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The journey down to the baths was long and fraught. It was the first time since Damen had been stabbed that he was allowed to leave his rooms; Paschal had reluctantly given his assent, subject to certain conditions. One of these was that Damen would be carried to and from the baths. Damen had nearly rebelled against this order, having never suffered such service in his life — but then Laurent, bruise-eyed and tired, had put a hand on Damen’s wrist and said, “Please, Damianos,” very quiet, very soft, and Damen’s willpower had crumbled.
Six servants had been conscripted to carry what Laurent claimed was a litter and Damen felt was a glorified stretcher, but the extra pairs of arms only seemed to make the trip more perilous. Laurent was snapping out orders the whole way there: “Philokles, put your elbows down,” and “Glaukos, keep left,” and “Rhode, slow down.” It all came out of his mouth so naturally that one would think that he’d lived in the palace for years.
Damen could imagine it effortlessly. In another world, Laurent would have been betrothed to Damen. They would have made a good pair, the heir of one country and the second son of another. He would have come to Ios as a youth. Perhaps he would have resented it. Damen’s imagination blurred sweetly through this image. They would have come to know each other, to form an affection. It would have led to something like this, Laurent’s ease and natural command, his intimate knowledge of the royal household. The idea was enough to ameliorate the sting of humiliation which came from being carted about like a sack of particularly thin-skinned fruit.
The servants set the litter down inside the baths, and Laurent communicated with a gesture that they should leave. He did not even look around to be sure that they obeyed, his blue gaze taut and serious on Damen. As soon as the doors closed, he offered his hands, levering Damen up onto his feet.
“Laurent,” said Damen, “I feel fine.”
“I know,” said Laurent. “If you didn’t we would be on our way back to your rooms right now.”
Damen caught his hand and kissed it, and thrilled at the way Laurent faltered. His hand in Damen’s grip was trembling, slightly. Damen was filled with the urge to draw him close and kiss him until his whole body was shuddering. Laurent was — he remembered this with a pulse of pleasure — beautifully sensitive.
But in the next moment Laurent composed himself with a visible effort, and brought his free hand up to undress Damen in two efficient movements, shoulder and waist. Damen’s chiton fluttered to the ground. Laurent said, “There are certain advantages to your mode of dress.” And then, “Get in the water.”
The bandages had come off recently, although Paschal and Eustachys the Akielon physician had both belaboured the point that the wound underneath was still healing, and that it would be the height of stupidity to overtax himself now. Frankly, they did not need to deliver their warnings so direly: Damen’s side still ached whenever he moved and most of the time he was still, a deep throbbing reminder of what had happened.
“Let me undress you,” Damen bargained, making no move towards the water. Laurent was still laced into all of his Veretian garments, covered from his neck to his wrists and his ankles. The heat of the room had flushed his face a sweet pink, set his hair to curling a little at the ends.
Laurent said, “Damen —”
“You can’t mean to leave me here,” said Damen. His hand slid down to caress Laurent’s fine-boned wrist under its passel of constricting laces. “So you might as well get in.”
“I might need to call for the physician,” said Laurent, but he was weakening.
“I wasn’t aware your voice was attached to your clothes,” said Damen. Laurent scowled at him.
“Get in the water, and I’ll undress,” he said. Damen sighed and, seeing that his mind was made up, moved to the stairs and obeyed.
The water was hot almost to the point of pain, but it was marvellous too, exactly what Damen needed. He could feel his muscles unlocking under the penetrating force of the heat. The servants had been faultlessly diligent in bringing water up to his rooms thus far — first for sponge baths, and then to fill a copper tub — but it was never this warm, and never this expansive. Damen stretched his limbs out, revelling in the lightness and buoyancy of a real bath. Even the ache in his side had abated.
At the edge of the water, Laurent had finished unlacing his shirt and pants, and was now working at his boots. The fabric draped around him in loose folds, occasionally shifting to show a glimpse of pale skin. Finally, Laurent removed his shoes and drew off his garments, tossing them to the floor. He glanced almost challengingly at Damen, and his face flushed further at whatever he found there.
