka to hold his midsection.
Varka startled, trying to process all the new information. Kyryll was really experiencing…what now!?
“H-hold on, darlin’. I have many, many questions, but you’re in pain. If I’m not takin’ you back to Nasha Town to see a doctor, then how can I help? I can’t bear seeing you like this, Kyryll,” Varka stood and moved to the kitchen area, where a few items were already laid out on the table.
Kyryll let out some combination of a groan and a sigh, but that was probably about as much agreement as he was going to get. “...should be a hot water bottle over there. That will help. I hadn’t had the chance to warm any water yet.”
Varka nodded and set about warming a pot of water over the small stove. Kyryll said nothing as they waited, but he did eventually roll to his other side and completely bury his face in the couch, still cradling his midsection. Varka tried to wrap his head around the whole thing. If he really was having his ‘time of the month’, it did explain his behavior. He rubbed circles into Kyryll’s back as he kept one eye on the pot, hoping it would be of some comfort while they waited.
Finally, the water was steaming. After carefully pouring the steaming water into the rubber bottle he ferried it back to Kyryll.
“Thank you, my love,” Kyryll purred, though Varka could still sense tension in his voice. He shifted onto his back and laid the hot water bottle across his lower belly, sighing in relief as the warmth spread. “That really does help.”
“I’ll do whatever you need,” Varka affirmed, making himself comfortable in a nearby armchair. It was just near enough that he could card his fingers through Kyryll’s bangs. “But, now that you’re a bit more comfortable, can you start from the beginning? You…experience a-a heat? Is that what you called it?”
“Yes, it’s…” he trailed off with a sigh, perhaps unsure where to start. “Let me put it this way. Snowland fae are very long lived. We were originally created, not born, but we are able to have children. Since we are so long lived, having only one, maybe two children is more than any fae needs. During my days in Snezhnayan court, having two children would have been considered a large family, even,” Kyryll explained, sliding a hand under the hot water bottle and rubbing at his hip absentmindedly.
Varka hummed in understanding, and Kyryll continued. “Since we have no reason to have children so young, or so often in life like humans, our bodies…adapted, I suppose. Our mating cycles don’t happen more than once a decade. And unlike humans, we experience a heat, which is a time that is much easier to conceive. After that, we experience a menstrual cycle, which would be more familiar to humans. I don’t know how familiar you are with the symptoms, but…there are quite a number of them. And all of them, unpleasant.”
Varka’s hand stilled where it was stroking his hair. He couldn’t help the flush that took over his face. It was much easier for fae to conceive during heat…Kyryll always did make sure to have a healthy supply of condoms around when they were together, but Varka had never actually considered that it was a possibility. He felt a bit lightheaded.
“D-does a heat have any symptoms?” was all Varka could force out.
“It can, though it’s been a long, long time since I experienced any. If anything, I would say most fae might be a bit more excitable, and would want to spend more time with their lover during heat. If I recall correctly, though, stress and excess physical activity can minimize or stop heats all together. What with the business with Rerir, I’d say it’s no surprise that I didn’t notice. I don’t think I’ve had a heat in decades, maybe even half a century,” he explained, sighing as he looked up at the ceiling. “A pity, really. Would have been fun to spend that time together,” he said, glancing at Varka with tired eyes.
Shit, now he was really kicking himself. That damned sinner really ruined everything, Varka thought. Instead of chasing him across the country, he and Kyryll could have been--
Kyryll groaned again, his head lolling to the side. Varka snapped himself back to the present. He went to reach for him, wanting to help, but he really wasn’t sure what he could do.
“Is it…it’s painful?” he asked, even though that was quite obvious.
“Yes, the cramps seem to never end,” Kyryll groaned, rubbing his stomach. “Not to mention the nausea, the headaches, the exhaustion. I’m counting myself exceedingly lucky that this didn’t happen before the fight with Rerir, but, somehow, I’m thinking that my body knew,” he explained. “I really did intend to come to Nasha Town, as I told you. But after I arrived back home, had a meal, and then slept, I woke up exhausted.”
Varka couldn’t wipe the scowl off his face. Their battle against Rerir was intense, so it wasn’t surprising, but still. He hated to hear that Kyryll was suffering. And he’d suffered alone, at that.
“I thought it was normal, after the battle. But then, well…eventually I figured out it wasn’t. But, alas, such is life,” he finished, sighing and relaxing his head back against the cushion. He took a few slow, deep breaths, perhaps willing the pain to pass with them.
