The last of the Nein shuts their door for the night, and Caleb starts counting.
After one minute, Essek steals a glance at him over the top of his book. Caleb meets it with a raised eyebrow, and he retreats with a pleased smirk buried between the pages.
At five minutes, Caleb sets his own book down on the table with a stretch and a contented hum. "How is your reading?"
Essek turns the page. There is something deliberate in the way he moves his fingers that suggests he knows the way Caleb is watching. "Dull," he says mildly. "Have you made any progress on the amplification we spoke of?"
They discuss their research until the fifteen minute mark, at which point Caleb's hand finds its way atop Essek's knee. Twenty minutes, and it's traveled to his thigh. Twenty-five, and Essek begins to thread his fingers through the ends of Caleb's hair, twice as scandalous.
Twenty-nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine.
"I think it is likely our friends have settled--"
"Good."
Then Caleb climbs halfway into Essek's lap and is dragged the rest of the way, and this is what he’s been itching for all day.
“H–” is probably intended to be a hello, but Caleb kisses it out of his mouth. The little sound that replaces it is sweet enough to swallow.
"I have missed you," comes out hoarse when the two of them can bear to part long enough for words.
Essek gives him a fond hum and leans up to rest their foreheads together. "I have missed you, as well," he echoes. "Dearly."
Essek has learned to be handsy when drunk - a very intriguing development that Caleb intends to explore to the fullest. To celebrate the Mighty Nein’s reunion, they’ve all gotten into the Brenattos’ wine cellar tonight, a fact which is clear from the way Essek’s hands are straying. It has been a long time since Caleb last felt this warm.
“Hmm.”
Caleb bites back a bereft sigh as Essek pulls back. He’s wearing his thinking face - a very, very attractive one, but perhaps not the one Caleb would choose at this moment.
“Regarding the spell,” he says. “Have you considered compensating for the larger area of effect by increasing the– Caleb.”
“Hmm?” Caleb hums into the hollow of Essek’s throat.
“Are you listening?”
“Hmm.”
The sound that escapes him when Essek takes a handful of his hair and pulls until they’re eye to eye is positively obscene. The look on Essek’s face is one of fond exasperation - but notably, he doesn’t let go.
“The components.”
“Ja.”
“Have you considered increasing the quality?”
“Ja.”
“By what factor?”
Caleb manages to stumble over his words only once as he tells him. Essek clicks his tongue. He rattles off a suggestion that is certainly very clever. Later, Caleb will be happy to absorb it all in great detail; just now, it’s easier to pay attention to the clipped, deliberate way his accent shapes the words than to the meaning of the words themselves.
“Caleb.”
“Hmm, ja?”
Oh, the way Caleb has mussed Essek’s hair is evident when he shakes his head.
“You are terrible, are you aware?”
Caleb grins. “I am–” and he pauses for emphasis– “drunk.” He presses one finger to Essek’s lips–very warm, very soft, they ought to be kissed a great deal more–before he can reply. “On both the wine and the company.”
Essek is welcome to roll his eyes as dramatically as he wishes, and takes the opportunity - but there is no hiding the flush across his face.
“Fool,” he murmurs.
Caleb retracts his finger. "Oh?"
In soft apology, Essek brushes a thumb over Caleb's lower lip and chases it with a kiss.
"Bright man," he whispers on warm breath. Another kiss, less chaste this time, and it seems the spell is forgotten. "Brilliant man."
There is little else to do but kiss him back.
It goes very nicely, for a while. Hands find bare slivers of skin, shared breath mingles between them, and everything tastes vaguely of wine. At this moment, the world could be vacant save for the two of them.
Then the bottom stair creaks, and both of them snap their heads toward the stairwell where Fjord stands frozen like a child with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.
For a moment (three seconds, four, five), no one so much as breathes.
Then Fjord squeaks a whispered, "Sorry," and the tension collapses.
Somewhat surprisingly, Caleb does not find himself evicted from Essek's lap. He had imagined that, in a situation like this, the touch-shy modesty of their early courtship might shine through again. Instead, Essek’s hand stays firmly on his shoulder, gaze so imperious as to dare Fjord to say something untoward, reminding Caleb very much of a cat who has just taken a tumble from the windowsill and means to silence any witnesses.
For his part, Fjord looks as though he would rather be anywhere else.
“So sorry, I just– my throat was very dry, and I– there’s water down here. Downstairs. In the kitchen. Did not know that you two were…” He clicks his tongue twice to illustrate, then appears to regret it immediately. “I’m going to…”
He points back toward the stairs and begins edging back the way he came.
“Fjord.” Essek’s sharp voice stops him in his tracks. There’s something of the cool demeanor of the Shadowhand in the way he nods toward the kitchen. “Go and get your drink.”
Caleb will wait until Fjord is out of earshot before begging Essek to take that tone of voice with him. He is still very much in Essek's lap, however, and the amusement in Essek's eyes as they shift back to Caleb says that other parts of him are already asking.
In the kitchen, the sound of rattling glass and ceramic is followed by a muffled curse, and Essek presses a hand over his eyes.
“We should have retired to the tower.”
Caleb hooks one hand behind Essek’s neck, rubbing his thumb in what he hopes are comforting circles. For just a moment, Essek’s posture stiffens at the touch as his eyes flick to the doorway. Then, with a sigh, he relaxes. It’s lucky that Fjord is downstairs rather than Beauregard; she would never let Caleb live down the mawkish smile on his face.
“Forgive my impatience,” he murmurs.
Essek gives him a look. “I am as much at fault as you are,” he admits. With another sigh, he rakes a hand down his face. “They will all know by the end of the night, won’t they?”
“No, no!” Fjord whisper-shouts from the doorway, and Caleb’s thumb stills on Essek’s neck as they both turn to look again. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He mimes locking the corner of his mouth, then tossing the invisible key over his shoulder. To Essek’s credit, his sigh is released so slowly as to be imperceptible to anyone but Caleb.
“I, uh…” Fjord gestures toward the stairs with his water glass. “Sleep well! If you’re planning on sleeping? Don’t answer that. I don’t know why I said that. Goodnight!”
Caleb half wonders if he’s about to Far Step up the stairs in his haste. Instead, he retreats on his own two feet, leaving the two of them in silence again.
Atop deflating shoulders, Essek’s head falls forward until his forehead knocks into Caleb’s chest. Caleb pats him on the back, wondering just how thoroughly the moment has slipped away from them. He runs a finger down the bumps of Essek’s spine, leaning down closer.
“We were in the middle of something, ja?” he murmurs. His free hand finds Essek’s hair. There is a certain way of moving his fingers here that gets Essek keyed up without fail. A moment or two of that, and he ought to be–
Fjord pops his head back into the room, framed by a pair of thumbs up.
"I'm very happy for you!" he stage whispers, and away he ducks again. This time, the sound of footsteps is followed by a door clicking shut.
The silence is so deep as to buzz. He counts Essek’s breaths: slow, steady, warm.
“Well,” says Caleb. “That is thirty seconds.”
For his trouble, he receives a puff of laughter against his chest.
“Cast your tower, Widogast,” Essek says– and oh, he had certainly worked out how much Caleb enjoyed that tone. “I find that I’m short on patience.”
He straightens until their faces are no more than an inch apart, and Caleb fights down a shiver at the spark in his eyes. His wand is in his pocket, the stained glass and granite in a pouch discarded on the coffee table, the cat tucked into a pouch in his jacket.
It will take one minute.
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