Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dalamar Argent, it’s time for your weekly report: what is the current status of Raistlin Majere?”

Dalamar played with his silverware, turning his knife over and over on the table, a nervous habit he’d developed somewhere in his youth and never thought to shake. He refused to look at either of his companions and let the silence swell to bursting before he finally spoke. “I don’t think we should keep doing this. He’s going to get suspicious.”

The woman seated across from him, the leader and mastermind behind the whole farce, sighed. “He’ll only get suspicious if you slip up. Are you planning on slipping up?”

Dalamar scowled. “Of course not."

Both Dalamar and the woman turned to look at the third member of their party, a large man in a bright varsity football sweatshirt, for support. Of the three of them, he had the kindest face, so when the waitress appeared to collect their drink orders she directed her questions mostly toward him. Only once she had left and returned with their drinks and left again did the man say, "I dunno, Kit, he might have a point. Raist’ll be pissed when he finds out we asked his roommate to spy on him.”

“Shut up, Caramon,” Kitiara said, flicking the man’s shoulder for good measure. “If he finds out, not when. Why’re you just worrying about this now? It’s been three months.”

“Almost five,” Dalamar corrected.

“What?” Kitiara asked. “Really?”

“I moved in with Raistlin almost five months ago. I met you two almost six,” Dalamar said, weighing his disdain and pouring it into the words 'you two'.

“You don’t need to say it like that. You wouldn’t be living with Raistlin at all if not for ‘us two’, you know,” Kitiara said.

Dalamar frowned. That much was true. Not for a lack of trying on his part, he’d lost touch with his esteemed professor after he’d graduated; it was only thanks to Kitiara’s scheming and pre-planned run-in — arranged without Dalamar’s knowledge, awareness, or consent — that they’d reconnected at all.

“I wanna make it clear that I've always thought this was a bad idea; Kit just overruled me,” Caramon said.

“Oh? Did I? That doesn’t sound like me,” Kitiara said with a twisted smirk. “Look, Dal, a deal’s a deal. I set you up with Raistlin, now you give us updates.”

“I don’t remember making that deal,” Dalamar said. “And don’t call me Dal.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Also, you didn't 'set me up with' Raistlin."

Kitiara rolled her eyes. “Fine. Dalamar.” She jabbed a threatening finger in Dalamar’s direction. “How about this, instead: you keep giving us Raistlin updates or I tell him your secret.”

Dalamar, who’d been sinking further and further into his seat, helped by the slide of polyester on vinyl, sat up. “We've been through this. You don't have anything on me."

"No? Did you not admit to stalking my baby brother for years?"

"No!" Dalamar snapped, earning him curious looks from the diner's other patrons. He leaned in, lowered his voice before continuing, "I asked him to be my PhD advisor. That's not even remotely the same thing."

"Asked him after moving halfway across the country just to meet him?"

"I moved for school. Dr. Majere was —  is — one of the biggest names in my field. It's not that strange to pick a grad program based on the faculty."

“Fair enough, but remind me: did you ask him to take you on, or did you harass him until he agreed?”

Dalamar sniffed. “I just attended his office hours.” Relentlessly. Every single week. Bringing him coffee and bugging him with questions until he gave in. In Dalamar’s defense, it had worked, in the end — he’d succeeded. He’d studied under the Raistlin Majere. He’d defended his thesis, earned his degree, got a prestigious job immediately upon graduation. If the job was unengaging and the only time he’d known real growth and challenge was the time he’d spent with Raistlin in his life, well, that was a different problem.

"Whatever," Kitiara said, checking her nails, which were cut short and painted black. "Forget the nerdy crap, then. I'll spell it out simply: keep giving us updates or I'll tell Raistlin you've had a crush on him since the first time you stepped foot in his classroom."

Dalamar bit his cheek. He never should have told her that. In his defense, he hadn’t known who she was, then — she’d just been a beautiful girl with a sharp, familiar smile. “Jealous, Kit?” he asked, hoping that if he made his smile believable enough she wouldn't see through it.

Kitiara smiled back, and it was as cruel and charming as ever. If Dalamar had ever thought the blackmailing would make Kitiara less attractive to him he was a fool. He should have known himself better. “Deflecting, Dalamar? If you spill your heart to hot girls at bars, this is what you get for it.”

“Who said you were hot?” Dalamar asked.

“You did. Several times.”

“I was drunk,” Dalamar said.

“You were cute,” Kitiara said. “If it makes you feel any better, I would've snapped you up months ago if Raistlin wasn’t in the picture.”

While Dalamar his his blush behind his hand, Caramon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "It never stopped you before."

When Dalamar's phone rattled against the table, the screen lighting up to reveal a text from none other than Raistlin himself, Dalamar jumped and hurried to click the screen off.

Kitiara gave him a knowing smirk. "The threat still stands, Dal."

"He'd kick me out. Or worse, he'd hate me," Dalamar said. He was fairy certain Kitiara was bluffing, fairly certain Raistlin didn't even speak to his siblings, let alone listen to their gossip, but he also worried what lengths Kitiara might go to in order to get her way.

“Not my problem,” Kitiara said, though Caramon, at least, had the decency to look uneasy.

“Let's at least stop the in person meetings,” Dalamar said. He was sick of getting dragged halfway across Palanthas for secret rendezvous in shitty diners, especially when his blackmailers spent the whole time teasing him. “This could have been an email. Or, even better, a text.”

"If you want to stop, we should stop," Caramon said. "We wouldn't even be mad if you wanted to tell him about all this."

“Why would I tell him?” Dalamar hissed at the same time Kitiara asked, “Caramon, are you stupid?”

They both paused, each looking to the other.

Caramon blinked. "Isn't that what we were talking about? Coming clean to Raist?"

"No!" Dalamar and Kitiara said, again at the same time. Dalamar gestured for Kitiara to go first, and she obliged: “If Raistlin finds out we had a hand in getting him his new roommate, he’d kick the kid out just to spite us." 

Dalamar nodded. "Whether we're stopping or continuing, we're not saying a word about any of this to Raistlin."

"On that, we agree," Kitiara said. "What is with you tonight, Caramon? I swear, if you’re thinking about ratting us out—”

“I’m not!” Caramon said.

Kitiara gave him a final, suspicious look before turning back to Dalamar. “Text is fine as long as you don’t try ghosting us. We're just worried about Raistlin, you know? He's never been good at taking care of himself, especially when he's obsessing over work or in the middle of a flare up, and you see him every day. He never tells us anything."

Dalamar sighed. Sympathy was how Kitiara had caught him in this trap in the first place, but he couldn't help it. Dalamar, who had no one in the world to care about him the way Kitiara and Caramon cared about Raistlin, couldn't turn them down. “Fine. Raistlin’s doing fine. He’s almost finished with that paper he’s been working on, so he’ll have more free time soon.”

“Is he eating well?” Caramon asked.

“I’m still cooking for him, so...” Dalamar said. It was something he’d taken on shortly after moving in, after seeing the dismal state of the pantry and the fridge.

Caramon nodded, approving.

“Still no girlfriend?” Kitara asked, then amended, “Or boyfriend?”

Dalamar pursed his lips. “Not that I’m aware of.” Fortunately. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Kitiara. Not much has changed from last week.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Kitiara said, finishing off her coffee and tugging on her worn old leather jacket. In the six months or so that he’d known her, Dalamar had never seen her without it. “This was your treat, right, Mister Fancy Engineer Guy?”

“No way. I’ve got student debt that would make you weep, Kitiara Uth Matar.”

Kitiara laughed.

“I’ve got it,” Caramon said with a sigh, already pulling out his wallet. “Thanks for coming out again, Dalamar. It was good seeing you.”

“Yeah. Now run on home to your precious roommate, kid.”

Dalamar did just that, wasting no time. It was already late, getting later. Dalamar spent the bus ride home wondering, once again, how he’d gotten into this mess. It was his attraction to dangerous women, he decided. Or maybe his drinking. He’d been doing a lot of drinking around the time this all started, a lot of sleeping around and hanging out in bars. It was partially the unfulfilling job, the monotony of life, partially the fact that he was once again facing homelessness — his long-term roommate, Regene, was moving across town to start her own career and Dalamar was getting kicked out of their shitty hole-in-the-wall apartment along with her. Something about his name not being on the lease. He'd had a well paying job, but shit credit, no car, and lots of college debt, and finding a cheap place that would take him either on a bus route or within walking distance of his office was consuming his time and energy and patience.

He remembered arguing with Regene about it — she worried over him being alone — and he remembered wandering into a random bar and flirting with a lovely, curly haired woman. Truthfully, he didn’t remember much that happened after that. Didn’t remember spilling everything to Kitiara, didn’t remember Regene showing up to drag him home. He’d woken in his own apartment with a splitting headache and an address and time sprawled in permanent marker across his arm. He was curious enough about Kitiara that he’d visited the address — a charming cafe near Dalamar’s old campus — at the appointed time — 12:30, precisely. She hadn’t been there, though. Instead, Dalamar had run quite literally into Dr. Raistlin Majere, whose eyes had widened in surprise at seeing his old student returned, then quickly narrowed as he asked if Dalamar was there looking for him.

In hindsight, Dalamar could see Kitiara’s hand in the sequence of events, could see her scheming plain as day. In the moment, he’d thought it a wonderful coincidence, the universe giving him a chance to reconnect with his long-lost idol. Forgetting the potential Kitiara-date entirely, he’d followed Raistlin back to campus, asking him questions all the way: how he’d been, what he was working on, whether he’d gotten any of Dalamar’s emails over the years. Drawing answers from Raistlin was like pulling teeth up until the moment Dalamar got him talking about his work, and then the conversation flowed. That had always been the way.

When Dalamar had mentioned having an apartment viewing that afternoon, Raistlin had hesitated, harried students parting around them on the sidewalk like water around stones in a stream. “If it goes poorly,” Raistlin had said, “Email me. I have a spare room I've been looking to rent out.”

Dalamar had stared, stunned, as Raistlin turned and headed up the steps of the computer science building without another word. He hadn’t even waited until the viewing to text Raistlin.

The radical upswing Dalamar's life had taken after that was unprecedented. Raistlin had showed him the spare room that very week, and then not two weeks later, Dalamar had moved in. It took one more week after that for Kitiara to show her hand. To this day, Dalamar didn’t know how she got his number — he was fairly certain he hadn’t given it to her. But she’d called him, asked him to meet; Dalamar had expected her to be alone, hadn’t expected to be crowded into a cafe booth by two people claiming to be his roommate’s siblings, hadn't expected to be asked all sorts of questions about his roommate’s habits. Kitiara made it clear she took credit for getting Dalamar his current living arrangements, and the worst part was that Dalamar couldn’t disagree. In the end, their request seemed innocent enough. It’s not as if Dalamar was harming Raistlin by telling his siblings he was doing okay.

The guilt had come on slowly, but like Kitiara said, it was too late to back out.

Dalamar stopped briefly at the corner store on his way home, and not much later he was passing through the soft, dim lobby of Raistlin’s — and his, he supposed — building. It was an old building: not old like Dalamar’s last apartment, all flickering lights, barren walls, and ugly linoleum, but old in the way of cozy libraries and quiet churches. Dalamar let himself into the dark elevator, shut the cage door, and sagged against the wall with a sigh. As the old contraption rattled to life, he checked his phone and realized too late he’d never responded to Raistlin’s text, asking what they were doing for dinner. He sighed and tucked it back into his pocket. Two more stories, up to the fourth, and he would be home to answer in person.

Home. Still a strange thought.

If you had asked the Dalamar of years ago what he imagined his professor’s living space looked like, he would have guessed that it matched his office: sparse and cold. He’d been surprised to find it was quite the opposite. From the first moment he stepped foot in Raistlin’s apartment all those months ago, he’d known that he was in trouble: it was gentle and tasteful and elegant, full of character and life and all manner of unexpected objects. It revealed so much about Raistlin that Dalamar had never known - probably would never have known, if not for this - and it did strange things to Dalamar's heart.

There were books everywhere: that much, Dalamar could have guessed. The looming bookshelves in the living room were stuffed full, complex and curated jenga towers of paper and cloth and leather. Raistlin had everything: fiction, philosophy, theology, mathematics, history. He’d seemed pleased when Dalamar had added his own small ethnography collection to the mix. Everywhere else, there were always books lying around, but never the same book, never for long.

Raistlin kept a small garden in his kitchen, underneath the apartment’s bright, wide windows. It cut Dalamar's cooking space in half, but he couldn’t mind, not when he saw how content Raistlin looked when he tended to it. He always had small plants and herbs hanging to dry — flowers, too, sometimes. On top of it all, Raistlin kept a pet rabbit, let it hop around at all hours of the day. It was so at odds with the cold, sarcastic computational linguistics professor Dalamar had idolized that he almost couldn’t reconcile it.