Varka leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. It looked like he would need to stay with Kyryll for a number of days.
“How long does this last, exactly? And is there anything else I can do?” he asked, even though his mind was swirling with more questions. He needed something to focus on.
Kyryll stayed silent for a moment, still breathing slow. Perhaps he was just thinking, and Varka did not want to rush him.
“I would say a week, maybe. And actually, there should be some herbs-- willow bark and meadowsweet-- in the cupboards. Lauma gave it to me some time ago. I believe, if boiled into a tea, it has some pain relieving properties--”
“On it!” Varka said, standing quickly from the chair and rushing back to the kitchen.
Kyryll cracked his eyes open at the clatter he made as he looked through the cupboards and readied the teapot, then huffed out a laugh before going back to resting.
After a few minutes of chopping the herbs and readying the teapot, Varka was happy with his handiwork. While the herbs simmered, he turned back to Kyryll.
“Kyryll?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t even bother opening his eyes. Much to Varka’s relief, Kyryll looked much more at ease than when he’d arrived. He wanted to believe his presence helped that, and would continue to help.
“Can I…can I ask you a dumb question?”
That familiar soft, hearty chuckle drifted through the air between them. “Go ahead, my love.”
“Do you…do ya’ bleed, when you’re on your cycle? Like humans do?” He assumed the answer was yes, but he didn’t want to operate solely on assumptions.
Kyryll chuckled again, but didn’t belittle him for asking. “Unfortunately, yes, I do. Really, I have all the same symptoms that humans do. Although, I will say, I think they are amplified because they’re so rare for me. But perhaps I’m just not used to them,” he explained with a sigh. “Actually, I should probably go check if I need to change…”
He moved the hot water bottle off his lap and stiffly sat himself up on the couch. With those same careful movements, he stood and saw himself off to the bedroom.
Varka refocused on the tea for a few minutes, gently stirring the water while he waited. He could hear running water and the gentle rustle of clothes from the bedroom. After a few minutes, Kyryll emerged, relief evident on his face.
Their evening wore on how it usually would, Varka supposed, though with much more caretaking and much less sexy time. Was he a little disappointed? Perhaps, but the way Kyryll’s face softened after he ‘ate’ a meal Varka cooked for him was nearly just as good. The tea must have done its job of pain relieving, too, since Kyryll downed three mugs of it.
They ended the night snuggled together in bed, the hot water bottle back across Kyryll’s hips. He’d positioned a towel under himself, too, just in case, he told Varka.
Dressed in just their undergarments, Kyryll dozed with his back to Varka’s chest while Varka rubbed gentle circles into his belly. When the hot water bottle eventually went lukewarm, Varka hefted it onto the bedside table and extinguished the lamp, nodding off with Kyryll in his arms.
A perfect, peaceful night.
…
Except Kyryll woke just a few hours later, rousing Varka as he hastily got out of bed and waddled to the washroom to change. Varka listened as the water ran and ran. Since normal laundry couldn’t be done in the middle of the night, washing things in the sink must have been the next best thing.
When Kyryll finally emerged and laid back down, he found it hard to fall back asleep. Varka listened as he tossed and turned for a while, though Varka himself eventually dozed off again.
And then the same scene happened again a few hours later.
The sun still wasn’t up--probably wouldn’t be for a few more hours--and Varka was wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The water ran and ran in the washroom again.
After a few more minutes, Kyryll was finally ready to settle back into bed with him. He cuddled into Varka’s side, threw an arm over Varka’s chest, and all was peaceful for a few minutes.
Until Kyryll broke the silence with a pained groan, grabbing his stomach. Varka heard him curse in his ancient language.
Suffice to say, Varka was exhausted. He’d been out late at the tavern the night before, and up early that morning. And that wasn’t even counting the several hour long boat trip to Final Night Cemetery.
He couldn’t imagine how much worse Kyryll felt, though.
“Can I go heat up the hot water bottle again for you?” he asked, propping himself up in bed and pressing a kiss to Kyryll’s temple.
“If you wouldn’t mind…it would be greatly appreciated,” Kyryll moaned, grabbing a pillow to hug in Varka’s absence. Varka just nodded and hauled himself out of bed, donning a thick robe and socks to ward off the night’s chill, and grabbed the hot water bottle on the way to the kitchen.
The next few days continued in much the same manner.