“Enjoying the view?”
“Yes,” said Damen, and moved slowly over to where Laurent was easing himself into the water, foregoing the steps. His pink face was twisted into a slight grimace. “Should we call for cold water to be added?” Damen asked.
“No,” said Laurent. “I’ll get used to it.” And he descended the rest of the way down with a small gasp and smaller splash. “Happy now?”
Damen hummed. “Come here,” he said, and Laurent did, the water swirling around his neck. Damen put his arms around the pliant, graceful body, and Laurent let himself be drawn close. For a moment they simply gazed at each other, tenderness stretching out between them, and then Laurent pushed up to his tiptoes and kissed Damen on the mouth, soft and achingly sweet.
They kept kissing for a long time, the kind of slow, lazy kiss which came with knowing that time was rolling out luxuriously before them, that they were rich with it. The water and the heat made everything feel hazy and unreal. When Laurent pulled away, Damen exhaled and stroked his flushed cheek, feeling the swelling tide of affection like a fist in his throat.
Laurent said, “You were smiling earlier as well, on the litter. What were you thinking about?”
“What — oh.” Damen felt his smile widen, remembering, and told him. Laurent huffed a short breath out through his nose, shaking his head.
“I wouldn’t have resented you. I told you,” he said, “I’d have followed you around from the start. You would have been the one to break my heart,” looking up at Damen through his golden lashes, “with your dalliances and your affairs.”
“Not if you were here,” said Damen. He wanted to pick Laurent up, to encourage his legs around Damen’s waist, but even with the help of the water this would likely fall under the category of dangerous activity, and he wanted even more to stay here, to stretch this moment out. He traced down Laurent’s jaw, and then brushed knuckles along the fine, sensitive skin of his neck. Laurent’s head tilted unconsciously to one side. His eyes were hot on Damen’s mouth. The next kiss was less soft and less sweet.
Laurent pushed, gently, and Damen blindly allowed himself to be steered until he bumped into the underwater ledge built along one side of the bath. He settled onto the seat, assuming Laurent would sit beside him, but in typical fashion Laurent preferred to subvert his expectations. He crawled onto Damen’s lap, knees planted on either side of his hips, arms about his shoulders. Damen’s hands came up to his narrow waist, sliding along the smooth skin. Like this, the water lapped at Damen’s chest and Laurent’s ribs. Laurent’s wet hands had come up to stroke through Damen’s hair, winding individual curls between his fingers.
He leaned to reach behind Damen, sitting back on his heels with a small handful of vials. They were not labelled, only identifiable by their distinct colours and shapes, so Damen had to explain what each one was for: this one to wash hair, that one to oil it, this one to scent the bathwater, that one to rub into the skin after the bath.
“And this one?” asked Laurent, twirling the last vial in his hands. Damen smiled.
“Let me show you,” he said.
Laurent watched as he rubbed the oil onto his hands, and caught on at once; he started to laugh breathlessly, disbelieving.
“Do people in Akielos often,” said Laurent, breath stuttering as Damen’s hands moved, “fuck in the water?”
“Yes,” said Damen. “Not in Vere?”
“No, I —” shifting on his knees, “not in public, anyway. Everything would have frozen off.”
“You’re not freezing now,” Damen murmured. Laurent was still flushed delightfully pink, not only in his face but across the rest of his body in the hot water.
“No,” Laurent agreed breathlessly. “Damen —” and his voice pitched and wobbled as Damen gave in to the impulse to kiss his neck. Whatever he had been about to say was lost to quick, panting breaths. Damen slowed his movements, and Laurent made a sound of pleasure that he wanted to swallow whole, to take into himself. But then Laurent said, “Stop.” He nudged his nose along Damen’s cheek. “Take your fingers out.”
