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Varka arrived at the lighthouse just as the sky bled into evening— muted oranges folding into sea- blue, the waves catching the last light like shards of glass. He knocked once, out of habit and respect, though he knew Flins had sensed him approaching long before he reached the door.
The door swung open anyway.
"You look tired." Flins said by way of greeting.
"And you look comfortable." Varka didn't mean for it to sound accusing, but the lighthouse was noticeably bright from the outside— warmth spilling out like a heated breath.
Flins grinned, stepping aside to let him in. "Well, I live here."
"You're late."
"Storm blocked the eastern path." Varka said, undoing the straps of his chest armor. "Had to come around the beach. Nearly slipped into the sea." He dropped the jacket onto a chair. "I don't know how you live here. Half of me is freezing, the other half is roasting."
"I don't feel cold like you do, Mr Varka." Flins replied, pouring some tea. "So your body reacts."
The moment Varka stepped inside, the difference in temperature was jarring. Outside had been a cool, salty breeze. But the inside felt like a midsummer greenhouse, thick, heavy and warm enough to make any normal human start sweating within a minute.
Flins walked across the wooden floor, casual as ever, completely unaffected, while varka, despite his training and despite his stamina, felt a trickle down the back of his neck almost immediately.
"You definitely keep it… cozy." he managed.
"Oh? Do I?" He said it like someone commenting on the color of the sky.
Varka tugged discreetly at his collar, achieving nothing— the air was thick, clinging to him as if it had weight. Even the tea Flins set on the small low table steamed aggressively.
Maybe Flins had done this on purpose. Varka had the fleeting suspicion— but dismissed it. Flins teased, yes... and liked watching him fumble, as well... but this kind of thing? too subtle.
"Take a seat." Flins said, patting the space beside him on the low couch overlooking the window. "How have you been? tell me."
Small things were mentioned at first— reports Varka delivered out of habit, which Flins waved off with an easy nodding.
"Haha, I didn't call you here for that. I'm off-duty, you're off-duty... just relax."
Relax. As if Varka could, when the room's heat was starting to feel like it was sliding under his own skin.
Conversation eased into something gentler— old stories, new rumors, whatever odd little thing Flins had observed that week around the city and surroundings.
But the heat only grew worse with time.
Varka shifted on his seat, his shirt clinging to him— his shoulders glistened faintly. Flins noticed— of course he noticed— and hid a smile behind his cup.
"You're melting." Flins casually said. His eyes drifted downward, appreciative. "In a very aesthetically pleasing way."
Varka cleared his throat, which only made Flins laugh.
"Seriously," Flins said, waving his hand in a lazy circle. "take off whatever's killing you. You look like you're about to boil."
And the worst part was… he was.
Varka unfastened the clasp of his cloak, folded it neatly and placed it on the back of the couch. Although that barely helped him.
Flins watched with a casualness so deliberate it was practically an invitation for his eyes.
Next came the tunic.
As he pulled it over his head, his shirt underneath tightened against his broad frame— muscles in his arms shifting, scars catching the light.
Flins' eyes sharpened instantly.
"Oh," he murmured. "now we're getting somewhere."
Varka blinked. "Huh? Somewhere?"
Flins sat up straighter, leaning slightly forward, elbows on his knees. "You didn't tell me you were hiding those."
"Hiding what?"
"All that artwork." Flins said simply, nodding to his exposed arms. "May I?"
He reached— not touching, just hovering.
Varka felt that more intensely than touch.
"This one," Flins said quietly, his fingers suspended centimeters above a long pale scar curving around Varka's bicep. "Where does it come from?"
Varka's heart thudded. Hard. He cleared his throat. "That one? From the ice lake in dragonspine. It happened many, many years ago though."
Flins hummed, low and appreciative. "I believe it."
There was something in his voice— warm, admiring and playful. Something that curled around Varka's spine and pressed.
"Tell me more." Flins said, reclining back but keeping his gaze steady on Varka. "About all of them."
"You wish to know?" Varka couldn't hide the lift in his tone— the subtle swell of pride and excitement. He rarely got to share these stories with someone who actually wanted to hear them.
Flins smiled like he'd won a private game. "Yes. All of them."
Varka shifted closer, heat forgotten for a moment.
And Flins, the bastard, smiled slightly wider when he did.
"If it's too warm," Flins murmured, voice dipped with suggestion, "you can take off more."
Varka hesitated only a second, but the shirt stuck uncomfortably to his skin anyway... so he pulled it off, over his head in one motion, muscles flexing in the motion, scars and old wounds exposed fully to the lamp-lit room.
Flins' eyes roamed slow, appreciative and greedy in a way he didn't bother to hide anymore.
"There he is," Flins whispered. "Captain Varka in all his glory."
"Hahahaha... I'm not all that. Just experiences and a lot of luck."
Flins leaned back, gaze trailing from shoulder to sternum to ribs, lingering everywhere. "Mhm..." he said softly, "tell me the story behind that one." He pointed to a scar just under Varka's jaw.
Varka leaned forward, eager, almost lit up inside. "This one? A hoarde of fatuis off the coast of— "
But Flins wasn't looking at the scar anymore.
He was looking at Varka. At the flush on his neck, and the way he was leaning closer without realizing. At the excitement in his voice— visible and unfiltered, almost puppy-like. "I could listen to you all night," Flins said half-teasing, half-true. "go on."
Flins didn't move at first. He just looked, eyes trailing over Varka's bare torso like he was memorizing every mark to memory. Varka sat there, spine straight, chest broad, breath controlled— except for the faint tremor under his skin.
But Flins scooted forward— not a big movement, it was barely a shift of weight— but Varka noticed immediately. His muscles tensed in response.
Flins reached out again, touching this time. His fingers brushed the pale line under Varka's ribs— light, careful, almost a whisper of pressure. Varka inhaled sharply through his nose, holding absolutely still.
"Easy big man," Flins murmured, thumb smoothing across the scar. "not going to hurt you."
"You're not," Varka managed, low and rough. "it's just—"
"Mmh." Flins' eyes flicked up, amused. "Sensitive?"
"Rather unexpected." Varka said stiffly.
Flins smirked. "Same thing."
He dragged his fingers slowly along the scar, following its curve. Varka didn't move, but something deep in his posture loosened— a shift of trust, of quiet vulnerability rarely shown.