Cramps, nausea, headaches. Everything in Kyryll’s body seemed to operate on some extreme. He couldn’t sleep at night, but was sluggish and drowsy during the day. Sometimes he didn’t want anything touching him, and the next minute he would be glued to Varka’s side. In the mornings he was nauseated by food, but by the afternoon he was ready for two helpings of dinner.
Through it all, Kyryll only snapped at him a few times, and Varka couldn’t really blame him. He was dealing with all these symptoms for the first time in decades, and the only relief was the constant use of a hot water bottle, and time. Hell, if Varka had been going through the same thing, he couldn’t promise that he would be so composed.
(It really gave him a new perspective, too. Perhaps the women of the Knights ought to be given extra days off, if they so desired. He ought to consult with someone on that, though he imagined Jean would never willingly take extra days off. Perhaps Lisa could be of help?)
A few key moments stuck in his head.
On the second day, a honking ibis greeted them outside Kyryll’s door after breakfast.
“Huh?” Varka mumbled, standing in the doorway in his robe and slippers, letting in the cold, fresh air to refresh the house. The bird hopped around excitedly, then finally waddled up to Varka to hand over the letter tied to its neck.
“Oh? For me? Thank you…” he murmured, as if the bird would understand him. He unrolled the parchment, not a clue as to what could be inside.
Dear Mr. Flins,
I hope this letter finds you safe and healthy. Are you doing well after the battle? Nefer and Jahoda mentioned not hearing from you after several days, so I thought I would write. Do you need any supplies, or more medicinal herbs? Please write back, or visit if you can. As your friend, I am always here to help you, should you need it.
Lauma
Frostmoon Scions
Oh, a letter from Lauma? How kind of her. Varka thought the letter over, glancing back to Kyryll, who was fast asleep on the couch. They didn’t really need much in the way of supplies, but more of Lauma’s medicinal herbs would be a godsend.
The ibis--sent by Lauma, he had to assume--did not fly off as he thought. Instead, it lingered around Kyryll’s front porch, hopping about or picking at the ground for insects. Well, it wasn’t like he could contact Lauma any other way.
While Kyryll slept, he hurried inside and penned a response.
Ms. Lauma,
Hello, this is Grandmaster Varka. I’ve traveled up to Final Night Cemetery as I didn’t hear from Mr. Flins for several days, either. When I arrived I found that he had fallen ill, so I’m staying with him for a few days until he recovers. If it’s not too much trouble, could you send more of your medicinal herbs that you’ve given Mr. Flins before? I believe he called them willow bark and meadowsweet. They have been of great aid to him, so if you can spare some extra it would be greatly appreciated.
On behalf of both Mr. Flins and myself, thank you for your steadfast friendship. It is greatly appreciated in these difficult times.
Sincerely,
Grandmaster Varka
As if it was trained to do so, the ibis waited patiently while Varka secured the letter to its neck with a knot. Right after he finished the bird was off, flying back in the direction of the Frostmoon Scions.
What a curious bunch of companions they made.
Afterwards, Varka went back inside to finish cleaning up breakfast.
…
In his first 48 hours of staying with Kyrll, he’d heard Kyryll complain about cramps perhaps a thousand times.
When he woke from his morning nap, the hot water bottle was the first thing Kyryll asked for, again. He also moved back to their bed, laying himself out over the covers.
“Hey, can I…can I try to massage what feels sore, or somethin’? Tell me what hurts, darlin’,” he offered, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, hot water bottle in hand.
Kyryll sighed, rolling over to face him. “You can’t exactly massage these cramps away, I imagine that might be more painful than it’s worth if you tried,” he said, and Varka noticed the circles under his eyes were even darker than normal. “But…sometimes the front of my thighs ache, and my back…”. He went on to list a number of other body parts, all but confirming Varka’s theory. There was plenty he could try.
“Say no more!” he said, kicking off his slippers and joining Kyryll on the bed. “Just lay back and relax, hm?”
A handful of minutes under Varka’s hands (and knuckles, and elbows) had Kyryll melting into the bed like a sugar sculpture left out on a hot day. He let out particularly adorable moans when Varka massaged his back, just over his hip bones. Well, seemed like a good place to focus, then. He spent minutes in the same area, using the heels of his hands to knead long swaths of pressure over his back and hip bones, or rubbing little circles into particularly tight spots.
“Never knew so many places could get tight just from some cramps,” Varka said once Kyryll flipped over onto his back. He was using his elbows to massage deep pressure down the front of his thighs.