Damen did. Laurent shifted, one hand dipping below the water to find where Damen was hard, the other pressing insistently on Damen’s shoulder. He said, “Stay still.”
“Yes,” said Damen, and then, “yes —” again, when Laurent began to lower himself —
It had not been like this for too long. Laurent had been afraid of the injury, of any aggravation to it. They had satisfied each other with hands and mouths, but there was nothing like this. It was intoxicating to have Laurent so near him, opening to him, feeling his fast shallow breaths as he was breached. They were watching each other, Laurent’s lashes fluttering when he had to keep dragging them open, as though he could not bear to miss a moment.
“Stay still,” Laurent repeated, and the water lapped around him as he moved, rocking slowly on Damen’s lap. Breathlessly: “I’ve missed this. Damen.”
“I know,” said Damen. “I know, sweetheart.” He caught Laurent’s mouth in another kiss, this one long and languid, their mouths moving together as their bodies did, giving everything up to each other. With the water all around him, the boundaries of Damen’s body seemed to blur and fade; it felt wildly, vividly possible that he could absorb Laurent into him, that they might achieve such a closeness as to transform each other in some fundamental way.
He could feel their pleasure building together. There were fractured, tiny noises coming from Laurent’s throat, their kiss now loose and gasping. When Damen slid a hand down to feel where they were joined together, Laurent cried out loudly enough that the noise reverberated off the stone walls while he dissolved in Damen’s arms, and his body was shuddering exactly as Damen had wanted earlier. Damen followed him, feeling the hot, bright pulse of climax through his own body, hearing his mouth murmuring against Laurent’s skin, you’re so beautiful — you feel so good, Laurent —
After, they lay against each other in the water, Laurent’s head resting sweetly against Damen’s shoulder. As soon as he stirred, Damen put hands on his hips and urged him to turn around where he was, to settle between Damen’s legs, which move Laurent would likely have protested were he fully sensible. But Damen was careful, bracing his better side to take the weight, and more importantly he wanted for them to be close, wanted to cradle Laurent with all of his body.
“Damen,” said Laurent. The heat and the lassitude which came after climax meant that his voice was coming out slower than usual, a little hazy, a little dreamy. He rubbed one cheek along Damen’s shoulder, up and down like an affectionate cat, and said again, “Damen,” not because he wanted anything but simply to say the name, to keep it in his mouth. Damen felt like he was floating, overcome by tenderness.
“Laurent,” he said, and kissed the pale temple. He was looking at Laurent’s face as though for the first time all over again, the elegant features softened and peaceful in the warmth of the room.
“I should go,” said Laurent. “Or I’ll fall asleep right here.”
“Go to sleep,” said Damen. From this angle, he could see the way Laurent’s eyes were sliding shut, the way his lashes flickered briefly every time he forced them open again.
“I have things to do.”
“They’ll wait,” looking at Laurent’s cheek, still flushed sweetly pink.
“You’re a poor influence,” said Laurent, but then he put his hands over where Damen’s arms were wrapped around his waist, urging them tighter around him. “Do people in Akielos sleep in the water, too?”
“Yes,” said Damen, looking now at the marks on his neck. “Often.”
A low, indulgent laugh. Damen’s heart rolled in his chest. “Far be it from me to spurn such an honoured tradition, then.” And then abruptly Laurent asked, anxiety creeping into his voice, “Do you feel all right?”
“I feel fine,” said Damen. “Better than fine. I feel wonderful.”
Laurent’s hand had wormed back into the space between them to touch where Damen had been wounded; he did this often, as though he needed the reassurance, the physical proof of healing. In the soft, blurry tones of one on the edge of sleep, Laurent murmured, “Damen,” nuzzling into Damen’s neck. “I want you to be well again.”
“I will be,” Damen promised, holding him and holding him. “Go to sleep,” and finally Laurent yielded himself up with a long sigh, his body entirely relaxed as he leaned back against Damen, the room quiet and peaceful around them.