"You've carried a lot." he said quietly. "More than most."
Varka's throat bobbed. "…It is just my duty."
"It's also your history," Flins replied, tracing another scar along his side. "or well, your stories. Your life."
Varka swallowed again, harder.
He wasn't used to someone looking at him— not like a soldier, not like a commander— but like a man, or perhaps something more. Like someone worth touching gently.
Flins' hand slid along Varka's bicep next, fingers following the jagged scar. "This one," he said. "I like it. It suits you."
"S- ...suits me?" Varka echoed, slightly confused at the meaning.
Flins hummed. "Hah, yes. Big hero with big scars, gotten from big hunts." He squeezed the muscle lightly. "Very on brand."
Varka tried— gods help him— to maintain composure. But something in his chest warmed embarrassingly. "It was not heroism. It was survival."
"Survival can be heroism," Flins said easily. "especially when you're doing good work with it."
Varka nearly choked.
Flins laughed under his breath and moved closer, knees brushing Varka's thigh now. His fingers drifted over to a scar on Varka's shoulder.
"And this one?"
"Training accident when I was young, just an accident." Varka answered.
Flins touched it with a gentleness that made Varka's breath catch. "Bet you were cute."
Varka blinked. "Cute?"
"Mmh," Flins said, tracing upward to the thick line across Varka's collarbone. "still are."
Varka stared at him, wide-eyed, like the words had physically struck him.
Flins raised a brow. "What?"
"You say these things so freely Flins."
"Because they're true." Flins replied, fully unfazed. "And because watching you try not to react is quite fun."
Varka's ears went red.
Flins' smile turned sharp and soft all at once. He shifted even closer— close enough Varka could feel the radiant heat from him, mixing with the suffocating warmth of the house. His fingers returned to Varka's chest, brushing over another scar, slow and exploring.
"You know," Flins murmured. "I didn't expect you to be this open about showing them."
"You asked," Varka said simply. "I… I wanted to share."
Flins' eyes softened— surprisingly tender. His hand slid down Varka's sternum, slow enough to make every muscle flinch and tighten in instinctive response.
Varka inhaled sharply.
Flins' lips curled. "Oh, you definitely noticed that."
"Ehm.. I am— composed." Varka insisted.
Flins gave him a look. "Liar."
Varka almost laughed— but the sound died in his throat as Flins' palm flattened against his chest, right over his heart, feeling the steady, powerful thrum beneath his skin.
"Hmm that's quite fast, Mr Varka." Flins whispered.
Varka closed his eyes for a moment. "…You are very close. It's not my fault."
"I can be closer." Flins teased, leaning forward just half an inch— just enough to make Varka's breath stutter.
Varka opened his eyes again, posture tense like a drawn bow.
Flins' fingers traced along his ribcage, slow and deliberate.
"Tell me another story."
Varka swallowed hard. "Which one?"
Flins tapped a scar near his waist. "This one?"
"Ah! That was… a misunderstanding with a group of treasure hoarders. They were very, very enthusiastic."
Flins laughed quietly— fingers brushing lower, tracing the edge of the scar.
"And you handled all of them?"
"Of course."
"Wow..." Flins murmured. His hand stayed there, resting warm against Varka's side. "You're a force."
Varka's breath caught as heat pooled low in his gut. Flins' palm radiated warmth against his neck, thumb brushing the ridge of his jaw, feather-light. Every nerve flared— his spine stayed rigid, hands locked on his knees, but his pulse hammered beneath his skin like a war drum.
"You're really tense." Flins murmured, leaning impossibly closer. "Did I scare you?"
"No..." The word cracked.
Flins smiled, slow and knowing. "Liar."
He didn't move his hand, nor did he pull back. Instead, his fingers curled slightly, just enough to feel the jump of Varka's pulse. His other hand drifted again— down Varka's side, tracing the sharp cut of muscle along his waist, lingering near the waistband of his trousers.
Varka inhaled through his teeth. The warmth coiled low in his belly, thick and restless. Every brush of Flins' fingers sent threads of heat spidering across his skin, pooling where he couldn't afford to acknowledge them. His breath stayed measured, but his pulse thrummed in places it shouldn't—behind his ribs, under his jaw, deeper, lower, where the weight of his arousal pressed insistently against the confines of his trousers.
He didn't shift or adjust though. Just sat, solid as stone, while Flins' hand lingered at his neck, thumb grazing the tendon that jumped with every swallow.
"Your skin's so warm," Flins mused, voice a low hum. "and it's not from the room anymore. This is something else, isn't it Mr Varka?"
Varka clenched his jaw. "I'm built for cold... heat lingers."
Flins chuckled, soft and knowing. "Liar. That's not why you're flushed."
His fingers slipped down, tracing the ridge of Varka's collarbone, then lower— skimming over the heavy muscle of his pectoral, close enough to the nipple that Varka's breath hitched, just once.
Flins noticed each reaction, as small as some were.
"You're quiet now," he murmured. "usually you're the one filling the silence."
"I'm listening," Varka said tightly.
"To what?"
"To you. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Flins tilted his head, eyes glinting gold in the lantern-light. His touch stopped just above the waistband of Varka's pants.
Varka's stomach tightened— a muscle in his thigh twitched.
"Still composed?" Flins asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Varka didn't answer.
He couldn't anymore.
Flins leaned in, close enough that his breath feathered over the shell of Varka's ear. "You're holding yourself very still Mr Varka... like you're afraid to move— Or, afraid of what happens if you do."
His hand slid around to the back of Varka's neck, fingers pressing just enough to feel the tension coiled there.
"Relax," Flins said, mocking kindness. "I'm not going to bite."
"Unless you ask."
Varka exhaled sharply through his nose. His hands rested on his thighs, palms open and sweaty, fingers curled slightly— restrained. His cock throbbed, heavy and insistent, pressing against the seam of his pants. But he didn't look down. He didn't give it any further attention.
Flins pulled back just enough to study his face. "You're so serious..." he said, almost fond. "like you're on patrol. Or like I'm a threat to beware of."
"You are." Varka ground out.
Flins blinked. Then laughed— bright, startled. "Hahaha... me? A threat?"
"You know what you're doing."
"I'm just admiring." Flins corrected, thumb sweeping across Varka's collarbone again. "Appreciating— there's a difference."