“Believe me, love, I had no idea either,” Kyryll muttered, his voice soft as if speaking any louder would break the bubble of comfort he had around him. “It aches every time I stand up, or when I walk. I suppose even organs cramping can pull on the muscles around them, after all.”
Varka happily gave many, many more massages over the ensuing days.
…
On the third day Varka stayed with Kyryll, a gentle rain pitter pattered against the windows all day.
The day was mostly uneventful, the two of them turning to books, trading stories, and various house chores to pass the time. He told Kyryll about the letter Lauma sent the previous day. With the rain, though, he wasn’t sure if the ibis would make the return trip so soon.
They’d just finished lunch and Kyryll was dozing on the couch. He said something about not feeling well before lying down, but that was no surprise to Varka. Kyryll didn’t seem to feel well at any minute while on his cycle.
Until.
“Varka, get a bucket.”
“What, is there a leak in the ceiling again?” Varka asked from where he was reclined in the arm chair.
“Varka, get a bucket,” Kyryll emphasized, hauling himself up off the couch with far too much speed and putting his head down between his knees.
Lucky for Varka, he wisened up and realized the urgency of the situation right on time.
As soon as an empty container was within reach, Kyryll’s will to hold it in completely gave out. He retched once, twice, and then proceeded to vomit violently into the bucket.
It had been so long since he’d vomited that Kyryll didn’t even know what to do with himself. He rarely ingested food, so all that came up were sour strings of bile and whatever liquid he drank recently. The last time this happened must have been decades ago, after a seriously irresponsible night of drinking. Kyryll made sure it didn’t happen a second time.
Varka did all he could--which was to hold Kyryll’s hair out of the way and rub his back.
Eventually, the nausea passed.
“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Varka comforted, ensuring Kyryll’s hair was out of the way before dashing to the kitchen for a hand towel and a glass of water. He had plenty of experience dealing with this, at least, since he’d seen his soldiers hurl many times after getting too drunk, or from actual sickness.
Kyryll, though, was obviously not used to this sensation. He just sat, frozen, until Varka tipped his chin up and started to wipe his mouth. Kyryll slowly took over after that, spitting into the bucket and swishing his mouth out with water.
Still, he couldn’t stop shaking. It was as if he was put on top of one of Aino’s robots before it bounced across the land, except way less fun. “Stomach… ‘urts,” was what he managed, trying to get the message across to Varka.
“What do ya’ mean, like you’re gonna throw up again?” Varka asked as he tied Kyryll’s hair back.
He shook his head no, wrapping his arms around his sides. “Like…cramping. Shaking.”
Varka nodded. “It’s probably just the stress on your muscles from throwing up, especially if you’re not used to it,” he explained. “Let me get you a blanket, the warmth might help you relax.”
Kyryll just nodded and sunk back into the couch, boneless, his hands still shaking in his lap.
A short time later, Varka had him fixed up. A heavy quilt encircled his shoulders, and the gentle pressure did calm the shaking somewhat. From the kitchen, he brought a mug of hot tea for him to sip at, and a bowl of broth for him to absorb if he felt up to it.
As always, the hot water bottle made a return, too.
They cracked the windows for some fresh air, and the rain pitter pattered on.
In the end, Kyryll fell asleep on Varka’s shoulder after a few sips of tea.
…
A gentle knock at the door shook Varka out of his thoughts on the fourth day. He was cleaning up from breakfast, so he resigned to just stacking the dirty dishes until he could get back to them. He glanced around at the living room as he made his way over to the door. It was a bit of a mess, to say the least. They washed clothes the day before, including a number of Kyryll’s undergarments and cloth pads. Due to the rain they couldn’t be set outside to dry, so clothes were strewn all about the living room, on the backs of chairs or over Kyryll’s drying rack.
They weren’t exactly set up for visitors, that was for sure. Hopefully the guest at the door was just another lightkeeper. Varka was rather sure he could get them to leave with a few little white lies.
To his surprise, though, it was not a lightkeeper at the door. Instead, he found Lauma, Jahoda, Ineffa, and Aino waiting outside on the metal landing of Kyryll’s porch.
“O-oh. Well hello there, ladies! W-what brings you all the way up here?” he asked, closing the door slightly to try and block the mess in the living room from view. Kyryll was in the back of the house bathing, so he had no way of knowing if Kyryll heard the knock at the door. All Varka could do was cross his fingers that Kyryll didn’t walk out in some state of undress.