Dalamar caught the heavy front door as it swung shut behind him and toed out of his boots, the soft glow coming from the living room telling him Raistlin was already home. He headed that way, peering around the corner before letting himself enter the room fully. Raistlin was curled up on the couch, frowning at his laptop and wearing a dorky little sweater vest Raistlin probably didn't realize had actually circled back around into being trendy. Fondness swelled inside Dalamar, then guilt swooped in to attack it. He hated the guilt that blossomed inside him, hated it for choking out soft moments like these. This was the most perfect his life had ever been, and he couldn’t even enjoy it. He was so far past a mere crush, at this point. If only Kitiara knew.

“You left me on read,” Raistlin said without looking up.

“Sorry. I got distracted,” Dalamar replied. Raistlin still didn’t look at him, but his fingers on his keyboard slowed, telling Dalamar that he was listening. “How do you feel about ordering takeout tonight?”

Raistlin glanced up at Dalamar, then down at the crinkly bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, and finally, back to his laptop, his soft brown hair curling around his chin. “I don’t particularly care. You know this.”

“Yeah, fair,” Dalamar said, not taking Raistlin’s tone personally. He dropped his work bag and headed to the kitchen to care for the flowers. Raistlin liked them dried, hanging on the wall like decoration, but Dalamar did not. He’d grown up in the country, always surrounded by green and lush and wild, and while he was happy to leave that world behind, he'd gotten in the habit of buying fresh, living bouquets from the convenience store on the corner whenever the last bunch needed replacing. He was still unused to having a disposable income, but this was one small luxury he allowed himself.

He removed the old flowers from the vase on the counter, dumped the water, refilled it. As he trimmed the stems off the new ones, Raistlin joined him in the kitchen, his laptop tucked under his arm. When Dalamar first moved in, he'd expected Raistlin to avoid him, to work long hours and keep to himself, but he soon discovered that Raistlin was like a cat, always finding an excuse to exist in the same room as Dalamar, pretending he had something important to do there. If Dalamar was watching something in the living room, Raistlin was there curled up with a book or his computer. If Dalamar was cooking dinner for them in the kitchen, Raistlin was there fussing over his plants.

“Do you want to hang any of these before I throw them out?” Dalamar asked, nodding at the bundle of old flowers.

Raistlin barely glanced at them. “No.”

Dalamar shrugged, trying and failing not to be offended. Raistlin would hang anything, even common weeds he found growing in the middle of nowhere, but never anything that Dalamar bought. He dumped the old flowers in the trash, freezing when Raistlin reached across him and touched a coupling of small, purple flowers in the bouquet Dalamar had just bought. “I like these, though. Don’t throw them away.”

Dalamar only trusted himself to breathe again once Raistlin moved away.

“I need you to look at this when you’re done,” Raistlin said, setting his laptop on the counter. “I’ve been working on it too long, and the words seem stale. I need a fresh perspective.”

“Whatever you need,” Dalamar said with a flirtatious smile, more a force of habit than anything. Raistlin rolled his eyes, and Dalamar's smile turned genuine as he arranged his new flowers in their vase. “How were classes today?”

“Miserable,” Raistlin said. “The average intelligence of students has diminished significantly since you left.”

Dalamar smirked, pleased at the implicit praise. “The average was pretty low in my time, too. You just happened to find the one outlier.”

“And then I never managed to get rid of him, despite my efforts,” Raistlin said dryly.

“I knew you were ignoring my emails on purpose, back then,” Dalamar accused. “Anybody else might refuse to help you for that, you know.”

“Anybody else might, perhaps. But you won’t,” Raistlin said, the warm light of his computer screen bathing him in a golden glow, casting shadows along the sharp planes of his face. Dalamar couldn’t stop himself from staring. “You like it when I ask for your help too much.”

Dalamar bit his tongue. He had nothing to say to that, so he set the new vase of flowers back on the counter, a little harder than he intended, and flicked on the overhead light. Raistlin squinted in the sudden brightness.

“Pass me that,” Dalamar said, reaching for Raistlin’s laptop even as he said it. Raistlin let him take it, going to examine his plants while Dalamar read. Dalamar left a comment, two, three, in the doc as he combed through it. Raistlin had been working on this paper for as long as they’d lived together, and during that time, Dalamar had been allowed to read it several times — the first because he’d begged, the second because Raistlin had grudgingly asked, the third because Dalamar had been helpful during the first and second. Still, on the fourth turn, Dalamar found himself in awe of Raistlin's mind all over again.

“It's not that I don't like your flowers, Dalamar,” Raistlin said softly, after a minute.

Dalamar looked up. “What?”

“I like them, but the ones I hang usually serve a purpose beyond the aesthetic,” Raistlin said. He tapped a large bundle of small white flowers. “These, for example, can be used for fevers, stomachaches, or inflammation.” Raistlin continued, “My mother knew a great deal about plants. Our house growing up was always like this, each part of the collection useful in its own way. My siblings never bought into it, but they didn’t listen to her talk about them the way I did.”

Dalamar watched Raistlin with wide eyes. Raistlin rarely spoke about his siblings, and he never spoke about his mother. He was tempted to push, see if he could learn more about Caramon and Kitiara and their mysterious mother, but just the thought made the guilt rise like bile. His gaze dropped to the purple flowers he’d bought that day. “What purpose do these serve, then?”

Raistlin snorted. “Sentimentality.”

“Ah,” Dalamar said, unsure what to make of that. Sentiment was something Raistlin disapproved of, he knew. They’d had a few heated discussions on the subject. Like most of their arguments, they’d started as arguments only for them to realize hours in that they were arguing the same point from different directions. Raistlin kept his heart carefully locked away, just as Dalamar kept his own carefully buried.

“I’m saying I appreciate the flowers, Dalamar,” Raistlin said, surprising Dalamar. He flooded with warmth, even as Raistlin’s next question had him immediately freezing over. “But enough of that. Speaking of family, tell me: how are my dear brother and sister doing?”

Chapter Text

Dalamar held Raistlin’s gaze, his expression blank even as panic clawed at his chest and up his throat, threatening to spill over. Slowly, surreptitiously, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m sorry?” he asked, as if he had misheard.

He hadn’t misheard.

Raistlin smiled at him. Usually, Dalamar loved Raistlin’s smiles, had carefully cataloged each of them: there was the soft, private smile used for telling stories and sharing secrets, the bitterly deprecating one used for remembering, the sarcastic one full of gentle mocking and fond exasperation. There was the true smile and accompanying quiet laughter, which Dalamar had only seen twice but would never forget, and the tender smile that was reserved exclusively for Raistlin’s rabbit.

This smile was sharp and feral, and it reminded Dalamar too much of Kitiara. He suppressed a shiver.

“My siblings. You saw them again tonight, didn’t you?” Raistlin asked, as casually as if they were discussing takeout options.

Dalamar couldn’t lie. “I…I did, yes.”

“Are you surprised?” Raistlin asked. “You shouldn’t be. You’re very clever, Dalamar, but when it comes to deception, you’re mediocre at best. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

Dalamar listened for disdain or disgust in Raistlin’s quiet voice and, hearing neither, ventured, “How long have you known?”

He needed more information. How much did Raistlin know? How did Raistlin know? Dalamar doubted Caramon or Kitiara told him — at this point, he was confident they weren’t on speaking terms — so had Raistlin figured it out on his own? Did he know about the blackmail, about Dalamar’s crush?

“A month, at least,” Raistlin said with a delicate shrug.

A whole month.

Why wasn’t Raistlin angrier? Dalamar didn’t know what past lay behind Raistlin and his siblings, but he knew it wasn’t pleasant. He knew their parents were dead, that they were alone in the world. He knew that they, like Dalamar, had grown up poor and burdened by the weight of expectations that didn’t fit them. He knew that, for some reason, Raistlin didn’t want Kitiara and Caramon in his life.

He never should have let Kitiara have her way. He never should have agreed to this scheme without knowing the depth of the bad blood that pooled between the three siblings. He’d betrayed Raistlin’s trust and he didn’t even know how badly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dalamar asked, swallowing down his despair.

And there was the disdain Dalamar had been looking for, there in Raistlin’s cold blue eyes. “Perhaps I was waiting to see if you’d tell me yourself,” Raistlin said.

Dalamar nodded and dropped his gaze. Raistlin’s laptop still sat open in front of him. He’d started a new comment in the document minutes ago but couldn’t remember, now, what he’d been meaning to say. He watched the cursor blink and waited for Raistlin to condemn him.

“I should have told you,” he said when Raistlin didn’t immediately speak, trying to think of a path forward that wasn’t laid with excuses. “I knew it was wrong. I tried to call it off today, but I know that probably doesn’t change anything.”

Before Dalamar could continue, Raistlin held a hand up to stop him. “Call what off, exactly? What have you been doing with them?”

Dalamar blinked. So Raistlin didn’t know everything. “They asked me to keep them updated on your life, since I see you every day,” he said, honestly. “How you’re doing. Whether you’re eating. If you’re dating anyone.”

Raistlin rolled his eyes. “Typical. And how, exactly, did they rope you into that?” He narrowed his eyes, as if an idea occurred to him. “Does Kitiara have something on you?”

Dalamar shifted guiltily in his seat.

“Did you sleep with her?” Raistlin asked, eyes narrowing further.

“What? No!” Dalamar cried. He wished it were that simple. Reluctantly, he told Raistlin an edited version of the truth — he told Raistlin about meeting Kitiara in that bar, about her setup with the coffee shop and the blackmail that followed. He left out the part about his crush, and if Raistlin knew Dalamar wasn’t telling him everything, he didn’t press. Instead, he stayed quiet while Dalamar told the story, and then he stayed quiet even after, letting Dalamar wait and fidget and fret.

Finally, Dalamar couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you want me to leave?”

Raistlin frowned. “Why would I?"

“Kitiara said if you knew she’d set this up,” Dalamar began, gesturing around at the apartment to clarify what he meant, “You’d kick me out just to spite her.”

“I think she has me confused with herself,” Raistlin huffed. “Besides, you’re too useful to have around to evict.”

“Aren’t you angry with me?” Dalamar asked, unable to read Raistlin’s expression. He’d thought he’d gotten better at it over the last few months, but he realized now that wasn’t it at all; Dalamar hadn’t been improving at anything, Raistlin had just been showing him more, letting down his guard. It was raised again, now, and Dalamar couldn’t see past it. “I went behind your back. I lied to you for months.”

“If I didn’t know better, Dalamar, I’d say you want me to be angry with you,” Raistlin said, regarding Dalamar coolly. He looked younger, softer in the warm light of their kitchen. Really, he was only a few years older than Dalamar — he’d risen to notoriety at a remarkably young age, and Dalamar, for his part, had gotten a late start.

“Of course I don’t!” Dalamar said, a little too quickly. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “It’s just…if you are, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. If you want me to cut off communications with them, of course I’ll—”

“On the contrary,” Raistlin interrupted, surprising Dalamar once again. This time, Dalamar wasn’t able to school the surprise before it showed on his face, and Raistlin smirked. “Your little arrangement with my siblings means they’ve finally stopped pestering me. For now, keep going as you were and don’t tell them I know.”

Dalamar didn’t like the gleam in Raistlin’s eyes. “For now?” he asked.

“I may need your cooperation in the future,” Raistlin said, simply. “I intend to get revenge on my siblings for this little scheme of theirs; I just need to think of the best way to do it.”

Dalamar blinked, then grinned. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m at your service.”

Raistlin smiled, wry. “My siblings didn’t leave a positive impression on you, then?”

“Caramon is fine,” Dalamar admitted, hoping that wasn’t enough to offend Raistlin. “But Kitiara has been tormenting me for weeks.”

“Yes, that sounds like her,” Raistlin said. He took his computer back, clearly deep in thought. “We could use her own blackmail to teach her a lesson. We could say that I found out and really did evict you, and that it’s her fault." He tapped his fingers on the counter and eyed Dalamar. "That would, of course, require you to tell me what the blackmail is."

Dalamar cleared his throat. “I don’t know how bad she’d feel about that,” he said, ignoring that last bit. “And knowing Caramon, he’d offer to put me up while I look for a new place.”

Raistlin snorted. “You may be right.”

“You can have me feed her more and more ridiculous stories until she realizes we’re messing with her. You quit your job. Started learning the drums. Joined a traveling circus,” Dalamar suggested, smiling. “Though those are a little too unbelievable, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Raistlin said, also smiling. “You could tell her I’m working with Fistandantilus again. That would certainly make them worry.”

Dalamar winced. He remembered Raistlin’s old research partner, the one who had always left Raistlin tired, drained, and miserable. They’d been working on a project together around the time Dalamar started his PhD program, and the relationship had fallen apart not long after. Dalamar had witnessed all of the fallout.