His gaze dipped, deliberate, lingering on the swell of Varka's abdomen, the defined cut of muscle leading downward and the way his pants strained where he was full and hard. His fingers trailed lower, deliberate and still, very unhurried. They slipped beneath the edge of Varka's waistband— not deep, just enough to hook into the thick fabric with quiet confidence. A single tug, subtle but firm.
"You know," Flins said, voice low, "most people fear me. They see the flames, the island, the stories... they cross themselves and walk faster."
Varka swallowed. "I'm not most people."
"No," Flins agreed. "you walk into the dark like you can take anything and anyone down."
A flicker of a grin tugged at Varka's lips.
"But you.." Flins continued, "you come here, in the cold. Shirtless and sweating and hard for me." He leaned in, breath ghosting over Varka's ear. "That's not bravery, Mr Varka. That's recklessness."
Varka turned his head— just enough their faces nearly touched. "Hah. Call it what you want."
Varka didn't move. He didn't even dared to breathe. His entire body locked, every muscle rigid beneath sun-warmed skin, as the scar along the lower side of his abdomen came fully into view— pale, jagged, slicing diagonally just above the hip— a remnant of some forgotten clash, now framed by the slow, intimate unfurling of this moment.
Flins exhaled, low and appreciative. His fingers didn't linger on the fastenings. They moved instead to the scar itself—pressing gently, following its path with the flat of his thumb. His touch was warm, precise, reverent even— as if reading braille written in old violence.
His knuckles, by careful design, brushed the base of Varka's cock through the loosened fabric.
Just once. Just once was enough to make Varka shiver and slightly squint.
His eyes flicked up, gold and knowing, studying the way Varka's jaw clenched, the way his throat worked around nothing or the way his fingers dug into his own thighs like he was holding himself together from something.
"What about this one?" He said, words hanging light, curious— tone almost too innocent.
It wasn't about the scars anymore and they both knew it.
Yet Varka didn't answer.
His chest rose and fell in short, controlled short breaths, with sweat gathered at the small of his back. His skin was flushed from neck to groin, the flush deepening where Flins' hand still rested— open yet possessive— just below his navel. The weight of his arousal strained against the opened front of his pants, outlined now— undeniable. The coarse fabric did nothing to hide the thick curve. He was so hard it hurt.
Flins tilted his head, studying him. There was something quieter in his expression— something like wonder, tangled with hunger. His fingers drifted downwards, just a slight friction.
Not touching flesh... not quite, but close.
And Flins, watching— patient, waiting for the moment the knight would finally admit what was written across every tensed nerve, every shallow breath and every unspoken word pooling in the space between them.
A muscle in his jaw snapped tight, then released. His hands shot forward, fingers tangling in the fabric of Flins' clothes and dragging him up and across the final inch.
Their mouths crashed together.
Just teeth, heat and years of silence undone in a single, desperate motion. Flins jerked, startled for half a breath— then melted into it, hands flying to Varka's bare shoulders, gripping like he could anchor himself to something burning.
They fell mid motion.
Varka followed him down, one knee sliding between Flins' thighs as they tumbled, his weight crashing down, trapping Flins beneath him on the rug. His mouth never left his— relentless, devouring, as if trying to swallow every mocking word, every knowing glance and every unbearable brush of fingers across skin that happened in the past minutes.
Flins gasped into the kiss, then laughed— breathless, before biting down on Varka's lower lip, sharp enough to sting.
Varka groaned into his lips. It wasn't pain.
He ground his knee up, hard, pressing it against the length of Flins' cock through the layers of fabric.
Flins arched. His back lifted off the floor, his hips jerking forward into the pressure. His fingers clawed at Varka's shoulders, leaving red trails in their wake.
"Finally." Flins gasped, breaking the kiss with a heavy chest. "Thought you'd never stop listening."
Varka didn't answer. He only shifted, adjusting the angle, pressing his knee higher and firmer until Flins' breath stuttered and his head fell back, throat exposed.
Scarred hands framed Flins' face, calloused thumbs digging into his jaw, forcing his head to stay up, to look, as he so wished. Varka loomed over him, sweat- slicked, pupils blown— breath ragged from his open mouth. "You wanted this, didn't you?" Varka growled, voice raw. "Now you've got it."
He slammed his mouth down again, deeper this time— rough tongue pushing past Flins' lips, claiming what had been taunted, teased and withheld. Flins moaned, high and helpless, his fingers now fisted in Varka's hair, tugging, holding on like the world was tipping.
Varka pulled back, just enough to breathe— to see.
Flins beneath him, flushed and wrecked, lips swollen, eyes dazed gold and shining dark with hunger. The fae who had mocked and measured and waited— now panting, spread beneath the knight he'd provoked.
Varka's grip tightened. One hand left Flins' jaw, trailing down his throat— fingers pressing just enough to feel the heat beneath the skin. Flins gasped, not from pain, but from the sudden surge of heat that shot through him. His hips jerked upward, seeking friction, and Varka rewarded him with a slow, brutal roll of his knee, grinding the thick muscle against Flins'.
He arched in response, a broken sound escaping his throat.
Varka leaned in, pressing his chest flush against Flins', skin slick with sweat and heat. His breath came hot and uneven over the fae's mouth. "You whine too much." Varka growled.
Flins smiled, dazed and desperate. "And you wait too long."
That earned him a sharp twist of Varka's hand at his throat— not choking yet, but close. Just enough pressure to make his breath hitch.
Flins' back bowed off the rug. His fingers dug into Varka's hair, then his shoulders— legs spreading wider beneath the weight of the knight's thigh.
"Beg." Varka said, voice low and rough as stone dragged over ice.
Flins laughed— thin and breathless. "Hahaha, make me."
Varka answered by shifting his weight, pressing his forearm across Flins' chest— pinning him down while his other hand stayed at his throat, controlling the rhythm of his breath.
Flins' pupils widened. His lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. The flush on his skin deepened, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones.
Varka watched every change.
He dragged his forearm up, pressing just under Flins' chin, tilting his head back, baring his throat.
The lanterns on the walls sputtered.
Outside, the wind howled, but inside, there was only this— heat, motion and the quiet desperation of a fae learning what it meant to be held down by some mortal.
"Still want to tease me?" Varka murmured against his skin.