“Grandmaster Varka, it’s good to see you. I’m so relieved that you were able to stay here with Mr. Flins for a few days,” Lauma began in her melodic voice. “After I received your reply, I was so moved by your dedication that I wanted to send more than just herbs,” she explained, lifting the basket in her hand as she spoke. Behind her, Jahoda, Ineffa, and Aino also carried their own baskets.
“Yeah! We brought more herbs and lots of food so Mr. Flins can get better fast!” Aino exclaimed, hastily handing her basket off to Ineffa and pushing to the front. “Can I come inside now, Uncle Varka? It’s sooo~ cold up here, I didn’t think it would be so much colder up here than in Nasha Town.”
“The industrialization of Nasha Town and the craftshop provide an artificial warmth to the area, while Mr. Flins’ home of the Final Night Cemetery does not possess nearly as much infrastructure. The cold air coming off the ocean also contributes to this,” Ineffa explained, her eyes glowing blue as she searched her internal archives. “Also, Aino, it is generally considered rude to invite yourself into someone’s home. Please wait until Mr. Flins invites you in himself.”
“Ineffa! I’m too cold out here. Warm me up with your oven, then!”
“A-actually, I’m not sure if Mr. Flins can accept visitors right now,” Varka stammered, glancing back at the mess of a living room. “He’s very under the weather, after all, it’s best if he just rests. It’s so very kind of you to come all this way, though…” Varka scrambled for what to do next. Perhaps he could store the supplies away inside, then accompany the group back to Nasha Town and treat them to a meal? That would take up the whole day, though, and he’d rather not leave Kyryll alone.
“Hey Mr. Grandmaster, you’re not the only one who’s Flins’ friend. We wanted to visit to make sure he’s okay! We won’t stay for long or anything,” Jahoda interjected, peeking around Lauma with a glint in her eye.
“Ah, I don’t want to intrude if Mr. Flins really is that tired, though…” Lauma muttered, her eyes flitting back and forth as she thought.
“I’m still coooold!” Aino whined again.
Varka was at a loss. Turning the group away wasn’t right, but he wasn’t doing it for selfish reasons. He was protecting Kyryll’s true identity. And, while keeping his identity as a fae secret wasn’t too difficult, trying to conceal his cycle as an illness might not be so easy.
Varka started to stutter another half baked excuse, only to be interrupted by Kyryll himself joining them at the door.
“My friends, how wonderfully kind of you to make the long trip to my abode just to check in on me,” Flins said, smooth as ever. Varka visibly relaxed, stepping aside and allowing Flins to take control of the conversation. “I’d love to invite you inside, but I must admit that my home is not in good shape to host guests right now. Perhaps you could give us a few minutes?”
“Oh,” Jahoda piped up. “You’re just worried cause your house is messy? Well, no big deal then. We can wait,” she said, plopping herself down onto one of the nearby chairs.
The others soon agreed.
Before Flins and Varka retreated inside the house, though, the ever observant Aino had to speak up.
“Mr. Flins, what’s that you’re holding?” she asked.
Everyone turned to look. In Flins’ hand was one of his reusable pads--damp, but clean. To the uninitiated, perhaps it just looked like a thick rag. Jahoda and Lauma made eye contact right away, then averted their eyes with poorly concealed smirks.
“Ah, sharp eyes as always Ms. Aino,” Flins said, concealing the pad behind his back. “Let us pick up the house a bit, and we’ll be right back.” Flins said nothing more, tugging Varka inside and gently closing the door.
Outside, Aino pouted at the non-answer.
“Ineffa, why didn’t Mr. Flins tell me what that was? He was being very secretive, if you ask me.”
Ineffa looked down at Aino, then to Jahoda and Lauma. Their eyes shot silent messages to her, all in the hopes of protecting Flins’ obvious desire for privacy.
“I believe what Mr. Flins would say is: ‘Don’t worry about it, Ms. Aino’,” Ineffa said, not addressing the issue any further. Lauma and Jahoda sighed in relief.
“Ineffa!! You’re not making it any better!”
After a very hasty pick-up of Flins’ home, they thankfully had plenty of room for all four friends to join them for a relaxing lunch. If Lauma and Jahoda had any questions as to Flins’ illness, they made the smart decision of keeping it to themselves.
…
When Varka woke on the sixth day, he could tell something was different about Kyryll.
The previous day was made better by more of Lauma’s medicinal herbs and the hearty meals she brought. Kyryll slept through most of the night and caught up on some nutrition he seemed to be sorely missing.
During the day, he didn’t need to change and clean up as often, and fewer cleaned pads appeared on the drying rack by the fire.