“No, you’re right,” Raistlin said, without Dalamar having to say anything. “I expect Caramon might break in and hold an intervention if we go that extreme. Besides, that one is unbelievable as well — Fistandantilus’ lab and resources have been stripped away, so he’s of no use to me anymore. Kitiara would see through the lie in an instant.”

Dalamar committed that tidbit to memory. Raistlin’s siblings knew him well, then — and were at least in touch with him enough to know about Fistandantilus. Dalamar felt like he was working on a thousand piece puzzle in the dark, trying to piece together Raistlin’s past.

“If you want something believable,” Dalamar ventured, hoping he wasn’t out of line, “Kitiara is always asking if you’re dating anyone. We could make someone up? Someone they’d disapprove of?”

Raistlin stared at Dalamar, thoughtful, and continued to stare until Dalamar shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Raistlin?” he asked.

Raistlin leaned forward, across the counter toward Dalamar, and Dalamar froze when Raistlin reached out and tipped his chin up with the tip of a long, elegant finger. The feral smile from before was back.

“Why make someone up when I have you?” Raistlin asked.

Dalamar stayed perfectly still, eyes wide. “Me?”

Raistlin tapped Dalamar’s chin. “This is far better than Fistandantilus or the circus. It’s surprising, but not wholly unbelievable. We tell them we’re dating, convince them we’re in love, and then stage a devastating breakup — where I break up with you, of course, because I find out about your arrangement with my siblings. It will be their fault — for setting up our living arrangement, for sticking their noses where they don’t belong, and for forcing you into this against your will. It’ll be a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

Dalamar opened his mouth to protest, a thousand objections on the tip of his tongue, but what came out was, “Why is that surprising?”

Raistlin blinked. “What?”

“Why is it surprising that we would date?” Dalamar clarified, ignoring how warm his cheeks felt.

Raistlin smiled, and there was a note of bitterness to it. “I’ve seen the kind of women you date, Dalamar. Fortunately, I doubt Caramon and Kitiara have, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. Will you help, or not?”

“Of course,” Dalamar said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. Raistlin was still so close. “Should I text them right now?”

“Wait a while, or Kitiara might get suspicious,” Raistlin said with a wave of his hand. “Weren’t we going to order dinner?”

“Oh,” Dalamar said, his stomach giving a timely rumble. He had completely forgotten. “Of course.”

Together, they picked out dinner using Dalamar’s phone, and while they waited for it to arrive, they plotted what to tell Kitiara and Caramon.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Dalamar woke to eight missed texts in the Caramon-Kitiara group chat, three missed calls from Kitiara and a private message from Caramon both congratulating Dalamar and warning him to take care of Raistlin in a single long, misspelled text. Raistlin had advised Dalamar not to respond to any of it — the more details Dalamar fed the lie, he said, the more likely Kitiara would be to see through their deception.

So Dalamar happily swiped away the notifications and silenced his phone.

Despite his worrying, nothing had changed between him and Raistlin now that Raistlin knew the truth. If anything, they’d only grown closer for it. After their dramatic confrontation in the kitchen, they’d moved into the living room and talked late into the night, concocting timelines and plotting their revenge. In the process, Dalamar learned more about Raistlin and his family. He learned Raistlin and Caramon were twins. He learned Kitiara had practically raised them, seizing responsibility when their mother would not. He learned that all three had been born into poverty and that all three had broken out of it, Caramon now teaching high school football and Kitiara training high-profile clients in her own private gym. There was only one gap in Dalamar’s knowledge, now, and it was quite large: he still didn’t know how the siblings had drifted apart.

In the end, he and Raistlin left Kitiara and Caramon hanging for a day. And, in the end, they decided to tell Raistlin’s siblings only this: that their getting together had been a surprise to both of them, that it had crept on slowly, subtly, over shared meals and quiet nights and common interests. When Kitiara and Caramon accepted this explanation with minimal fuss, Dalamar hoped that — for a time, at least, and as long as he kept giving his updates — he would be free of them.

Of course, he shouldn’t have expected things to be so easy.

Several days later, after the storm of texts and calls subsided and Dalamar had almost forgotten that he was in a fake relationship, Raistlin surprised Dalamar once again. It was a Thursday. Dalamar knew this because he had looked forward to having the house to himself - he didn’t know what Raistlin got up to, but the man was never around on Thursdays. He wouldn't answer questions about it, either. He often slipped soundlessly in while Dalamar was getting ready for bed, sometimes even after, sometimes not at all.

So Dalamar has arrived home from work expecting silence, and silence was what he found, but he’d barely had time to change out of his suit and into a ratty band t-shirt before he heard the click of the lock. He quickly tugged on jeans, then met Raistlin in the living room, Raistlin demanding Dalamar leave again with him without telling Dalamar where they were going or what they were doing. When Dalamar asked, all he got was a tight-lipped smirk and a worrisome, “You’ll see.”

Dalamar thought he had a guess when Raistlin pulled out of their building’s cramped garage and they started in the general direction of campus, but then Raistlin took an exit ramp out of the city and Dalamar watched his guess fly out the window. He never left the city — they never left the city, certainly not together. They never did anything together, aside from grocery runs and the occasional industry event.

“You really won’t tell me where we are going?” Dalamar asked.

“As I said, you’ll see for yourself soon enough,” was Raistlin’s reply.

Dalamar tried not to worry about this. “I could have had plans,” he said, casually.

“Did you?” Raistlin asked, briefly glancing Dalamar’s way

Rather than admit the truth — that his plans involved hanging around, snacking, reading for work, and possibly texting Regene — Dalamar asked, “Am I finally going to see what you get up to on Thursdays? Wait, are we going to the suburbs?”

Raistlin smiled so briefly that if Dalamar hadn’t already been watching, he would have missed it. “You say that as if it’s a dirty word,” Raistlin said.

Dalamar sniffed. “It is. I’d rather you were planning to dump me in a ditch somewhere.”

“Do you think you’ve done something wrong, that I might try?”

Truthfully, Dalamar found it hard to believe that he was really forgiven regarding the whole Kitiata and Caramon situation. “If I did, I wouldn’t remind you of it.”

At that, Raistlin laughed and Dalamar watched his long, delicate fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “So this is what you think of me,” Raistlin said. “If I wanted to get rid of you, Dalamar, I’d find a cleverer way to do it than that. But you say you’d rather I dumped you in a ditch — that’ll only become more true as the night goes on, I’m afraid.”

“Great,” Dalamar said dryly. The timing of this didn’t escape him. He was sure this had something to do with Raidtlin's siblings. He settled more comfortably in his seat and considered where they might be going.

As he thought, he watched Raistlin, studied his profile. The golden afternoon light shone warm through his auburn hair and on this rare occasion, he looked content. His fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel to a tune that only existed in his head. Dalamar swore to only indulge in watching for a moment, but the moment turned into two, three, four, and then so many that he lost count.

“Out with it, Dalamar,” Raistlin said without looking Dalamar’s way. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

Dalamar jumped guiltily. “No, sorry. I was just thinking,” he said, somewhat truthfully. He cleared his throat and changed the subject before Raistlin could push. “How was your day?”

Whatever Raistlin had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. He glanced at Dalamar, surprised. “Bothersome,” he said with a curl of his lip. “Crysania returned from her conference and has once again taken it upon herself to make sure I take breaks.”

“Good,” Dalamar said past the bitter jealousy that stung his tongue. He remembered the cold theology professor from his time as Raistlin’s student. He’d been jealous of her then, too, of her and her unlikely friendship with the university’s computational linguistics prodigy.

Raistlin watched Dalamar out of the corner of his body, cataloging his reaction. “And you?”

Dalamar waved him off. “Bothersome as well.”

They were passing through a small town, now, the kind that clearly started as a few rustic old buildings and had grown around them them ever since. When Raistlin turned off the quiet Main Street and entered a sprawling suburb, Dalamar was out of theories. Wherever they were going, Raistlin was intimately familiar with the route. And wherever they were going, Dalamar had the sense it would mean trouble for him.

Raistlin parked on a quiet street while Dalamar looked around, curious. The houses here were cozy, small, each with their own unique charm. Dalamar had grown up around cookie-cutter neighborhoods full of large, soulless estates entirely indistinguishable from each other, so this was a welcome change.  Here, there were colors, decorations, gardens. Across the street, two young boys played with a dog in the front yard while a third, younger boy struggled to keep up. The sleek motorcycle in the driveway confirmed Dalamar’s fears.

“That’s Kitiara’s,” he said.

“Very astute, Dalamar,” Raistlin said, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the car. “Yes, we’re about to face both of them. Be ready to play your part.”

“My part,” Dalamar repeated, processing everything that meant and implied. He was jolted from his thoughts by the slam of Raistlin’s door, and he scrambled to follow. “Raistlin, wait!”

Raistlin stopped, expectant. “Yes?”

“Is this a good idea? I’m sure they’ll have questions.”

“And we’ve gone over our story thoroughly.”

“And what about PDA? If I was really in a new relationship, I’d want everyone around me to know it,” Dalamar said, pausing to let that sink in. “We don’t kiss, we don’t hold hands, we barely even touch. Anyone who spends five minutes with us will know we’re not a real couple.”

Raistlin’s expression did something complicated, but it passed in an instant and he shrugged. “Do what you have to to make this work,” he said, casually, as if that didn’t turn Dalamar’s world upside down. Without giving Dalamar a chance to reply, he continued across the street. Even though he carried his cane with him today, he seemed to use it more for taking his frustrations out on the ground than for any kind of support.

Dalamar stared after him, shocked, then hurried to catch up. “But why are we even here? I thought you didn’t speak to your siblings.”

At that, Raistlin hesitated a second time. “Did they tell you that?” He asked, his voice soft.

“Not in so many words. I had just assumed…”

Raistlin clicked his tongue. “You should know better than to do that.”

It was then that the youngest of the three boys spotted them. “Uncle Raist!” he called as he rushed to greet them.

“Uncle Raist?” Dalamar repeated weakly, taking Raistlin’s cane when Raistlin shoved it at him along with a brown paper bag he hadn’t noticed Raistlin carrying. It clearly held some sort of wine, and a quick glance inside the bag confirmed it was Raistlin’s favorite vintage.

“Hello, Palin,” Raistlin called, voice soft in a way Dalamar had only heard it around Raidtlin's rabbit. When the child — Palin — reached them, Raistlin stooped and scooped him into his arms. “Palin, this is my friend Dalamar. Dalamar, Palin. Over there are Tanin and Arlin.”

Palin turned his attention to Dalamar, and side-by-side with Raistlin as he was, it struck Dalamar how similar they looked. They had the same round blue eyes, the same soft brown curls, the same small, sharp nose. All that really differed were the lines around Raistlin’s eyes and the open, childlike curiosity on Palin’s face. Even Palin’s expression was serious, solemn in the same way that Raistlin’s often got.

It was then that Dalamar realized he wouldn’t survive the evening.

The other boys, each with curly red hair and gap-toothed smiles, gave Dalamar brief, disinterested looks before returning to the game.

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Dalamar managed, realizing Raistlin was waiting for him to respond.

Palin studied him seriously for a moment longer, then turned back to Raistlin. “Tanin and Arlin won’t let me play with them.”

“Inexcusable,” Raistlin said, the fondness in his voice giving Dalamar palpitations. “Did Steel not come with your Aunt Kitiara?”

Palin shook his head, curls bouncing. “Steel is with Uncle Sturm.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon, then,” Raistlin said. Softer, more to himself than to Palin, he added, “That fool loves his routines too much to be late.”

Dalamar considered the wine, the setting, and all of these new people and asked, “Is this…a party?”

“Close enough,” Raistlin said with a shrug. “Welcome, Dalamar, to Caramon's weekly movie night.”

“Movie night,” Dalamar repeated blankly.

“Movie night,” Raistlin agreed with a sharp grin. “They would’ve found it strange if I hadn’t invited you, considering...”

“Movie night,” Dalamar said, one more time. “Are you saying you see Kitiara and Caramon every week? What did they even need me for?”

Raistlin shrugged with one shoulder, still holding Palin. “I have my theories, but that answer should come from them,” he said.

With that, he turned and let himself into the house, leaving Dalamar alone with his boiling feelings. Letting his annoyance at Raistlin’s siblings give him strength, he collected himself and followed Raistlin inside.

The interior looked like something out of a kitschy family show from the 90’s. The short front hall opened up into a wide living room with couches you could sink into, decorative pillows that read “home” in cursive font, and fake flower pots anywhere there was a flat surface. The only difference between this place and a vintage Pottery Barn catalog was the toys strewn all about the floor. When Raistlin stopped in the doorway to set Palin down and toe his shoes off, Dalamar automatically did the same, stooping to begin the arduous task of unlacing clunky combat boots.

“Caramon?” Raistlin called, venturing into the living room.