Flins tried to speak, but he was the one unable now.
Varka released his throat— just for a second— long enough for a ragged breath to tear through him.
Hand closed back— thumb pressing into the side of his windpipe.
He dragged his teeth up to Flins' ear, voice a gravelled whisper. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to tease. Not now. Not when I've got you like this."
Flins turned his head, desperate for air. "Please—"
Varka exhaled, a hot gust against his neck, and finally wlet go.
Flins gasped, lungs heaving— body trembling beneath him.
Before he could recover, Varka seized his wrists, yanking them above his head, pinning both with one large hand. The other slid down— rough palm over the sharp cut of his hip, under fabric, gripping the curve of his ass and squeezing hard enough to bruise.
Flins cried out— half pain and half pleasure— and Varka silenced him with a rough kiss.
Varka broke the kiss with a snarl, pulling back just enough to rip Flins' shirt open— buttons scattering, fabric tearing at the seams. The fae didn't resist at all. Allas, he didn't even flinch— just laid there, chest heaving, pupils wide, lips slick and swollen and the hollow of his throat pulsing beneath flushed skin.
And there it was beneath Flins' trousers, straining against the fabric in earnest now. Hard and begging for attention.
Varka's gaze dropped, darkened. "Hahaha... wow, you're leaking." he growled low.
Flins swallowed, breath thin. "And you're looking."
That earned him a sharp slap to the inside of his thigh— hard enough to make him jerk, a gasp clawing its way out.
Varka leaned down, teeth catching the thin fabric of Flins' shirt, dragging what was left down one shoulder. He bit, sinking into the delicate and pale junction of neck and shoulder until Flins arched with a muted cry.
Flins' lips parted— then closed again, a shiver ran through him.
Varka shifted, dragging one knee higher between Flins' thighs, grinding the thick muscle against the length of him. Flins moaned, back bowing off the floor, hips lifting instinctively, chasing the pressure.
"No," Varka snapped. "don't move."
Flins stilled, trembling— chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.
Varka's hand left his ass, sliding up Flins' body— over his ribs, his chest, his throat— then lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants. He tugged once, the fabric giving away easily to the man's strenght.
Flins' cock sprang free— pale, thick, already glistening at the tip, flushed dark at the crown. The scent of him curled into the room— bitter musk and faintly floral. He wrapped a fist around the shaft, tight and immediate— squeezing at the base until Flins whimpered.
"Quiet, hm?" Varka warned, thumb smearing the wetness across the slit. "I didn't say you could make noise."
Flins nodded, swollen lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes screwed shut.
Varka tightened his grip, twisting slightly as he dragged his hand upward in one slow stroke. Flins shuddered— a quiet and broken sound escaping through his mouth.
Then Varka let go.
Flins opened his eyes— dazed and desperate.
Varka didn't give him time to process. He shifted again, climbing higher over him, one hand still pinning his wrists, the other guiding his cock toward Flins' mouth, leaving his unattended.
Just hovering.
Warmth radiated from the slit, brush of pre-cum against Flins' parted lips.
"Open."
Flins obeyed— lips parting slowly, tongue just visible. His face was soft, almost like he was begging behind his eyes.
Varka thrust forward— burying himself to the root in one brutal motion, pressing deep into Flins' throat. The fae gagged, tears springing instantly to his eyes, back arching violently.
Varka held him there— fully seated, balls pressed to his chin, hand still locked on his wrists— feeling the frantic flutter of Flins' throat as it struggled to adjust.
He withdrew, slow and deliberate.
And thrust again, harder now.
Flins choked, fingers scrabbling against Varka's grip.
"You take it so well..." Varka murmured, voice thick with approval. "it's like you were made for this."
Another thrust— deeper and rougher— Flins' head pinned by Varka's palm pressing to his forehead, forcing him to stay still— to take every inch without retreat.
Spit leaked from the corners of Flins' mouth, trailing down his jaw. His breathing came in short, panicked gasps through his nose. His cock remained fully hard, twitching with every deep stroke of Varka's cock down his throat.
Varka leaned in, sweat dripping from his brow onto Flins' face. "Look at me."
Flins struggled— then lifted his eyes.
Gold, glazed with tears, wide, humiliated and broken.
"Good." Varka growled. "Stay there, yeah?"
Varka's thumb pressed harder into the side of Flins' throat, not cutting off breath but shaping it— shallow, controlled and desperate. His cock remained buried deep in Flins' throat, twitching with every convulsive swallow, the heat and pressure unbearable. The fae's lashes fluttered, tear-streaked, his pupils blown wide with gold dimmed beneath the haze of submission.
Yet even half-choked, drowning on cock and command, Flins desperatedly chased him.
A twitch of his jaw... a weak roll of his hips, a silent, frantic plea written in the tremble of his thighs and the way his fingers strained against Varka's grip— still pinned above his head, veins standing like cords beneath pale skin.
Varka growled, low in his throat. "You're so quiet now"
Flins couldn't answer, couldn't speak. But his eyes did— they always did. They clung to Varka's face, chasing every flicker of expression, every tightening of muscle and every pleasure that crossed his features. His own neglected length twitched against his stomach, glistening with threads of pre that smeared as he trembled. No touch, no hands— just raw and ache, as if the denial only fed his hunger.
Varka pulled back with a wet, brutal sound, withdrawing until just the tip remained between Flins' swollen lips. Spit strung between them, thin and silver.
He held still for a few seconds, letting Flins' taste it. Then, slowly, he pushed in again— just enough to make Flins' throat flutter, hips jerking in mute demand.
A whimper escaped— quiet and helpless— before Flins could clamp his mouth shut. His throat worked, aching. His hips twitched, chasing phantom fullness. Varka watched, breath heavy through his nose. Sweat carved paths down his temples. The veins in his arms stood like cables beneath skin gone taut with restraint. He wanted to bury himself again, to lose himself in the wet clutch of Flins' throat, but not yet. Not until he had what he came for.
His grip on Flins' wrists tightened.
A flicker in the fae's eyes— something defiant, fleeting. His free hand left the back of Flins' head, sliding down his chest— slow, past his sternum, over the taut plane of his abdomen, and lower— until his fingers wrapped around the base of Flins' cock.
Flins gasped— hips jerking upward.
Varka squeezed.