His energy was returning, and the exhaustion was less evident in the way he held himself. His posture was back to its proper and square form, rather than the drooping shoulders and exhausted frame that he’d carried in previous days. His nausea and headaches seemed to have subsided, and his appetite was much better.
Still, some symptoms lingered. Mainly the cramps that had him groaning and reaching for the hot water bottle.
But--
Varka was seated in one of the arm chairs in the living room, reading through a few pages of a book he rarely got to touch.
“Varka~?” Kyryll purred, slipping up behind Varka and draping his arms over his shoulders.
Kyryll’s hands wandered down his chest, and the teasing lilt in his tone had Varka slamming the book shut. He rested a hand over one of Kyryll’s.
“Need something?” Varka asked, though he already knew the answer.
Kyryll slinked around the armchair, plucked the book from Varka’s hands, and sat himself across Varka’s lap. Varka reached for his waist without thinking, anchoring him there.
“Well, I just remembered something,” Kyryll explained, purposefully avoiding the question. He cupped Varka’s cheek and moved in to press kisses down the side of his throat.
Varka let out a satisfied sigh at the touch, desperate after many days--weeks actually--that he was unable to touch Kyryll like this. Finally, they would have their salvation. “Is that so?” he asked, playing into Kyryll’s stalling.
“Yes,” was his only answer before going right back to trailing kisses down Varka’s neck. Kissing turned into gentle suckling on the sensitive skin there, and the scruff Varka had grown over the past week tickling Kyryll’s nose.
Kyryll’s lips closed completely right over a pulse point on Varka’s neck. He couldn’t help but moan, gripping Kyryll even tighter around the waist.
That would certainly leave a mark he’d have to explain later. Oh well.
Once he was satisfied with his handiwork Kyryll sat back, a love drunk look on his face even though they hadn’t had alcohol in days.
“I remembered what else can relieve cramps,” Kyryll finally admitted.
“Oh? And what is that?”
Instead of saying anything, Kyryll reached for Varka’s other hand--currently gripping onto Kyryll’s thigh like his life depended on it--and guided it elsewhere. Gently lifting it from his thigh, Kyryll guided Varka’s hand between his legs, to that spot emanating warmth.
As soon as Varka touched, Kyryll was bucking up into that touch.
“Let's make ourselves comfortable elsewhere, shall we?” Varka murmured.
What followed was a wild scramble to the bedroom. Before they got settled, Kyryll pulled a towel into the bed and set it up under them.
“I might still be bleeding a little…” he gasped between Varka stealing kisses.
“Don’t worry about it, doesn’t bother me,” Varka replied, slipping his hands under the waistband of Kyryll’s pants.
Varka easily slipped Kyryll’s pants and undergarments off his hips, tossing them off the bed without a care. He shucked his own pants off, too, leaving him in just his undergarments.
Running a hand under Kyryll’s shirt, caressing his waist and chest, Varka murmured into his ear. “And what are you up for then, my moonlight?” He trailed kisses down Kyryll’s neck after that, drawing moans from those beautiful lips before he even got the chance to respond.
“Mmmh!” Kyryll gasped as Varka’s hands wandered lower, trailing over his thighs and hip bones and oh-so-close to his clit, but purposefully avoiding going any lower. “If you don’t get your fingers inside me soon, I may lose my sanity, Varka,” he moaned, grabbing Varka’s wrist as he strayed lower still.
Well, no beating around the bush then.
Varka turned Kyryll’s head with a gentle finger on his chin and pulled him into a deep kiss. Archons, did it feel good to be able to let go like this. No missions, no battles, no subordinates vying for his attention. And archons help him, if someone dared knock at Kyryll’s door at this hour, they would be waiting out in the cold.
Both he and Kyryll had waited and sacrificed far too much time together to be interrupted now. All Varka wanted to do was drown in Kyryll’s scent, hands, lips, thighs, all of him.
“Well, ask and you shall receive,” Varka purred as they broke apart. He adjusted their position slightly, leaning back against the pillows and pulling Kyryll close to him, until they were comfortably cuddled together.
He rubbed a few circles over Kyryll’s belly before diving his hand lower. A gentle nudge was all it took for Kyryll’s thighs to fall open, his hips bucking up into Varka’s hand. His head lolled to the side and he nuzzled into Varka’s neck with a pleased sigh.
“Let me know if I need to stop, alright?” Varka murmured, pressing a kiss into the crown of Kyryll’s hair. Meanwhile, he parted Kyryll’s folds and gingerly rubbed along the slick skin there, stopping to tease his clit, too.