“Be right there, Raist!” a voice called from the kitchen.

Raistlin glanced over his shoulder back at Dalamar. “Good luck,” he mouthed with a smirk.

Dalamar frowned at him. He opened his mouth to make a snarky comment back but was interrupted by Caramon rounding the corner. The large man froze when he saw Dalamar, his wide eyes darting between his twin and his co-conspirator. After a brief – very obvious — internal debate, he said, “Raistlin, who’s your…friend?”

“This is Dalamar,” Raistlin said. “My roommate.”

Dalamar sighed, fully realizing the extent of the situation Raistlin had thrust them all into. Raistlin knew Dalamar had told Caramon and Kitiara that they were "dating," of course, but he wasn't supposed to know that Dalamar, Caramon, and Kitiara even knew each other. Dalamar would not only have to pretend publicly that he didn't know Caramon and Kitiara, he would also have to pretend that he and Raistlin were dating but hiding it, even while knowing that Caramon and Kitiara knew and would be watching them closely. Caramon and Kitiata, for their part, had to pretend not to know anything about Dalamar -- or at least, only to know what Raistlin had told them about his roommate, which Dalamar assumed was nil.

This was a punishment. Not just for Caramon and Kitiara, but for Dalamar as well. Raistlin shot him another smirk, and Dalamar knew that Raistlin had watched him put it all together.

 “Dalamar, this is my brother, Caramon.”

“Pleasure,” Dalamar said with his most charming smile. He couldn't give Raistlin the satisfaction of him screwing this up.

“Oh!” Caramon said, guiltily. “Nice to meet you.”

“Did I hear that right? Raistlin brought a friend?” an unfamiliar voice asked from the direction of the kitchen. “Bring him in here!”

Caramon stepped aside awkwardly, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Come on in. Raist, you want wine? Dalamar, do you drink?”

“I’ll have whatever Raistlin is having,” Dalamar said. He watched Raistlin, waited until Raistlin met his gaze before pulling the softest, most saccharine smile he could manage, all in full view of Caramon. If Raistlin wanted to play the game, then he would play the game.

Briefly, very briefly, Raistlin’s eyes widened. Then, he turned away. “I brought wine,” Raistlin said. “As ever, I don’t trust your taste, brother.”

Caramon watched all of this with his mouth hanging open. He shut it with a loud click. “You should trust Tika’s, at least. But I’ll get that started for you,” he managed. He held his hand out for Raistlin’s wine, and when Dalamar passed it to him, practically fled.

Dalamar stifled a laugh and watched Palin drag Raistlin into the kitchen after Caramon.

It was clear more love went into this kitchen than the other rooms of the house. It was wide, spacious, decorated with children’s art and family photos. While Caramon poured wine, Palin tugged Raistlin toward the dining table, where a handful of crayons and some scribbled drawings sat.

Three women stood around the counter, and Dalamar was dismayed to find he recognized all of them. Of course, on the far left was Kitiara, whose face lit up when she saw Dalamar appear in the doorway. On the right was a young woman with bright red curls and freckles that matched Tanin and Arlin’s. He recognized her from the old photograph on the dashboard of Caramon’s truck, which he’d seen the one time Caramon had driven him home after their meetings. In the center was none other than Crysania Tarinius, another rising star at Palanthas University. Dalamar was surprised to see her here, but was not surprised by the icy pang of jealousy that jolted through him after the fact. From the way Raistlin talked about her, he’d thought they were only casual work friends.

Raistlin had only reluctantly told Dalamar about his family, might have never done so if not for Kitiara’s scheming, but he’d invited Crysania here to meet them?

She was as beautiful as Dalamar remembered, and just as cold. She looked Dalamar up and down, and for a moment, Dalamar wondered if she actually remembered him. But then she turned back to Raistlin, seemingly dismissing Dalamar entirely. “Who’s this?” she asked.

“My roommate, Dalamar,” Raistlin repeated. “Dalamar, my sister Kitiara, Caramon’s wife Tika, and I’m sure you remember Crysania.”

When Raistlin wasn’t looking, Kitiara made a crude gesture, winked, and gave Dalamar a thumbs up.

“Remember?” Crysania asked, studying Dalamar anew. He felt like a specimen in a lab.

“Dalamar was a student of mine,” Raistlin said. Seeing Crysania’s face pinch into a disapproving expression, he rolled his eyes and added, “Years ago. We reconnected recently by chance. He needed a new living arrangement and I was in search of a roommate.”

“No kidding!” Tika said with a grin. She had a kind smile, and Dalamar decided he liked her far better than he liked Crysania. “Small world. It’s nice to meet you, Dalamar. Caramon’s mentioned you.”

“I’ve only mentioned the things Raist told me himself,” Caramon said quickly, guiltily. “Because this is my first time meeting Dalamar. Obviously.”

Kitiara sighed. Dalamar struggled to keep his smile neutral.

“Don’t mind Caramon. He’s just weird,” Kitiara said. “Drink, Dalamar? There’s vodka, whiskey, tequila. Unfortunately, as far as mixers go, all they’ve got is juice boxes.”

“Already on it, Kit,” Caramon said, passing Dalamar a plastic kiddie cup filled with expensive wine. He offered one out to Raistlin as well, who left Palin’s side to retrieve it.

Tika pinched Kitiara. “Whose house is this, again? Why do you know my pantry better than I do?”

“Because you’re too busy managing big fancy restaurant pantries, and I don’t keep any snacks in my apartment,” Kitiara said, downing the rest of her beer.

“You could,” Tika pointed out.

“Maybe,” Kitiara said, shrugging. She winked at Dalamar. “When you’re done with that, go for something harder. You strike me as a fun drunk.”

Raistlin narrowed his eyes at her and the implied reference to their first meeting, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by the doorbell. Dalamar turned wide eyes on Raistlin. “There are more people?” he asked Raistlin quietly.

Caramon, overhearing, shot Dalamar a sympathetic grimace.

“You didn’t prep the kid?” Kitiara asked Raistlin.

“I’m right here,” Dalamar snapped before remembering he was supposed to have just met Kitiara minutes ago. He added, softer, “Prep me for what?”

Before anyone could explain, more people were invading the kitchen — first were Tanin and Arlin and their large labrador, the boys asking for snacks and the dog running over to sniff Dalamar curiously, tail wagging. Then came a tall, slender man with a red beard and an equally tall, tired-looking blond woman. In all the chaos, only the dog noticed Dalamar. He moved back, out of the flow of the conversation and out of the spotlight, and leaned against the counter to watch.

Caramon stepped forward to greet the newcomers, welcoming them as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. The bearded man greeted Kitiara curtly and the blond woman hugged Tika. In the chaos, Raistlin glanced back, noticed Dalamar, and moved to join him. Dalamar jumped when Raistlin leaned closer, speaking to him in a hushed voice: “Old friends of Caramon’s — Tanis and his partner Laurana.”

Dalamar nodded, trying not to let how overwhelmed he felt show on his face.

When Laurana pulled away from her hug, she noticed Dalamar and Raistlin. “Oh,” she said in a voice stronger than Dalamar would have expected. “Hello.”

Before Dalamar could say anything, Kitiara threw her arm around his waist. “This is Raistlin’s new boyfriend — sorry, I meant roommate.”

“Kitiara,” Raistlin hissed.

Tanis’ eyes widened. “Pleasure,” he said, holding a hand out to Dalamar.

“This is the first I’m hearing about a roommate,” Laurana said.

“You’re not the only one, princess. It sounds like only Caramon and Tika knew,” Kitiara said, throwing a smirk at Dalamar that might have seemed flirtatious to anyone who didn’t know the full situation.

“Crys, did you know Raistlin had a roommate?” Tanis asked.

Crysania sniffed disdainfully at the nickname, but she said, “Raistlin’s mentioned him in passing. You’ve been living together several months now, right?”

“Five,” Dalamar said, quickly. He cleared his throat. “More or less.”

“I thought Kit was serious, for a second  I have to say, roommate's a bit more believable than boyfriend,” Tanis said with a laugh.

Raistlin tensed and Dalamar bristled. “What? Why?” Dalamar asked.

“Oh, no offense  It’s just…Raistlin isn’t exactly the dating type,” Tanis said. “Right, Raistlin?”

Raistlin opened his mouth to reply, but Dalamar surprised him into silence by taking his hand, twining their fingers together and giving Tanis a defiant look. “But we are dating, actually.”

Raistlin looked down at their joined hands in surprise bordering on alarm, Kitiara wolf-whistled, and Caramon struggled and failed to feign surprise.

“What, really?” Tika asked, clapping her hands together. “Caramon, did you know about this?”

“No…”

“All I have to say is: congrats, but he’s way out of your league, Raistlin,” Kitiara said before Caramon could give himself away. When she tried to pinch Raistlin’s cheek, he glared and batted her hand away.

“If anyone’s out of anyone’s league, it’s Raistlin who’s out of mine,” Dalamar said, truthfully.

“Oh, you think so?” Kitiara asked.

“When did this start?” Crysania asked.

“How did this start?” Tika asked.

“What do you do for a living, Dalamar?” Laurana asked.

“Enough of that. I don’t see why you’re all so eager,” Raistlin snapped. “Dalamar will be here all evening; there’s no need to descend on him like a pack of carrion birds.”

“Who’s descending on carrion birds?” a new, piping voice asked from the back of the group, the speaker a short man with a high ponytail. “I saw this big group of ravens the other day — did you know they’re called a misfortune? A group of ravens, I mean? They’re called a misfortune of ravens. Oh! Who’s this? Raistlin, why are you holding his hand?”

Dalamar regretted agreeing to come tonight. How was he supposed to know Raistlin had so many friends? He drank a large swig of wine. If Raidtlin's attention hadn't been directed elsewhere, he might've made a pointed comment about how much it cost.

Raistlin sighed. For the millionth time that night, he said, “This is Dalamar, my room—,” He cut himself off. Sighed again. “My…boyfriend.”

“Oh! Congratulations, Raistlin. I’m glad you’re not alone anymore. I told Caramon having a roommate would be good for you — didn’t I, Caramon? This is even better,” said the newcomer. “But who are we still waiting for? Riverwind, Goldmoon, and Sturm?”

“Riverwind and Goldmoon are finally taking their honeymoon,” Tika said. “They won’t be here.”

“There are more?” Dalamar asked, not bothering to speak quietly this time.

Kitiara laughed and patted Dalamar’s back with great, thwacking pats. Then, she took Dalamar’s hand and guided his wine up to his lips. “Drink. That’ll make it easier.”

Dalamar drank.

“Caramon, how did team auditions go? Those were this week, right?” Tanis asked.

As the group’s focus slowly shifted, Dalamar looked over at Raistlin and found him already looking back. Raistlin quickly looked away and tore his hand from Dalamar’s. “I don’t need you standing up for me,” he hissed, soft enough that only Dalamar would hear. With that, he crossed the room back over to Palin, leaving Dalamar alone and confused.

Not alone for long, it seemed.

Kitiara pinched Dalamar’s arm. “You didn’t answer any of my calls,” she whispered.

“Oops,” Dalamar said, voice flat.

“Funny. What exactly are Caramon and I supposed to do now that we don’t have blackmail on you anymore, huh?”

“I don’t get why you needed me in the first place!” Dalamar hissed back. “You see Raistlin every week!”

Kitiara snickered. “Sometimes more than once a week, even. But that’s not the point — just because Raistlin comes to movie nights and drinks with us doesn’t mean he opens up. Especially with this noisy bunch. We wanted someone closer to keep an eye on him.”

“And Crysania can’t do that? She sees him every day.”

Kitiara drew back, studying Dalamar’s face closely. Whatever she saw there made her laugh. “Ooh. Jealous, are we?”

“No,” Dalamar said, finishing off his wine.

Kitiara took the empty cup from him and peered inside. “Let me get you something stronger.”

While Kitiara did that and the rest of the group still talked about high school football, Raistlin returned to Dalamar’s side, watching Kitiara through narrowed eyes. “What did she say to you?”

Dalamar shrugged. "I thought you were annoyed with me."

Raistlin huffed, the sound definitely annoyed.

“Alright, alright, everyone out of the kitchen,” Tika called, her voice cutting over the chatter. “It’s getting too crowded in here. Let’s move to the living room, okay?”

The short main — who someone had called Tas — was the first out of the room, followed by Tanis and Laurana. Then Crysania, Caramon, and Raistlin went, and as Dalamar moved to follow, Tika caught his wrist. “Sorry, Raistlin, but I’m claiming the newbie for snack-tray carrying duty.”

Raistlin didn’t hesitate, shrugging and turning to leave. “Very well,” he said, and then Dalamar, Kitiara, and Tika were alone. Tika gave Kitiara a pointed look.

“Alright, I get it,” Kitiara said. She set Dalamar’s newly-filled cup on the counter, and promised, “Drink that and you’ll feel better.”