Flins' back arched, a choked cry clawing up his throat, but Varka held his wrist pinned and his hips down— keeping control.
"You don't move." Varka repeated, voice like stone.
Flins nodded, frantic. Tears welled again.
Varka relented— just enough. His thumb smeared the wetness leaking from the tip, swirling over the sensitive slit. Flins whimpered, his head falling back as his senses burnt raw. Need coiled tight in Flins' gut, a coil so deep it bordered on pain. His cock throbbed in Varka's grip, swollen, desperate to no relief.
Varka's thumb pressed harder, circling slowly.
Flins' body trembled in response violently.
"Look at me."
Flins forced his eyes open, glassy with tears, pupils blown wide.
"Good boy."
The words hit like a brand.
Flins shuddered— not from shame, but from the sudden heat flooding his body. Arousal, thick and suffocating, pulsed through him. He hated it because he craved it, he wanted more, but no, he wasn't allowed.
Varka released, sitting back slightly. Let his thick and flushed cock hover just above Flins' parted lips. Warmth radiated from the slit.
"Open."
Varka thrust, not deep— just the head, breaching for a second, then retreating.
Again.
And again.
Each stroke dragged across Flins' tongue, teasing the roof of his mouth. "You wanted to see me undone, hah?" Varka whispered. "Now you're the one trembling. You're the one begging."
Flins didn't deny it, he practically couldn't. His hips lifted, chasing— patheticaly needy.
Varka slapped his thigh— hard. "Down."
Flins dropped, a soft sob breaking free.
Varka's hand returned to his cock. Fingers tight, twisting as he stroked upward in one rough motion, gaining an arch and a high, broken sound tearing from his throat.
"Don't come, I know you can do that." Varka warned, voice raw.
But Flins was already close— body wound tight as a bowstring, every nerve alight.
Varka felt it— the pulse beneath his fingers, the flutter of muscle, the desperate clench in Flins' thighs. He stopped and let go.
Flins whimpered— pleading, frantic. "P- please Mr. Varka."
Varka deliveratedly ignored him. One hand kept Flins' wrists pinned, the other trailed lower— between his cheeks, blunt fingers pressing and testing.
Flins stilled in response, trying to calm his body as much as possible.
Varka's thumb firmly pressed against his hole.
Flins' head fell back, lips parting in a silent cry.
Varka didn't push in. He kept his thumb circling, firm— the pressure just shy of pain— watching Flins unravel beneath it. The fae's breath came in short, ragged pulls, his thighs trembling, his cock still rigid and weeping against his stomach. Every muscle in his body was taut and poised on the edge of detonation.
Then Varka moved.
One finger pressed in, breaching without warning. Flins cried out— sharp, high, instantly cut off as Varka slapped a hand over his mouth. "Quiet."
Flins nodded frantically, eyes wide, tears streaking his temples. Varka didn't soften— he worked the finger deeper, twisting, stretching and feeling the clenched resistance give way in hot. A second finger followed, scissoring. Flins writhed, hips jerking, but Varka held him down with the weight of his body and the grip on his wrists.
Flins bit into the heel of Varka's palm, muffling a moan as the fingers curled, finding it— the rough spot inside that made his back arch and his cock twitch. Varka pressed into it again, harder each time.
Untl the fae finally shattered.
He came without warning, no touch to his dick, just that ruthless pressure inside and his entire body locked before bursting— a silent, violent climax that left him writhing, shuddering, breath sobbing through his nose. Strings of seed streaked his stomach to the lower parts of his chest, glimmering in the lamplight.
Varka watched it all— every spasm, every tear and every helpless clench around his fingers. He didn't stop— kept moving them, kept pressing, kept him open— even as Flins' body tried to collapse into itself.
Only when the last tremor faded did Varka withdraw.
He looked down at his slick fingers, then at Flins— limp, chest heaving, lips swollen and parted, eyes half-lidded and dazed.
"Hah, look at you." Varka murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Come apart with nothing but my hand inside you."
Varka wiped his fingers on Flins' chest, smearing the come into his skin like a brand.
One hand stayed locked on Flins' wrists, the other guided himself— thick, flushed, heavy between his legs— to the entrance still glistening from his fingers.
He pushed the head slowly in and waited.
Flins gasped, body tensing, head thrashing to the side.
Varka grabbed his jaw, forcing his face back. "Keep looking at me."
Flins eyes stood wide, pupils blown— mouth open with ragged breath.
Varka buried himself in one brutal thrust, sheathing to the root, hips slamming down against Flins' ass. A choked cry tore from the fae's throat. He pulled out— almost fully— and snapped his hips forward again.
Varka's hips snapped forward, again and again, each thrust a punishment, each retreat barely enough for Flins to gasp before he was filled once more. Sweat slicked their bodies, turning every movement into a slick, desperate slide— flesh against flesh.
Hips pressed flush, chest heaving, veins standing in his neck like cords.
Flins whimpered, body clenching instinctively around him, chasing the motion that had stopped.
Varka didn't look at him— he shifted his tight grip on Flins' wrists and then, in one brutal motion, yanked up.
They were on their feet in an instant, Varka rising, dragging Flins up with him, still sheathed to the hilt. Flins cried out, his spine arching, head lolling back as gravity and fullness pulled at him from every side. Varka's free hand shot around his waist, hauling him upward until they were chest to chest and face to face.
Flins clung, legs wrapping around Varka's hips on instinct, arms locked behind the man's head. His breath came in shattered pieces, his skin flushed from throat to collar, his cock already stirring again despite the raw emptiness of his earlier climax. "Ah.."
Varka began to move— hard, short thrusts that drove Flins upward with each snap of his hips, then let him drop back down onto the thick length impaling him.
Flins gasped, fingers twitching— his toes curling behind the scarred back. His head tipped forward, forehead pressing against Varka's shoulder. His breath, hot and uneven, feathered over the knight's skin. His cock twitched between them, smearing pre across Varka's stomach with every brutal roll of hips.
He cried out— sharp as the coil deep in his guts snapped.
It wasn't just pleasure— it was surge, raw and electric. A pulse of essence flaring up his spine, unbidden and uncontrollable. His back arched violently, muscles locking and tensing. A second climax tore through him— erupting along something else from inside him.