Kyryll hummed in agreement, body already tensing up as Varka teased him.
Varka stopped stalling after that, slowly sinking one finger into Kyryll’s warm, wet cunt. Archons, it had been too long. Kyryll relaxed as his finger went deeper--Varka was sure he missed this just as much.
He tested the waters, took his time and let Kyryll adjust. He pumped his finger in and out a few times, going slightly deeper as the plush walls around him relaxed. His thumb, meanwhile, moved to rub at Kyryll’s clit again. Still pressed into Varka’s neck, Kyryll’s breath hitched as the pleasure started to flood his body. His toes curled and he turned himself to be even closer to Varka, gripping the sleeve of Varka’s shirt to ground himself.
“Please, please I need more of you,” Kyryll moaned. Varka was still thrusting just one finger in and out, pointedly stroking different parts of those warm walls, but avoiding the sweet spot that he knew made Kyryll lose all decorum.
Varka chuckled, continuing his assault on Kyryll’s clit all the while. “Well, since you’re asking so nicely. And you’ve been through so much this week, you really needed this, huh?” He purred, pressing a kiss to Kyryll’s forehead, as if his finger wasn’t buried deep inside him.
Kyryll just moaned in response, voice pitching up when Varka withdrawing his finger surprised him. Varka rubbed his middle and ring finger together to spread the natural slick more evenly between them, then positioned his hand again. He took his time teasing Kyryll’s entrance by caressing the sensitive skin there, or dipping his fingers just barely inside.
Kyryll bucked up into his hand in protest, even bit Varka’s neck in warning. Varka just chucked--he didn’t want this to be over so quickly after all. Kyryll would never admit it, but Varka knew very well that he could bring his lover to climax in a matter of minutes if he really wanted to.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, even if he was anything but.
Finally, he pressed both of his thick fingers inside. He could feel the sweet, sweet stretch of Kyryll’s entrance around them and the string of breathy moans Kyryll let out told him he was loving it just as much. Varka took his time, spreading his fingers apart just a bit to help Kyryll adjust.
Before he did anything crazy, his thumb wandered back to Kyryll’s swollen clit and set about caressing him there again.This was the fun part for Varka--feeling the press and gentle pulses of those silken walls around his fingers as Kyryll chased release. The beautiful noises Kyryll made as he fingered him went straight to Varka’s crotch, too. Archons, he could probably come untouched if he listened to Kyryll’s beautiful voice long enough.
After thrusting his fingers in and out a few more times, he could tell Kyryll was getting close. Varka wasted no more time, then, curling his fingers up to hit that familiar sweet spot inside him. Kyryll’s whole body jerked when he did, the all encompassing pleasure drawing a high pitched moan out of him. Between stroking his clit and hitting that spot, Varka knew Kyryll wouldn’t last long.
A few more targeted strokes had Kyryll calling out, his walls pulsing around Varka’s fingers as he came. Varka didn’t stop, keeping up his strokes while Kyryll rode out his orgasm. A moment later he got what he wanted--Kyryll’s breath hitching as a gentle trickle of squirt pushed out around Varka’s fingers.
More soft moans and sighs tumbled from Kyryll’s lips as he came down from the high, going boneless against Varka. Varka just chuckled, letting him relax back against the pillows while the pleasure ricocheted through his body. Varka himself was still hard as a rock, but he knew what Kyryll liked.
He kept his fingers inside as Kyryll’s whole body relaxed, still teasing him with a few more strokes. He knew Kyryll enjoyed the extra pleasure, but he didn’t dare try too much. Kyryll tended to be oversensitive after sex on a good day--Varka hadn’t a clue if his cycle would make him even more so, but he would hazard a guess that it did.
After a few more moments, and once Kyryll’s body seemed sufficiently unwound from his climax, Varka slowly pulled his fingers out. He muttered as much to Kyryll as a forewarning, and Kyryll just hummed in agreement. He sighed as Varka’s fingers slipped out, then immediately rolled onto his side to cuddle into Varka’s chest.
Varka chuckled, supporting Kyryll’s back to pull him closer. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that some traces of blood did remain on his fingers--more of a rust brown color than bright red--but he quickly wiped them off on the towel before Kyryll could fret over it.
They remained cuddled together for some time. Varka was surely not going to complain about the closeness, but the need pulsing through his own body was getting hard to ignore.