“Sorry for snagging you like that,” Tika said once she'd gone, “But you looked a bit overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine,” Dalamar said, then reluctantly added, “But thank you.”

Tika gave him a look that said she clearly didn’t believe the lie. “Raistlin didn’t tell you what you were in for?”

“Raistlin doesn’t tell me much of anything. I had no idea he had so many friends.”

Tika grimaced. “No wonder you look like you’d literally rather be anywhere else. This whole group goes way back; even I feel left out sometimes. The boys — Raistlin and Caramon, I mean — met Tas and his roommate Flint when they were still teenagers, after their mom died. Then Kit dated Tanis, who was friends with Flint, and I guess Laurana is a family friend on Tanis’ mom’s side. And Sturm — who’s not here yet — was Caramon’s best friend growing up.”

Dalamar appreciated the crash course. “And Crysania?” he asked innocently.

Tika gave him another look, clearly having seen through it. Dalamar was beginning to think he didn’t like Tika so much after all. “She started coming to movie night about a year back.”

Dalamar nodded. He suspected she’d been coming for a while. That wasn’t even what bothered him, anymore. It was — “I didn’t know any of this. I didn’t even know he was in contact with his siblings. I’ve known him for years!”

Tika gave him a pitying look. “It’s nothing personal, he’s just not used to being open. What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room, okay?”

Dalamar nodded.

“Raistlin’s just like that. He gets caught up in his work and his interests and he thinks he doesn’t need his friends,” Tika said. “But that’s…partially our fault. This group didn’t — we didn’t — always treat him the best. I guess, personally, I used to be frustrated with him, with how cold he was. For years, I thought he didn’t like me, and I treated him in kind. That didn’t change until well after I married Caramon and I got to see Raistlin through Caramon’s eyes.”

While she talked, Tika pulled a masterful appetizer tray out of the fridge, one covered in all kinds of artfully arranged fruits and cheeses, and unwrapped it. She handed Dalamar a pack of crackers and began laying some out along the edges.

“I guess what I’m saying is: I’m glad Raistlin has another person in his corner at movie nights, now,” she said. “And you shouldn’t take it too personally. Look at Caramon and Kitiara — they had to recruit you just to make sure Raistlin was doing alright.”

“You—,” Dalamar started, interrupted by Tika’s laugh.

“Yeah, I know all about that. Caramon can’t keep a secret from me to save his life. But look, the fact that Raistlin even invited you here says a lot. And I mean that.”

“He invited Crysania, too, didn’t he?”

Tika set down the and smirked at Dalamar. It was nowhere near as devious as Kitiara’s. “Nope,” she said, popping the p. “That was Kitiara.”

“I see,” Dalamar said, relieved for only a moment. It wasn’t as if Raistlin invited him here willingly; it was all part of a game to get revenge on his siblings. He finished laying out the last of the crackers and smiled at Tika — it was his fake smile, the one he’d used when he bartended in college, the one he used whenever he used to pick up girls, the one that dripped charm and gentle politeness. “Thank you for this, Tika. I feel much better.”

Tika smiled back at him. “Anytime. If you want to carry the tray, I’ll get your drink for you.”

They returned to the living room together, where everyone had already spread out through the space. Palin, Tanin, and Arlin were all gathered around a PC in the corner, chatting excitedly. Tas sat on the floor and dumped a large plastic bag of movies out in front of him and Laurana crouched beside him to help him choose one. Tanis and Kitiara settled at opposite ends of the couches while Caramon, Raistlin, and Crysania sat between them.

Raistlin had saved a spot for Dalamar, and Dalamar reluctantly settled into it after taking his drink back from Tika. Dalamar made sure that, at the very least, their knees touched, playing the part of the shy new boyfriend.

“Tas, where did you even get all of these?” Caramon asked, sitting forward to see the movie collection. “Why did you get all of these? We don’t even have a VHS player!”

“There are DVDs, too!” Tas protested. “I’m sure we can find a VHS player. Anyway, I found these at a rummage sale Flint made us stop at. They were only a quarter each, so I made Flint buy all of them.”

Before they could get any further in their movie selection, another knock came at the door.

“It’s about time,” Kitiara grumbled, hopping up and climbing over Dalamar and Raistlin to get to the door.

Tika groaned. “Kitiara, if you’re going to walk on my furniture, at least take your boots off!”

Kitiara waved her off and disappeared into the front hallway, returning a few minutes later with a serious-looking boy and his equally serious-looking father. Kitiara ruffled the boy’s hair and called, “Palin! Steel’s here to play with you!”

“Steel!” Palin called, peeling himself away from the computer. Steel eyed Palin coldly as he approached, but ran off with him happily enough, in the end.

“Raistlin brought his new boyfriend,” Kitiara says to Steel’s father, who looked around in surprise until he spotted Dalamar. “Sturm, Dalamar. Dalamar, Sturm.”

Dalamar nodded in greeting, and Sturm did the same.

“I’m sorry I missed the introductions,” Sturm said, about as formally as Dalamar would’ve expected him to speak, based on his stiff appearance. “I lost track of time at work.”

“You’re always losing track of time at work,” Kitiara scoffed, adding, a little quieter, “If you need me to take Steel at all this week, let me know.”

Sturm nodded. “I will.”

“Anyhow, now that you’re here we can formally begin our interrogation of Raistlin’s new boytoy.”

Dalamar froze.

“No,” Raistlin said, flatly.

“Come on, just a few questions,” Kitiara said. “Unless you think he can’t handle it?”

“Are you trying to scare him off?” Raistlin countered.

“If he’s scared off by your dear friends, wouldn’t you want to know that from the start?”

Raistlin glared at Kitiara.

“C’mon, Kit,” Caramon said. “The kid’s already got enough going on tonight.”

“I don’t mind,” Dalamar said, affecting a casual posture. “I’m an open book.”

Kitiara grinned and hopped back over the arm of the couch, perching on it instead of sitting on the cushion. “I was hoping you’d say that. Tas, got any good openers?”

Without looking up from his movie pile and without missing a beat, Tas asked, “If you could be any animal, what would you be?”

Dalamar blinked. It wasn’t the kind of question he’d been expecting, but he gave it due consideration. “A hawk.”

Tas nodded approvingly.

“If we’re going to waste time asking silly questions instead of watching a movie, then I see no point to holding a movie night,” Raistlin said.

“Be patient, little brother,” Kitiara said. “Just a few more.”

“How did you meet?” Tanis asked.

“Dalamar sat outside my office every day for a two months until I agreed to advise him on his PhD,” Raistlin said with a wave of his hand. “Next question.”

“Were you entangled romantically while Dalamar was still your student?” Crysania asked.

Raistlin scowled at her. “I already said no.”

“How was he as a student?” Tika asked.

“Annoying. Relentless,” Raistlin said. “One of the best students I’ve ever taught.”

Dalamar stared at him, eyes wide.

“Do you take good care of Raistlin?” Crysania asked Dalamar.

“I don’t need taking care of,” Raistlin snapped.

“You know what I mean,” Crysania said, “And you do. You’re unkind to yourself, Raistlin.”

Raistlin sighed. “If it’ll get you to stop this ridiculous line of questioning, yes. He does.”

Crysania nodded, and Dalamar thought he saw her expression thaw slightly.

“I’ve got one,” Kitiara said, turning that sharp smile of hers on Dalamar. He felt, suddenly, that he was in serious danger. “Dalamar, when did you know you liked Raistlin?”

Dalamar stilled. After a moment of careful thought, circling the truth as closely as he could, he said, “I’ve always liked Raistlin in one way or another. At first, I respected him as my teacher and as my roommate. When I started to see more of him, that admiration only grew. I’m not sure when it turned romantic.”

Kitiara grinned. Raistlin continued to watch Dalamar, expression curious.

“Alright, let’s give the poor guy a break,” Caramon said. “Are we watching a movie, or what?”

As soon as the attention was off him, Dalamar took a large swig of his drink, nearly choking on the amount of alcohol in it. They settled on some action movie and, as it finally began to play, the chatter died down. Dalamar took the opportunity to drink more and more, Kitiara hopping up to refill his cup the moment it was empty again.

The more he drank, the more he relaxed, sinking into the couch, tipping toward Raistlin until he was pressed against Raistlin’s side. Raistlin stiffened beside him, but even as Dalamar noticed it was gone again from his mind. He listened to Sturm and Tas argue about what made an “action” movie — Tas’ argument turned more and more outlandish, and the more outlandish it turned, the angrier Sturm got.

Every so often, Raistlin leaned over and whispered commentary in Dalamar’s ear — sarcasm about his friends, snark about the movie, sometimes just observations. It made Dalamar feel warm, like a confidant — that he was the only one treated to Raistlin’s opinions, that they were for him and him alone.

Perhaps he drank a little too much, but by the end of the movie, he had to admit: he was actually having fun.

Tanis and Laurana were the first to excuse themselves, then Sturm, leaving Steel for a sleepover with Palin. Tika ushered the boys off to bed while Kitiara and Tas picked out another movie.

Raistlin stretched, finally dislodging Dalamar. “We should be going as well,” he said. “Dalamar and I both work in the morning.”

“Booo,” Kitiara called through cupped hands. “Stay for one more.”

“Yeah, c’mon! Just one more, Raistlin!” Tas added.

“You should both know by now that peer pressure won’t work on me,” Raistlin said, standing.

"Guys," Caramon scolded, "They just started dating. They probably want some alone time."

Dalamar had never seen anyone blush as violently or as quickly as Raistlin did at that comment. Dalamar thought he might've said as much aloud, given Kitiara's answering laughter and Raistlin's horrified expression, but he was too distracted, reaching up and touching Raistlin's cheek with one finger. It was warm.

Raistlin pursed his lips, offered a hand out to Dalamar, and nearly lost his own balance at the wobbly way his ex-student pulled himself up. He frowned. “Weren’t you drinking wine?”

“I think your sister poisoned me,” Dalamar said in reply.

“Oh, are you two leaving?” Tika asked, coming back down the stairs. “That’s too bad. It was nice meeting you, Dalamar.”

Dalamar held a hand out to Tika. Confused, she stared at it a moment, then hesitantly placed her hand in his own, laughing when he bowed over it with a flourish and kissed the back of it.

“It was nice meeting you, too. Thank you for letting me invade your home,” Dalamar said to her.

“Oh, dear,” Tika said. “Kit, what did you give him?”

Kitiara, still on the floor, was laughing too hard to answer. Raistlin sighed and ushered Dalamar toward the door. “If you’re hungover tomorrow, I won’t pity you,” he warned.

“I don’t get hangovers,” Dalamar confided. “I have a strong constitution.”

Raistlin only rolled his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

Instead of putting his boots back on, Dalamar only carried them in his hand, using them to wave goodbye at the group. “Goodbye, all! Caramon, Kitiara, I’m sure we’ll speak again soon!”

Dalamar wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Raistlin laugh.

Back at Raistlin’s car, Dalamar leaned against the car door and declared, “I like your family.”

“Yes, I can tell,” Dalamar said dryly, going around to the driver's side.

“What does that mean?” Dalamar asked. He peeled himself off of the car and opened the door. “Raistlin, what does that mean?”

“It means you should get in and buckle your seatbelt, already,” Raistlin said.

Dalamar did just that, fumbling with the seatbelt buckle a few times before it snapped into place with a click. “Now tell me what it really means,” he said. “Raistlin, are you still mad because of what I said to the bearded man?”

“Tanis,” Raistlin reminded him. He started the car, barely looking Dalamar’s way. “I’m not upset about that.”

“Ah! But you are upset!” Dalamar said.

“No,” Raistlin corrected. “I will say, though, I didn’t realize how close you were with Kitiara already.”

Dalamar frowned. “I wouldn’t say I’m close with Kitiara.”

Raistlin seemed to relax, at that. In a moment of boldness, Dalamar repeated his action from inside, reaching over and poking Raistlin's cheek. "I like you way more than I like Kitiara, if that means anything."

Raistlin's expression did something complicated, at that. After a moment, he glanced over at Dalamar, eyeing him curiously. "Dalamar, maybe you should stop talking for a while."

Dalamar must have fallen asleep on the drive home because, next thing he knew, Raistlin’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“We’re back,” Raistlin said as soon as he saw Dalamar’s eyes open.

Dalamar brushed his hand away and rubbed his eyes. “Alright.”

Blearily, he followed Raistlin inside, into the elevator and up to their floor. He sagged against the wall while Raistlin unlocked the front door, then shuffled inside.

In the front hallway, they both lingered.

“I had fun tonight,” Dalamar told Raistlin, watching him. Raistlin looked beautiful even when exasperated and tired, and Dalamar couldn’t help but lean in.

For a moment, Raistlin didn’t lean away.

“Dalamar,” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Go to sleep.”