From between his shoulder blades, twin streaks of energy burst outward— not from tearing flesh, but from within, as if the air itself split under the pressure of something too long contained. Long, tapering arcs of whiteish blue light slashed into existence, blazing like frozen lightning. They weren't wings of feather or flesh, but of some force: jagged blades of luminous energy, sharp as fractured glass, trailing faint afterglow in the air.
A low hum filled the room, rising in pitch and vibrating through the floorboards.
Varka froze in the spot. He felt it before he saw it: the sudden pressure— the presence of something ancient and elemental pushing into the space around them.
Then he saw them.
The wings stretched back in long, aggressive sweeps— unstable, like living lightning torn. They twitched with each aftershock of Flins' climax, their edges glowing purple.
Head thrown forth, mouth open in a silent cry, eyes wide and teary. His chest heaved, his fingers spasmed against Varka's shoulders. His body clenched around Varka again, tight and involuntarily, with that unearthly pulse still exploding through his back.
Varka lowered his forehead to Flins' hair, holding him tightly but carefully. "You're here, it's alright." he murmured softly. "I've got you."
One of the wings twitched— then slowly and gradually, began to retract; the second following through.
When they were gone, only silence remained.
And Flins— slightly shaking.
Varka caught him.
The fae stirred, barely more than a tremor, and Varka felt it. His arms, which had locked around Flins without thought, tightened for a heartbeat before easing into something softer.
Flins lifted his head. His face was flushed, hair matted at the temples, lips still swollen. One hand slid between them, pressing flat against Varka's chest, testing the strength of the pulse beneath.
"I'm still here." Varka said.
Flins exhaled—a shaky, uneven breath. His fingers curled. "You're supposed to be afraid of me."
"I've seen worse. It's fine— really... it was cool."
Varka didn't let go. His arms stayed firmly locked around Flins as the last tremors of the fae's power faded into the air like breath on glass. The lantern's flame dimmed to a steady glow, pulsing faintly, as if breathing in time with them.
They remained standing, legs still tangled, Flins' thighs locked around Varka's waist, his body softening around the intrusion but not releasing it. Varka's cock, thick and spent, stayed buried deep, the warmth between them too intimate to sever, too real to ignore despite the situation at hands.
Flins shifted and Varka exhaled sharply through his nose, muscles tensing at the sudden, sensitive friction.
"D- Don't." he murmured, voice shaky. "Not yet. Please."
Flins stilled like a command. His forehead rested against Varka's shoulder, his breath warm and unsteady against sweat-slicked skin. His fingers, trembling slightly, curled into the back of Varka's neck.
"You're holding me like you're afraid I'll vanish." Flins whispered.
Varka didn't answer. He slightly shifted, making Flins gasp as Varka's cock twitched inside him due to the movement. Without a word, Varka turned, stepping sideways with Flins still wrapped around him, legs locked tight, arms clinging like he'd been shipwrecked and Varka was the last piece of land.
One stumble. A breathless laugh against his shoulder. Then the edge of the bed pressed into Varka's thighs.
He fell back.
They landed in a tangle of limbs— Varka carefully rolled until Flins laid beneath him, supported.
Their position hadn't changed— but it was different. The bed was softer, the blankets cooler than the rug in the floor. Now, Flins sank into the mattress, his back arching slightly, his body opening in ways it couldn't on the floor.
Varka braced himself on his forearms, elbows on either side of Flins' head. He didn't move, just looked at the beautiful fae below him. Watched the flutter of his pulse beneath damp skin, the way his breath trembled in his chest and the faint, lingering glow in his eyes— as if starlight had been pressed between his ribs.
Flins slowly reached up, his fingertips brushing Varka's temple, dragging through his sweat-damp hair annd curling at the nape of his neck. He shuddered, a soft groan slipping free. "You're going to wear me out Mr Varka."
"Let me. I'll take care of it."
This time, the thrust was longer and smoother, way softer. Varka withdrew almost completely— just to feel Flins tense around him— then pushed back in with a steady glide, watching his face the entire time.
Flins exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in Varka's hair. "Like that…"
"Tell me."
He rocked into him slowly and rhythmic— the press of bodies learning each other's weight. Each movement was deliberate. Flins lifted his hips slightly, meeting him, wrapping his legs tighter around Varka's waist as if anchoring himself to something needed.
Flins' hands wandered over Varka's shoulders, down his back, tracing the scars that mapped his life. When he found the long one across his spine— he lingered, fingertips pressing softly.
"You never told me where this one was from," he murmured.
"Didn't think you cared."
"I care now."
Varka stilled inside him, breath catching. "Heavy storm in Inazuma, really bad one. I lost my mount. Took three days to walk out."
Flins kissed his collarbone, followed by his throat. "Wow, you're lucky to be alive."
"I'm lucky to be here."
He began moving again— deeper this time, each stroke drawing a soft sound from Flins' throat. No demands now, just the quiet language of touch and trust of two men who had spent years circling each other in silence.
Varka spoke again, voice low and rough. "What was that earlier?"
Flins blinked. His thoughts were molten, slow to form. "What…?"
"The wings." Varka's hand slid to the side of Flins' face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "The light. The sound they did— the hum. What was that?"
Flins exhaled, shaky. His eyes fluttered closed. "I don't know."
"Liar."
A weak laugh escaped him. "Hahaha... all right, I know what it was. I just don't know how to explain it so you can easily understand. It's a long explanation and story."
Varka stilled inside him— just for a heartbeat. "Try."
"Tell me," he said. "while I'm still inside you. Before you think too hard."
Flins swallowed. His fingers twitched at the nape of Varka's neck. The glow in his eyes had dimmed like flames.
"It's not wings." he whispered. "Well, they look and feel like ones, but not really. It's… manifestation. What's inside— or what I'm spilling out."
Varka's thumb traced Flins' cheekbone again, slowly. "And what are you?"
Flins laughed. "You already know... don't act stupid now, Mr Knight."
"And what about the sound? The hum. The way the air cracked."
"I can't fully control it." Flins admitted. "Not fully, or at least never during… this."
Varka stilled. "Never?"
Flins nodded, eyes shut. "It happens when I lose control or when feelings overpowers form. Pain might do it. but pleasure…" He exhaled, shuddering. "Pleasure pulls it loose faster than anything. Especially this— you inside me, your hands, your voice— it unravels me, I would guess."