“Hey, darlin’?” he started, and Kyryll just hummed in acknowledgement, not even opening his eyes. “Did you want to do anything else? Go further?” he asked.
Kyryll cracked open his eyes to glance up at his lover. “Hmm, not tonight. Too sensitive. You’re too good,” he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow, bliss written all over his expression.
Varka expected as much. And he would take the compliment, too.
“ ‘s okay,” he said, turning slightly to reach for a vial of slick by the nightstand. He slid the waistband of his undergarments lower so he could free his hard cock between them. “Help me finish up?”
That got Kyryll’s attention and he took the vial from Varka with a smirk. He popped open the vial and poured some slick into one hand, then swirled his hand around Varka’s thick length to spread it sufficiently. He grabbed Varka’s hand and placed it over his, then, so they could work him to orgasm together.
….
After all was said and done they cleaned up the bed and themselves, and redressed in comfortable pajamas. Kyryll went without a shirt, though, and brought a small container of specialty moisturizer from his washroom.
He laid himself on top of Varka and placed the container next to them on the bed.
“Help me with my wings?” he purred, and in the blink of an eye his wings unfurled from his back. Glowing a gentle purplish-blue and translucent, they never ceased to awe Varka.
“Of course,” he said, lifting his head to press a kiss to Kyryll’s cheek. He grabbed the container of moisturizer and opened it, scooping out a dollop into his palm.
Kyryll laid his cheek down on Varka’s chest and closed his eyes. Varka took his time, rubbing the moisturizer into his hands to warm it before slowly massaging it along Kyryll’s wings. He always thought Kyryll’s wings looked so delicate--he recalled being scared to hurt them the first time he got to touch. But, in reality, he knew Kyryll’s wings were strong and tough, and massaging them always put Kyryll in a warm, syrupy heaven.
Kyryll nearly fell asleep as Varka worked, rubbing moisturizer into each shimmering section with care.
Once he was done he continued to stroke Kyryll’s wings out of habit, tracing their edges or the faint veins underneath. He allowed his mind to wander as Kyryll dozed, but one question kept coming back to him.
“Kyryll?” he mumbled, almost a whisper in the dim room. The sun had long since set, and only one lamp remained lit, bathing them in warm light.
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you another dumb question?” Varka asked, his eyes trained on the ceiling.
Kyryll chuckled. “Sure, though I hardly ever think your questions are dumb.”
Varka exhaled in a half laugh. “Well I, uh…I guess I didn’t exactly realize you could carry children.”
That made Kyryll crack his eyes open to glance up at Varka. “Hmm, I thought that was quite clear, though I suppose I never said it in so many words. I apologize, I hope you don’t feel that I’ve tricked you,” he said. “Also, that wasn’t a question,” he teased.
“No, no, not at all darlin’. Ah… I’m sorry. I feel bad that I never considered…even after you always insisted upon using protection…” Varka trailed off, searching his mind for the right words. “Even though we’ve been careful, I feel as though I’ve been irresponsible,” he admitted, then said no more. What else was there to say? Kyryll never brought up the idea of children before, so Varka could only assume he wasn’t interested. Varka wasn’t even sure how he felt about the idea--it was a bit overwhelming to think about, if he was being honest.
They were both silent for a few moments. Varka’s hands had stilled, now resting at the base of Kyryll’s wings. With a yawn, Kyryll stretched out his wings and then propped himself to look more directly at Varka.
“I will consider it,” he said, carding a hand through Varka’s hair as he gazed down at him.
“Huh?”
“Your question, it’s quite obvious,” Kyryll said. “You wonder if we should--if we could have a child together, correct? I’m…not opposed to the idea. I just have not considered it in a long time. I haven’t had a lover that I would want to conceive with in a long, long time. Perhaps never, actually,” he explained.
Shock was written all over Varka’s face. He didn’t know what he expected Kyryll to say, but it certainly wasn’t. Kyryll continued.
“But with you…perhaps I could see it happening,” he said, then laid his head back down on Varka’s chest. “Let us get through these tumultuous times, and then we can give it some more serious consideration.”
Varka felt light as air, and maybe a bit dizzy. The fact that Kyryll trusted him enough to even consider such a thing shot joy straight into his veins. He wrapped his arms around Kyryll’s back and hugged him close. Kyryll hummed happily in response, resting his hands on Varka’s shoulders.
Someday, they would be able to give the idea serious thought. Tonight, though, Varka was more than happy to doze off with Kyryll in his arms, satisfied and out of pain.