Dalamar laughed. “Yes, professor.”

Chapter Text

Dalamar woke to a pounding head, a blaring alarm, and the worst hangover he’d had in years. He scrambled for his phone, nearly dropping it into the crack between bed and nightstand before he managed to silence it, then dropped back into bed and threw an arm over his face. His body ached. He couldn't stop the memories of the previous night from washing over him. Comparatively, he hadn't been that drunk - last night had nothing on the parties he'd been throwing since before he could drink, and he'd been drinking since well before he was legally allowed to.

Kitiara must have poisoned him.

He checked the time on his phone and grimaced. Normally, he rose early; working two jobs through college had forced the habit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken so late. He’d need to hurry to make it to work on time, but the best he could do was drag himself into a seated position, his body rioting as he did. From there, he had to sit and simply adjust to being upright before he could stand. In the end, he got as far as turning on the coffee machine in the kitchen before deciding that he couldn’t do this after all. Each step in the process — getting the filters, filling the machine, waiting, pouring the coffee itself — felt insurmountable. So instead, he took out his phone and texted his boss Ladonna, telling her he’d come down with something and wouldn’t be in.

That decision made, he promptly collapsed on the couch and fell back asleep.

He woke again a little while later, this time to the sight of Raistlin Majere leaning over him, brow creased with concern. Dalamar yelped and flailed, forgetting he was on the narrow couch and not his bed, and, tangled in the throw, he landed in a heap at Raistlin’s feet. He groaned and decided to stay there. He’d already humiliated himself enough last night, and all he was doing now was making it worse.

“I was about to wake you,” Raistlin said, oblivious to Dalamar’s turmoil.

Dalamar grunted and made no attempt to move.

“You realize what time it is, don’t you?” Raistlin pressed.

Slowly, reluctantly, Dalamar pushed himself up, ignoring the way his arms shook. He blinked owlishly out the apartment’s wide windows, at the bright sky. “You have classes at ten, so if you’re still here, it must be at least before then.”

If Raistlin was surprised by Dalamar’s knowledge of his schedule, he didn’t show it. “You’ve usually gone by now,” he said instead. He looked Dalamar up and down, Dalamar not quite meeting his gaze, then let out a soft “ah” of understanding. “And how are you feeling?”

“Please don't ask me that question.”

“And here I thought you had a — what was it you said last night?” Raistlin tapped a slender finger to his lips and pretended to think, but a slow smirk spread across his lips. “A ‘strong constitution’.”

Dalamar groaned and flopped back onto the floor.

“You took the day off, I assume?” Raistlin asked.

“I had to,” Dalamar said, already debating how best to apologize for his drunken behavior. Before he could say a word, Raistlin hummed and walked away — it was only then Dalamar noticed what Raistlin was wearing: an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers, the former so large it nearly hid the latter. Dalamar sat up so quickly that he made himself dizzy, managing it just in time to watch Raistlin’s long bare legs disappear as he rounded the corner.

Dalamar buried his face in his hands and eased back to the ground, resigned to his death. He was surprised when, several minutes later, it still hadn’t come and a foot nudged gently at his side.

“You fell asleep again,” Raistlin said when Dalamar looked mournfully up at him.

“No, I was thinking,” Dalamar said, quickly closing his eyes again to keep himself from staring.

“Oh?” Raistlin asked. Even past his headache, Dalamar could hear the trace of amusement in his tone. “About what, pray tell?”

“I was plotting your sister’s murder.”

Raistlin let out a short, sharp laugh, then nudged Dalamar again. “Get up. I brought you food. Much as I hate to interrupt your plotting, you had better eat something.”

Dalamar blinked at the plate and mug in Raistlin’s hands, offered out to Dalamar, and forced himself up, then forced himself to take them. It was simple fare — scrambled eggs and toast and a mug of black coffee — but Dalamar’s stomach gave a grateful rumble. He opened his mouth to thank Raistlin, but Raistlin was already gone, returning again a minute later with a plate of his own and a bottle of painkillers for Dalamar.

“Thanks,” Dalamar said, taking the bottle with surprise. Raistlin settled on the couch behind Dalamar; Dalamar had to crane his neck to look back at him. “And sorry.”

“What for?” Raistlin asked, raising an eyebrow and drawing his knees up to his chest. Dalamar couldn’t keep his gaze from dropping to Raistlin’s thighs, though he quickly forced it up again.

“For getting so drunk last night.”

Raistlin waved a hand dismissively. “As far as I’m concerned, that was Kitiara’s doing,” he said. Dalamar opened his mouth to argue, or maybe to apologize more, but Raistlin cut him off. “It was mine as well, for forcing you into that situation without warning.”

It was more of an apology than Dalamar had ever gotten from Raistlin. Raistlin didn’t apologize. Well, he never spoke the words. Instead, he gentled, softened his words, lowered his guard so you could see his regret instead of hear it. And Dalamar was drawn helplessly in by it every time.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Dalamar told him, turning so he could grin up at Raistlin, “Kitiara’s noxious concoctions aside.”

Raistlin smiled back in a subtle turn of lips. He looked soft in the early morning, sleep still touching on his features and his short auburn hair a bit wild, curling around his chin. For a moment, Dalamar imagined what it would be like to wake beside him. He shook his head to expel the thought.

“I’m glad you think so, because Caramon has already invited you to the next one,” Raistlin said, stifling a yawn.

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence, at least until Raistlin had to get up and get ready for work. Dalamar watched him disappear down the hallway, his gaze drawn again to Raistlin’s legs, then pushed himself to his feet and carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen for washing. When he heard Raistlin returning, he quickly shut off the tap and grabbed Raistlin’s badge and bag, meeting him at the entrance to the kitchen. Raistlin froze, then hesitated before taking the bag, his gaze suspicious.

“I’m being helpful,” Dalamar said, laughing a little at the expression.

Finally, Raistlin took the bag, their fingers brushing during the exchange. Dalamar fumbled, nearly dropping it, and though Raistlin's expression gave nothing away, Dalamar was suddenly reminded of their strange, tense moment from the night before, as they’d said goodnight. Dalamar had assumed it was a fluke, Raistlin being gentle only because he was so drunk, but Raistlin was looking at him the same way now, warm and measured and curious.

More than curious himself, Dalamar leaned in slowly, noting the way Raistlin’s eyes dropped conspicuously to his lips. Cowardice stopped him from going any further.

“Have a lovely day at work, Dr. Majere,” Dalamar whispered, pulling back before he could do anything truly stupid. Raistlin blinked, shook himself.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” Raistlin said.

Dalamar laughed in surprise. “I would gladly spend all day with you, if I could,” he said. He blamed the words on his pounding head -- it was too distracting for him to be careful with his words. But if he didn’t know better, he’d say Raistlin was blushing; it looked lovely on his pale skin.

Then Raistlin rolled his eyes and looked away, busying himself with clipping his work badge to his belt. “Flatterer.”

“Maybe,” Dalamar agreed. He was slow to blush, himself, but he thought he might be getting there. “But I mean it.”

Raistlin regarded Dalamar for a slow, excruciating moment, his expression unreadable. “I’ll see you this evening,” he said, finally turning away.

And then Dalamar was alone. He sagged against the counter, the last few minutes slamming into him and sending him reeling. He wasn’t sure what any of it meant, so he fished out his phone.

Dalamar: Love life issues. Need help.

Immediately, bubbles appeared at the corner of the screen. Dalamar waited impatiently for the reply to appear, shifting from one foot to the other.

Regene: didn’t know you had one of those to begin with lol

Regene: want to meet for lunch?

Dalamar: Yes please. I’m home all day

Regene: in that case, im coming over. txt me your address

Dalamar retreated to his room for a long nap. He felt slightly more alive by the time Regene arrived several hours later, announcing herself with an ominous “at your door” text. She lounged against the opposite wall when Dalamar opened the door for her, a plastic bag stuffed with takeout in her hand and her customary long black braid trailing out from underneath a trucker hat.

“Nice building,” she said by way of greeting, as if it hadn’t been months since they’d seen each other in person. Regene had always had a way of saying things beyond the literal meaning of her words; this was an admonishment for not inviting her over sooner.

“Thanks,” Dalamar said, ignoring the hidden meaning entirely.

Regen pushed off the wall and gave him a smile. “You’re so secretive about this place, I thought you’d never let me see it. This problem of yours must be serious.”

Dalamar shrugged. “I’m not secretive, I’ve just been settling in.”

Regene hummed doubtfully, making no attempt to mask her curiosity as she stepped inside and toed out of her boots — the same raggedy combat style as Dalamar’s, but in red. They’d gotten them together at a two-for-one sale during grad school. She peered around and whistled low, impressed. “Wow. Really nice. You have a roommate, right? There’s no way you got all this stuff since you moved out.”

“Yeah,” Dalamar said, not offering up any more information and hoping Regene didn’t notice the slight hesitation before his answer. He’d never hear the end of it if she learned who his roommate was.

“I hope they’re not here, because I only brought enough for two,” Regene said, holding up her takeout bag.

“He’s working. Is this an apology for being so late?” Dalamar asked. He studied the bag a little more closely. “Wait, is that from—?”

“The dim sum place by our old apartment? You bet. So am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Fine. Gods, that sounds good right now. You have no idea how hungover I am,” Dalamar said.

Regene barked out a surprised laugh. “I was wondering why you had a Friday afternoon off. And why you were still in your pajamas. And why you look like shit.”

Dalamar matched her grin, then gestured toward the living room. “After you.”

When Regene saw the wall of bookshelves, she froze in the doorway, her eyes going wide. “Do all of these belong to your—,” she began, cutting off mid-sentence when she spotted the rabbit cage in the corner. She gasped and hurried over to it, only pausing long enough to set the takeout on the coffee table. “How cute! This isn’t yours, is it? What’s her name?”

“Luna,” Dalamar said. “Short for Lunitari. That’s—”

“The goddess of one of the moons in old Krynn mythology, yeah,” Regene interrupted. “Your roommate must be quite the nerd.”

Dalamar bit back a grin. “She who casts stones.”

Regene stopped sticking her fingers in the rabbit cage just long enough to stick her tongue out at Dalamar.

“Are we eating, or what?” he asked her.

“Fine, fine. For the sake of your endangered love life.” Regene turned away from the cage with a pout and settled on the couch, folding her legs under herself. She took it upon herself to start sorting through and opening the various takeout containers while Dalamar left to grab utensils. When he returned, he settled opposite her on the couch.

“So,” Regene said through a dumpling, “What's going on? Are these ‘I slept with the wrong person and am facing the consequences of my actions’ love life issues, or honest-to-gods romantic problems, with emotions and attachment and all?”

Dalamar winced. “The latter.”

Regene chewed thoughtfully. “Hmm. I’m impressed. You haven’t had actual feelings for anyone since, what, Dr. Majere in grad school?”

Dalamar choked on a spoonful of congee. “Right…”

“So what’s going on?”

“So,” Dalamar echoed. He passed a hand across his face, not sure where to begin. “I’m in love with my roommate.”

Regene winced in sympathy. “Yikes. That’s messy.”

“Yeah. Uh,” Dalamar said, “And his siblings are blackmailing me into giving them updates about his wellbeing.”

“Uh huh,” Regene said. “You lost me.”

“He doesn’t tell them anything, so they blackmailed me using my feelings for him,” Dalamar said slowly, clearly, as if that actually cleared up anything. “But he found out about it, so now he and I are working together to get revenge on his siblings by pretending to date.”

Regene blinked at him.

“The revenge part is going to come in when we stage a big breakup to make them feel bad for interfering. The problem being, of course, that I don’t want to break up.”

“Right,” Regene said, watching Dalamar with wide eyes, food forgotten.

“Also, I got drunk in front of his friends and family last night and almost ruined everything. Maybe I didn’t, though? We’re having moments, now.”

“Moments?” Regene asked.

“You know,” Dalamar said, “Slow, lingering kiss me moments. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.”

“Dalamar, what the fuck,” Regene said. “Slow down. Go back like, ten steps and tell me everything.”

Dalamar wrinkled his nose, but he did, telling Regene an edited version of Kitiara’s blackmail, careful to keep actual identities secret. He told her about his and Raistlin’s scheming, about the movie night, about their charged moment before bed and then again in the morning, about how happy he’d been since moving in with Raistlin.

“Let me get this all straight,” Regene said, popping the last dumping into her mouth. Through a mouth full of food, she said, “You live together and spend all your time together. You cook for him and he does your laundry. You go out to eat together. His family loves you and you’ve met all his friends, and they even think you're dating. You’re both single, not even looking at anyone else. I don’t think you’re pretending to date, Dalamar. It sounds like you’ve been together for a while.”

Dalamar huffed out a breath. “It’s not like that.”

“Does this guy like men?”