Varka's hips twitched— just once. A slow yet deep roll. Flins gasped, back arching, toes curling into the mattress.
"Like that?" Varka murmured.
Flins whimpered. "Don't… don't test it. Not again for tonight"
"But I'm not testing! I'm learning."
His hand slid from Flins' face, trailing down his throat, over his chest, stopping where the faint smear of earlier release still glistened. He pressed two fingers into the come, then dragged them slowly upwards, leaving a wet trail.
Flins trembled to the feeling.
Varka gently began to move again. Each stroke deep and unhurried, watching Flins' face with rapt focus. "So- the wings— and you know, the light— they came because I- ehm, made you come?"
Flins nodded, breath hitching. "… maybe you pushed me too far in such little time."
"Too far, uh-huh." Varka repeated, voice rough with approval. "And if I did it again?"
Flins' eyes flew open. "Don't."
Varka exhaled, low and thoughtful, his rhythm slowing but not stopping. The tension in Flins' body was taut as a bowstring, his breath coming in shallow pulls— his fingers still curled at the nape of Varka's neck like he was bracing for impact.
But Varka wasn't going to push it. Not again tonight.
Instead, he pulled back just enough to break the deep connection, then eased forward again— gentle. Flins shuddered beneath him, eyes fluttering, mouth parting as if to speak, but no words came.
Varka kissed him. Firmly and warm pressure, a slow slide of lips that made Flins whimper into his mouth. The fae's legs tightened around his waist, not to urge him on, but to keep him close— anchored.
When he pulled away, his voice was gravel, rough with something deeper than desire.
"After everything I've seen," Varka murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of Flins' mouth, "battles in frozen mountains, abyss monsters in the dark, gods with eyes like stars… that was the coolest damn thing I've ever seen."
Flins blinked at him, dazed. "You're joking."
"Do I sound like I'm joking!?" Varka's hand slid down Flins' side, coming to rest on his hip, possessive but not crushing. "The light- the way the room changed when it came out- the hum in the air like the world was holding its breath. I felt it all in my bones."
Varka's breath hitched as Flins shifted beneath him, the fae's body softening in ways it hadn't before— yielding, not from exhaustion but surrender. He could feel Flins' warmth through the press of their chests, steady despite the storm that had just torn through him. Could feel the faint tremor in his thighs, the slow drag of his fingers along Varka's nape, hesitant even now. He moved again but not the slow, reverent glide of moments before— but a sharp, sudden roll of his hips, deep.
Again and again, harder and faster.
The rhythm snapped like a whip, each thrust driving Flins deeper into the bedding, pinning him not with hands, but force. His cock dragged along sensitive inner walls still pulsing from earlier release, reigniting every nerve Flins thought were gone for the night.
He cried out with raw throat as Varka's hips snapped forward with brutal precision. The sound echoed off the walls, swallowed only by the steady rain outside. "You're so beautiful" Varka growled, voice raw and low. He braced one arm beside Flins' head, the other sliding under his waist— lifting him, tilting his hips, adjusting the angle until Flins screamed.
There it was.
That perfect, helpless sound— like the sky tearing open.
Varka buried himself to the root, watching Flins' face twist in ecstasy, mouth falling open, back bowing as if trying to escape the pleasure that had him pinned.
Flins whimpered, hips lifting instinctively, chasing the next thrust.
There was no pause— just relentless pressure, deep and driving. His body pressed flush against Flins', chest to chest, sweat-slicked muscle grinding against trembling flesh. The heat between them built once more— not the dry burn of dominance, but something heavier and hungrier. Flins' legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him deeper. His fingers slipped into Varka's hair, tugging, holding on as if he'd drown without something to cling to.
Varka felt it— the shift. The way Flins' breath caught not from pain, but from the unbearable fullness, the way his cock twitched between them, smearing pre across Varka's stomach despite having come twice already. The fae was endless and only deepened.
"I can keep going," Varka said, voice rough with intent. "all night. You know that right?"
Flins let out a broken laugh, half sob-half plea. "You'll kill me Mr Varka. I'm serious."
"I'll do worse." Varka leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
He shifted suddenly— turning, rolling, hauling Flins on top of him in one smooth motion. The fae yelped, hands flying to Varka's chest for balance, straddling him now, cock swaying between them, red and glistening.
"Ride me, hm?" Varka gripped his hips, thumbs pressing into the bone, guiding him down with a smile on his face.
Flins stared at him— dazed and trembling of how much he wanted this.
He lowered himself, slow.
Each inch of descent gave a gasp, a shiver and a silent plea. Varka stayed still, letting him take control, watching every flicker of emotion cross Flins' face.
Varka groaned, head falling back, veins standing in his neck— skin flushed from throat to groin, beautiful in a way that ached to see... It was damn good.
Flins stayed still for a moment—just breathing, just feeling—before his hips began to move.
Small circles at first, then deeper. Bouncing, rolling and chasing. Varka's hands stayed on his hips, guiding as the fae took his own rythm through it. Flins braced his hands against Varka's chest, fingers splaying over the broad plane of muscle still slick with sweat. His hips rolled forward, slow, testing the way Varka's cock shifted inside him with each adjustment. A low hum built in his throat— pleased, not quite sound at all.
He leaned back, arching his spine, the movement exposing more of Varka's body to the low lamplight from the new angle. Scars he hadn't seen before cut across the knight's lower body— three parallel lines, ragged and silvered, vanishing beneath the waistband of his loosened trousers still pooled around his thighs.
Flins stilled, his breath ghosted over Varka's collarbone as he tilted his head, studying them.
"Those," he murmured, voice rough with use. "I don't recall those."
Varka's jaw tensed. A flicker passed behind his eyes. "Old. Doesn't matter."
"It matters." Flins ran a thumb along the outermost mark, pressing just enough to feel the ridges beneath the skin. "They're quite deep. Claw?"
Varka didn't answer. His hands remained on Flins' hips, thumbs circling absently, but the motion had gone rigid.
Flins leaned forward, mouth near Varka's ear. "Tell me." Not a request but a demand.
"Wolf of the north. Winter, twelve years back."
"Go on."
Varka exhaled through his nose. "Ambush, big beast. Quite feral."
Flins traced the next scar, longer, dragging from hip to spine. "And this one?"
Varka turned his head into the pillow, avoiding his gaze. "Accident. Comrade lost his grip during a drift collapse."