“I think so, but I don't know,” Dalamar said. If Raistlin had given a definitive answer either way, he would have remembered. “I don’t think even his siblings are positive, but they didn’t seem surprised that he was suddenly dating a guy.”

“And whose idea was it to pretend to date?”

“Technically his, but—”

“Dalamar,” Regene said. The meaning behind this one was obvious: she said the name Dalamar as if it was synonymous with idiot. “The data all points to one conclusion. You’re just too close to the problem to see it.”

Dalamar sighed and started clearing away empty containers just to have something to do with his hands. Without thinking, he set the container of steamed buns aside for Raistlin. “You don’t have all the variables.”

“What am I missing?”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“Well? What is he like? You haven’t actually told me anything about him.”

“He’s brilliant,” Dalamar said. It was always the first adjective that sprung to mind when he thought of Raistlin, though he felt embarrassed about it now, seeing Regene’s eyebrow go up. “He’s clever, sharp, sometimes cold but always thoughtful when I least expect it. He hates cooking, but he made me breakfast this morning when I was laid out with a hangover. He’s soft when it’s just the two of us, and he’s funnier than anyone gives him credit for.”

Regene frantically waved her hands to cut him off. “All this is telling me is that you’re in it way worse than I expected.” She snorted. “You used to rant about Dr. Majere the same way, but only when I got you drunk.”

“There are…some similarities between them,” Dalamar admitted.

“No one can say you don’t have a type, I guess.”

“I guess,” Dalamar agreed. “My point is…think of him like he’s Dr. Majere. He holds his cards close to his chest in the exact same way. I never know what he’s thinking, so what am I supposed to do? Tell him how I feel and risk ruining things between us? What if there really isn't anything there? Or do I tell him I can’t keep pretending to date and disappoint him? Or continue to go along with it, even if it hurts?”

Even as he asked his questions, Dalamar knew his answer. He would follow this scheme — follow Raistlin — to the end. It was the option that would make Raistlin happy. It was the option with the least risk. It was the option that would keep Dalamar close to Raistlin, even if not in the way that he wanted. He would take what he could get. He sighed and set his food on the table, missing the distant sound of the front door clicking shut.

“I see your problem,” Regene said. A small line appeared between her brows as she frowned, paused, tilted her head to one side as if listening for something. After a moment, she shrugged. “I really don’t know what to tell you, Dalamar. This is some mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Thanks,” Dalamar said dryly. “I can't disappoint him, Regene. But more than that, what we've got now is good and I want to hold onto it for as long as I can. I just don’t know how long I’ll be able to bear the whole pretend dating thing.”

Regene leaned across the couch to give his knee a sympathetic pat. “I’m on the side of ‘tell him the truth,’ but I’m guessing you don’t want to hear that.”

“Not really,” Dalamar agreed.

“Did the dim sum at least help you feel better?” Regene asked.

Dalamar’s lips twitched. “A little. It helped with the hangover, at least.” He opened his mouth to say more but jumped guiltily at the sound of keys hitting the kitchen counter. Dalamar could only stare at Regene, wide-eyed. He hadn’t heard Raistlin come in, hadn’t expected Raistlin back for hours.

Regene sat forward, her face lighting up. She mouthed at him: “Is that him?”

“Dalamar?” Raistlin called from the front hallway. Even from here, Dalamar could hear the suspicion in his voice. He’d seen Regene’s boots, then.

“In here!” Dalamar called. He hopped up to intercept Raistlin, his shin hitting the edge of the coffee table as he did. He cursed and nearly stumbled, but still managed to catch Raistlin in the doorway of the living room, barring the way in. “Raistlin! Hey! I wasn’t expecting you back until later. I invited my old roommate over to catch up. I hope you don’t mind.”

Raistlin frowned. “It’s your apartment as much as it is mine,” he said, tone clipped, the warmth from that morning entirely cooled. He peered around Dalamar into the living room, where Regene sat frozen, her mouth hanging open in a perfect O.

“Dr. Majere!” she greeted, recovering quickly. She rose and crossed smoothly over to them, shooting Dalamar a mild smile as she did. After how long they’d known each other, Dalamar could see the rage behind it. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Raistlin’s eyebrows pinched together as his frown deepened. “Have we met…?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to remember. I took one of your natural language processing courses years ago. I just feel like I know you; Dalamar talked about you all the time in grad school,” Regene said. She gave Dalamar another mild smile, this one only annoyed — perhaps a little curious. And maybe vengeful, as well. “Not that that’s changed much.”

Raistlin’s eyebrows raised at this. Both he and Regene turned to Dalamar, who did his best to make his laugh sound normal and even.

“He’s mentioned you as well,” Raistlin said, turning his attention back to Regene. He studied her curiously, if a little coldly. “Regene, isn’t it?”

Regene blinked, surprised. “That’s right.”

“Well,” Raistlin said, pulling the strap of his bag higher up his shoulder and turning toward the bedrooms. “I won't interrupt your lunch. Excuse me.”

“No, no,” Regene said quickly, laying a hand on his arm. Dalamar envied her for how easily she touched him. “I was just leaving. I know which of us Dalamar would rather spend his afternoon with, anyway.” At this last, she flashed a smirk at Dalamar. Vengeful, indeed. Dalamar grit his teeth and forced himself not to react as Regene slipped hastily into her boots, not even bothering to lace them.

He found Raistlin watching him; he met his roommate’s gaze, couldn’t bring himself to break it until Regene was halfway out the door.

“I’ll text you,” he told her.

“You’d better,” she said pleasantly. The meaning in that one, too, was obvious. She looked between Dalamar and Raistlin, clearly holding down a smile, and then shut the door firmly behind her, letting silence fall over the apartment.

“So,” Dalamar said, awkwardly, after giving Raistlin a chance to speak first, “What are you doing back so early?”

“Why, did I interrupt something?” Raistlin asked sharply.

Dalamar frowned at the sudden frigidity. “Not at all. We really were just finishing lunch — I saved you some, if you want it.”

Raistlin eyed Dalamar like he didn’t quite believe him. “I already ate,” he said. Then, surprising Dalamar again, “Should I expect to see more of Regene?”

“Uh,” Dalamar said, not expecting the question. Now that she knew his secret, he supposed there was no reason not to invite her over. She’d want to hear all the details of this arrangement, anyway. “Maybe sometimes. I’m sorry, Raistlin — if I knew you’d be home, I would have given you a heads up.”

Raistlin waved a hand to cut him off. “I don’t mind you having guests,” he said, annoyed. “What I mean to ask is: are you and Regene, ah…?”

It took Dalamar too long to understand Raistlin's meaning. “No!” he said quickly, as soon as he had. “Definitely not. She’s just an old friend.”

“Ah. Good,” Raistlin said, his brows furrowing when he realized what he’d said. “I was only worried I’d almost interrupted something…intimate.”

Dalamar laughed, though a part of him recoiled, mortified, at just the thought. “I’d definitely give you a heads up if I had someone over for that.”

“Good,” Raistlin said again. When he moved into the kitchen, Dalamar followed without thinking. “That was a problem I frequently had with Caramon, when we still lived together. And Kitiara, too, for that matter.”

Dalamar winced in sympathy.

Seeing his expression, Raistlin let out one of his soft laughs, the ones you had to listen for. “It gets worse,” Raistlin said, setting down his bag and settling at the counter. “Both of them — Kitiara in particular — had a habit of sleeping with the people I was interested in. That was always a lovely surprise,” he added, the sarcasm dry in his voice. “I’m surprised Kitiara hasn’t tried to—,” He cut himself off abruptly, a furrow again appearing between his brows.

“Tried to…?” Dalamar said, sure he was just imagining the way that sentence was meant to end. He leaned against the counter, closer to Raistlin.

Raistlin huffed and moved away. “It doesn’t matter. But while we’re on the subject, I have a request,” he said. The lines of tension reappeared along his shoulders, his expression settling again into a frown as he met Dalamar’s gaze. “For as long as my siblings think we’re dating, I ask that you refrain from seeing anyone else. Kitiara has spies everywhere.”

Dalamar laughed, though it sounded flat to his own ears. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, or any conversation about their arrangement. Truth told, he had no intention of seeing anyone else -- he was in far too deep here, with Raistlin. But Raistlin knew him when he was at his most rakish, and to be anything else now would make Raistlin suspicious. “And how long are we going to be doing this, do you think?”

Raistlin stilled, tensed even further. His gaze was sharp, fixed unblinkingly on Dalamar. “To make it believable? At least two, maybe three months,” he said, watching Dalamar’s reaction closely. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Dread poured through Dalamar. He'd slip up, before they were through -- maybe not with Caramon and Kitiara, but at least with revealing his own feeling. “Not at all,” he lied. “But for the record, I won’t be sleeping with anyone else.”

He grimaced at the word else, as if he’d be sleeping with Raistlin, but Raistlin didn’t seem to register it. He just continued to watch Dalamar in that even, carefully expressionless way. Dalamar got the feeling that he was missing something. That he was in trouble.

“You never answered my earlier question,” Dalamar said, changing the subject. “You usually work much later than this, don’t you?”

Raistlin looked away, and Dalamar breathed a sigh of relief once he was freed from Raistlin’s gaze. “There’s a flea market being held near campus. According to Crysania, it’s not a complete waste of time,” Raistlin said. He met Dalamar’s gaze, then, as if in challenge. “Since I may be looking for furniture and you live in this apartment as well, I thought you might want to have some say.”

Dalamar followed the explanation closely. It took him a moment to realize Raistlin was inviting him along. “Oh,” he said.

In an instant, Raistlin’s expression closed off. “If you’re still not feeling well…” he said, trailing off, giving Dalamar an obvious out.

“No! I’m feeling fine,” Dalamar said. “I’d love to go.”

Raistlin relaxed, nodded. His gaze dropped pointedly to Dalamar’s pajamas. Dalamar followed his gaze.

“Right,” he said. “Let me get dressed.”

Chapter Text

Despite the understanding they’d reached at the apartment, it became increasingly obvious that Raistlin was mad. He spent the drive scowling out the windshield and giving mono-syllabic answers to Dalamar’s attempts at conversation, so eventually, Dalamar stopped attempting. Raistlin’s silence was just too pointed — it could only be Dalamar he was mad at. Was it something Dalamar said last night, while too drunk to now remember? Was it inviting Regene over? Or was it their charged moment that morning, when Dalamar had dared to push boundaries? He grimaced, realizing that was probably it.

The more Dalamar thought about it, the more annoyed he got. How could he know what he’d done wrong if Raistlin didn’t tell him? And for that matter, had he done anything wrong? He certainly didn’t think so. He’d been nothing but supportive of Raistlin. He’d lied to Raistlin’s friends and family at Raistlin’s request, had played the role Raistlin wanted him to play. What’s more, he cooked for Raistlin, reviewed his papers, draped blankets over him when he fell asleep on the couch, even agreed not to see anyone else for as long as they were pretending to date, again at Raistlin’s request.

Regene was right. They were basically dating. And Raistlin had the gall to be angry with him for daring to explore it?

Dalamar glared out the window, watching his old campus go by. There was the computer science building, the library, the grungy campus bar he used to bartend at. He wouldn’t see his old apartment, though; it had long been torn down, replaced by a shiny 5-over-1. It wasn’t the only one, either. The old character had been stripped from Palanthas University’s campus, replaced by a cold new character. It didn’t matter. To Dalamar, Raistlin had always been the only thing about this school that mattered.

He looked over at Raistlin, not bothering to hide or disguise it. They were past that, he thought. The bright daylight brought out the red in Raistlin’s hair, the pale threads in his eyes. This was one of Dalamar’s favorite views of him, in the car; it meant they were going somewhere together, doing something together. It meant Raistlin had chosen to invite Dalamar along. Dalamar didn’t know why he’d done it today, though, angry as he was.

It wasn’t fair. Was Dalamar doomed to go on almost-dates with Raistlin for the rest of his life? He would, too. That was the worst part.

His phone vibrated, ranting reprieve from his stewing, and he checked it to find another text from Regene scolding him for not telling her about Raistlin sooner. He snorted and typed a reply, a simple “my bad” that he knew would annoy her further. Maybe Raistlin’s bad mood was catching. Maybe he was feeling a little spiteful.

When he looked up, he caught Raistlin watching him out of the corner of his eye. His attention quickly snapped back to the road, but he asked, “Who are you texting?”

Why should I tell you?, Dalamar wanted to ask. Instead, he shrugged, put away his phone, and said, “No one.”

Dalamar glimpsed a burst of color out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to watch the market pass them by, a saturated burst of color in an empty lot between two apartment buildings. It was smaller than he’d expected, two food trucks and about ten or so tents, but it was busier, too, thanks to the after-class crowd. They left no parking spaces one, two, even three blocks out from the market. Raistlin had to park on a side residential street, only managing to seize the spot thanks to his small sedan.