"Did he survive?"
"Buried by an avalanche."
Flins shifted, rising up slightly, then sinking back down with deliberate pressure. Varka hissed, hips twitching beneath him.
"You're avoiding." he said, voice soft but edged. He did it again— slower, deeper— rocking forward so his own cock brushed across Varka's stomach. "I asked about your back. You gave me stories about other men."
Varka's hand tightened on Flins' waist— possessive. "That one's mine," he growled. "It's enough."
"It's not." Flins leaned in, mouth hovering over Varka's. "I see all of you now. I know you now, and you still hold back."
"I'm not—"
"Liar." Flins bit his lower lip— just enough to sting. "You want me to ride you? Then give me something. Not duty and not war, you."
His grip on Flins' waist didn't loosen, but it changed— less control, more need. "The accident scar," he said, voice firm. "I carried him out. Fifteen miles or so. The wound froze open. Every step— felt like someone was dragging glass through my spine."
Flins' breath caught— he didn't move, just stared into Varka's eyes.
Varka's hand slid from Flins' waist to press flat against his belly— fingers splayed just below the navel, holding him still even as his hips began to rise into the rhythm of his own making. The shift was subtle, no longer a guide but not quite a restraint.
Flins faltered.
His roll forward stuttered and his breath caught mid-hum. That single hand anchored him in a way no command or grip ever had. It wasn't stopping him but witnessing him— every twitch, every shiver, every instinctive grind of his body— felt.
"You carry your past like a book," Varka said, voice low, roughened by breath and something darker. "but I see you now."
Flins tried to pull back, just an inch— only to find Varka's hand didn't yield. It pressed harder, not painful but undeniable. A wall of living muscle beneath his own trembling.
"What do you see?" Flins whispered, defiance fraying at the edges.
"Every lie you've told yourself." Varka's thumb swept upward, slow, dragging through the slick smear of earlier release still glistening on Flins' stomach. "That you're untouchable. That beauty of yours is a weapon." His voice dropped. "Not to me."
Flins swallowed. His cock twitched, half-hard again, twitching against Varka's stomach. He didn't answer.
Varka moved, but not with force nor urgency. He arched up— lifting his hips, driving himself deeper in a single, smooth thrust that made Flins cry out. Then stilled again, hand still planted on his belly, holding him down and present.
"You were right," Varka murmured. "I leave before dawn. I always have to, because staying… means this." His fingers curled, just slightly, pressing into the soft dip below Flins' ribs. "Means knowing what it feels like to want someone until it hurts."
Flins trembled from the weight of it— the honesty like a blade between his ribs. He wanted to speak, to deflect it with some laugh or his usual sarcasm, but Varka's hand held him too close to the truth.
So he moved.
A slow, deliberate lift of his hips— until only the tip remained— then a controlled descent, deeper than before, his body clenching instinctively around the thick intrusion. Varka exhaled through gritted teeth, veins standing in his neck, but his hand didn't tighten.
Flins leaned forward, palms flat on Varka's chest, spine curling like a bow. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. "Then don't leave, Varka."
Varka didn't respond with words.
His hand left Flins' belly— only to slide around, gripping the back of his thigh, lifting him and opening him before driving up with a single brutal thrust that tore a loud and raw scream from Flins' throat.
The fae's back arched, his hands flying to the headboard. His breath came in shattered pieces.
Just raw, unfiltered need— knight meeting fae, man meeting myth— each snap of his hips a vow, each groan a confession, all until the air itself felt scorched with truth.
Flins shattered silently— his body convulsing, light flickering at the edges of his skin, dying before it could break free. And Varka followed— groaning, shuddering, burying himself to the root as he emptied inside him, hot and thick. Limbs tangled, breath mingling, beats still racing in stubborn sync.
The weight of exhaustion settled over them like a second skin.
Flins moved first.
He shifted sideways, rolling off Varka with a quiet groan, limbs lax and uncoordinated. He slowly propped himself on his elbow, resting his head in his palm, watching the knight. The lantern's glow caught the curve of his jaw, the faint sheen still clinging to his temple.
There, on the outside of Varka's left leg, just above the knee, a jagged line split the muscle— pale, twisted, seemingly older than the others. A second, thinner scar curled around the back, like a claw had dragged and failed to release.
Flins leaned in slightly. "That one."
Varka didn't open his eyes. He laid flat on his back, chest rising and falling in deep, deliberate breaths. One arm was flung over his face, shielding his eyes from the dim light. At the sound, he tilted his head just enough to glance down.
"Which?"
"That." Flins said, tapping the scar with the tip of his slim finger. "The long one. It pulls when you move. Like it's still fighting."
Varka exhaled through his nose— a quiet, gravelled sound. His arm dropped to the mattress beside him. "Bear."
Flins frowned. "Just a bear?"
Varka cracked one eye open. "Not just."
Flins waited.
"A snow one," Varka said. "Bigger than an elephant. Eyes like cracked ice."
Flins hummed, unimpressed. "I've seen them. Still, a man doesn't get a wound like this and walk away from a fight with a bear— snow or otherwise."
Varka didn't answer. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, but the muscle along his jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, the silence stretching between them like a live wire. His thumb traced the sharp ridge of the scar without looking at it, jaw tight, as if the memory had taken root beneath his skin and throbbed in time with his pulse. Flins watched him— the guarded set of his shoulders, the way his breath stilled at the edges before releasing— and didn't press.
Then he noticed it.
A slow, glistening slickness trailing from the cleft of Flins' thigh, sliding down the curve of his ass, thick and unmistakable. His own release, warm and heavy, seeping from the fae's body as he laid on his side. It caught the lantern's glow— pearl-white, obscene in its intimacy— and Flins tilted his head, unashamed, even faintly pleased by the evidence of what they'd done.
Varka saw it too.
"Don't even think about it." Flins murmured, voice low and drowsy but firm.
Varka turned his head on the pillow. Flins was already looking at him, gold in his eyes dulled to embers.
They didn't speak further, didn't need to anymore for the day.
The air between them had been scorched clean of pretense. No titles, no roles, no lightkeepers, no knights, no fae— only two beings sharing warmth.
Flins shifted just enough to drape an arm across Varka's chest, fingers brushing the old scar above his heart.
For another day, that one would be.