When he parked, though, he didn’t immediately get out. He sat, frowned at his hands on the steering wheel, and then decisively locked the doors just as Dalamar was about to open his. Dalamar froze, watching Raistlin, and dropped his hand. Whatever had Raistlin upset, Dalamar suspected he was about to hear it.

“Dalamar,” Raistlin began, after a silence that stretched for ages, “What was Kitiara’s blackmail?”

Dalamar opened his mouth, but no sound came out. How was he supposed to answer that? How could he? He felt like a fiery hand had plunged into his chest and grabbed him by the heart. That look on Raistlin’s face, his delicate jaw set and a feverish glint in his eye, that was his determined look. He’d cowed the greatest minds in their field with that look, had accomplished the impossible and shaped institutions. How was Dalamar supposed to hold up against it?

Seeing the horror on Dalamar’s face, Raistlin smiled, sardonic and mocking. “You didn’t think I would let that slide forever, did you?”

“I…” Dalamar said. Well, he didn’t know what to say. He’d hoped this fake dating scheme would occupy Raistlin enough that he’d forget the reason for it. How foolish of him. This was Raistlin Majere.

“You must know that the more reluctant you are to tell me, the more determined I am to hear it. I wonder, would Kitiara tell me, if I asked her? Caramon certainly would. He can’t lie to me, you know. The minute I ask him, he’ll—”

“Don’t. Please,” Dalamar said, finding his voice. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, just to have something to do with them. “It’s nothing…bad, or harmful. I promise.”

Raistlin scoffed. His disdain had settled in the pale threads of his eyes, and even frightened as Dalamar was, he couldn’t look away. “Of course it’s not. Kitiara and Caramon never would have kept your secret if it was. But it does have to do with me, I presume?”

“Well…yes. But it’s not important. It’s just embarrassing,” Dalamar said, avoiding the question. Raistlin caught it, if his quirked eyebrow was any indication. Dalamar dropped his gaze. He decided to be honest, if only a little. “It’ll make you see me differently. I don’t want to ruin things between us.”

“You patronize me,” Raistlin snapped, the anger in his voice making Dalamar flinch. “I knew you’d go to great lengths to earn my good opinion, but I didn’t realize how great. What else would you do, Dalamar? Would you suffer through a fake dating plot that makes you miserable, just for a chance at making me happy?”

Dalamar’s head snapped up. “Miserable? Raistlin, what—?”

“I heard what you said to Regene,” Raistlin said, cutting Dalamar’s protests short. The hand around Dalamar’s heart turned to ice, chilling him all the way through. “That you ‘don’t know how long you can bear the whole pretend dating thing’.”

Dalamar blanched. “It’s not like that. It’s just—,” Just what? What could he say that wouldn’t bare his entire heart to Raistlin?

Raistlin waited and, when Dalamar’ didn’t finish his thought, sneered. “If it’s so repulsive to you, Dalamar, you can simply say so. We can end this farce here. In fact…” Dalamar watched in horror as Raistlin took out his phone and typed something in, then held the phone between them. It was calling someone — on speaker, too. Dalamar recognized the goofy smile on the caller ID even upside down. He didn’t have any time to process it, though, before—

“Hey, Raist. What’s up?”

It was Caramon.

“You’re on speaker, Caramon. Dalamar and I need your help settling something,” Raistlin said, his eyes locked with Dalamar’s. There was defiance in them, a challenge, but underneath that…was it hurt? Dalamar blinked.

“Hi, Caramon,” he said.

Caramon chuckled, oblivious to the stare down happening over the top of his contact photo. “How’s that hangover treating you, Dal? Not too bad anymore, I hope? Raist said you were in a bad way this morning.”

Raistlin was telling Caramon about Dalamar’s hangovers, now? He raised an eyebrow at Raistlin, and Raistlin scoffed and clicked his tongue. “Dalamar told me everything,” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “All about your secret rendezvous.”

Silence came from the other line. Dalamar kept quiet, too, curious to see what game Raistlin was playing. As soon as he identified it, he could deal himself in. Finally, Caramon laughed, his great, guffawing laughter. “Thank the gods! I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep that secret.”

Raistlin rolled his eyes. “There’s just one thing he hasn’t illuminated me on: what did Kitiara have on him?”

“Caramon,” Dalamar said quickly, pleading.

“Caramon,” Raistlin said, and it was a command. Dalamar already knew which of them would win.

More silence came from Caramon, only interrupted by a long exhale. “It’s not really my place, Raist.”

“Caramon,” Raistlin repeated.

“C’mon, Dal, does it really matter if you tell him now? I mean, you’re dating the guy anyway, right? What does it matter if you liked—”

“Don’t!” Dalamar interrupted.

Raistlin frowned. Dalamar could practically see his mind whirring, see him slowly piecing things together. It was only a matter of time before he completed the puzzle, stopped the timer, or before Caramon just gave it away. Flatly, Dalamar said, “Guess you’re right. Caramon, we’ll call you back.”

Before Raistlin could stop him, Dalamar reached out and ended the call. Anger flashed in Raistlin’s cold eyes, but then Dalamar said, “I had — have — a crush. Kitiara was threatening to tell you about it. That was the blackmail.”

It was such a childish word, crush. But to call it what it was — love — would be to alienate Raistlin further.

Instead of the disdain Dalamar expected from Raistlin, Raistlin only stared at his dark phone screen, his own stormy expression reflected in it. “And this crush of yours is on…?”

Dalamar stared at him. Was he serious? So brilliant, and he still hadn’t figured it out? “How could it be anyone but you?” he asked.

Raistlin looked up at him, eyes blown wide. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking!”

Raistlin’s mind whirred even faster. Giving him no time to process this new data, Dalamar threw open the car door and all but flung himself out. He didn’t know where he was going — to the market, he supposed. Raistlin could choose to follow, or not.

Still, he was surprised when Raistlin did, when he heard the beep of Raistlin’s car locking. The dark, wounded part of his mind that still clung to his lonely adolescence told him Raistlin would pack up and drive away and that would be the end of it all. He had to look back and confirm that Raistlin was really there. And he was, casually buttoning his jacket to protect against the wind before coming after Dalamar. When he caught up, Dalamar subconsciously slowing to let him, they fell into step together, neither saying a word.

Raistlin’s expression was calm, his silence thoughtful. Was there no disgust? Was there no discomfort? For the first time since Kitiara first made contact, Dalamar felt a sliver of hope. He didn’t need Raistlin to return his feelings. He would be content if they simply remained as they were.

Dalamar let Raistlin take the lead when they finally reached the market, following without seeing. Raistlin gravitated toward the antiques booth with shelves of old books, of course, and Dalamar waited patiently at his side while he combed the shelves, only rousing himself when he heard a vaguely familiar voice shout, “Flint, look! It’s Raistlin and his new boyfriend, Dal-something! Dalamar!”

Raistlin groaned, softly enough that only Dalamar could hear, and turned toward the voice. Subtly, he took Dalamar’s hand just as the short man from yesterday joined them, a veritable mountain of junk balanced in his arms. He was trailed by an old man with a gray-streaked beard.

Dalamar paid them no mind. He stared down at his and Raistlin’s joined hands instead, perplexed.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see the two of you here,” Raistlin said dryly. “Is there a market within fifty miles of the city that you’ve missed?”

“Nope!” Tas said, grinning at Raistlin over his pile of junk.

“So, this is him?” the old man asked instead of a hello, looking Dalamar up and down with a critical eye. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Dalamar, this is Flint,” Raistlin said magnanimously. “One of the few members of our eclectic group that missed yesterday’s movie night.”

Dalamar nodded in greeting, but his mind raced. Did Raistlin really intend to keep this dating charade up? To what end? How could he possibly play along and maintain face, now knowing that Raistlin knows?

“You going to come next week, too?” Flint asked, and it took Dalamar a moment to realize the question was directed at him.

He glanced at Raistlin, who gave no indication either way. “If Raistlin still wants me there.”

“Of course I do,” Raistlin said, giving away nothing. Dalamar wanted to shake their joined hands, hold them in front of Raistlin’s face, ask what they were doing.

Flint grunted. “You should know now, Caramon’ll kill you if you hurt him,” he warned Dalamar. From the way he said it, Dalamar suspected he meant more than just Caramon. Tika and Kitiara, at least. Did he include himself in that statement, as well? Dalamar considered the old man, curious, but his thoughts ground to a halt when Flint turned to Raistlin. “Laurana said he used to be a scamp, you know. A real love-em-and-leave-em type.”

Dalamar blinked. Who the hell even was Laurana? The blonde? What in the hells had he ever done to her? “Excuse me?” he asked, his annoyance bleeding into his voice.

“Ah, she said she used to have bar reviews at a bar you worked at?” Tas explained, grimacing apologetically. “I guess you, um, slept with one of her law school friends. Then never texted him back. I think that was supposed to stay in the group chat, though, Flint.”

Dalamar flushed. So he’d flirted a bit, as a bartender. It got him good tips. So he needed to relieve stress now and then. He’d been in grad school, not only working thirty hours a week but also studying under the school’s strictest professor. He wouldn’t be judged for that by strangers, not even for Raistlin. He opened his mouth to give them a piece of his mind, but Raistlin beat him to it.

“I know Dalamar far better than Laurana ever will, and I will continue to choose him no matter what she thinks of him,” he said coolly, looking down his nose at Flint. He gave Dalamar’s hand a light, almost imperceptible squeeze. “Don’t forget that he was my student before he was ever my friend, roommate, or boyfriend. Tell your group chat that if I learn of anyone speaking badly of him again, there will be consequences.”

Dalamar stared at Raistlin, disbelieving. His chest felt tight, his heart beating fast.

Flint only chuckled, apparently used to these sorts of threats from Raistlin. “Fair enough.” He nodded at Dalamar. “I’ll talk to you more next wee. This isn’t a place for chit-chat.”

“We were on our way out,” Tas supplied. “Flint wants to get home so we can watch Golden Girls.”

“That’s none of their business!” Flint snapped, turning to glare at Tas. “Can’t you see we’re interrupting their date? I was trying to be polite and excuse us. Now get a move on, before I leave without you!”

Tas laughed, a novelty mug near the top of his pile shifting precariously. “Alright, alright. Bye, Raistlin! Bye, Dalamar! See you next movie night!”

As they walked away, Raistlin still held on to Dalamar’s hand. “I’m sorry about them.”

“I don’t mind,” Raistlin said. And he didn’t. Whatever irritation he’d felt at Flint’s judgment was nothing to the pride at Raistlin’s praise. Pride, but warmth and affection, too. He was so screwed.

He let Raistlin pull him along to the next booth, still holding Raistlin’s hand. It was cold, Raistlin’s circulation truly terrible, but it warmed the longer Dalamar held it. As Raistlin seemed to have no qualms about perusing the tents with one functional hand, no qualms about his students or coworkers seeing him like this, Dalamar held him tighter. Was this a date? No, that wasn’t the right question — to Dalamar, it was obvious that it was. Did Raistlin think of this as a date?

It was all painfully romantic, furniture shopping in early fall, the wind tousling Raistlin’s curls as he bent to study an elegant antique bench with garish orange cushions. “This would look good in the hallway, don’t you think?” he asked. “Assuming we got it reupholstered.”

When Dalamar didn’t answer, too busy just watching Raistlin, Raistlin glanced back. With a single look at Dalamar’s expression, he straightened and asked, “Do you wish this was a date?”

It was just like Raistlin, to see through him so thoroughly, to ask the question that would hurt the most. “Raistlin, don’t be cruel,” he said.

“Am I?” Raistlin asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I think the answer is obvious, given what I told you in the car.”

Raistlin considered this, head tipping to one side. “Maybe,” he admitted, “But I’m still curious to hear it.”

“Does it? Do you want to know what Regene said when I told her about us, Raistlin? She said it sounds like we are dating already, that we’ve been dating. We’re not seeing anyone else, we do everything for each other — just think of how little we had to change. All we added was this,” he said, holding up their joined hands for emphasis. “So why would it be far-fetched to call this a date?”

“You’ve built yourself a straw man, Dalamar,” Raistlin said, infuriatingly calmly. They’d moved on to a wall of handcrafted soaps and candles, and Raistlin occasionally picked one up to sniff it while they talked. “Did I say it was far-fetched?”

“You—,” Dalamar stopped, took a deep breath. “No.”

“No,” Raistlin agreed.

“So what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to be honest. I want you to use your words. I believe I know what you want, but I want to hear you say it, so there are no more misunderstandings.”

“Fine,” Dalamar sighed. He tugged on Raistlin’s hand until Raistlin turned to face him. He wouldn’t have Raistlin’s attention divided for this. “I want this to be a date. The only reason I told Regene I can’t bear to pretend is because I want so badly for it to be real. Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” Raistlin said. His smile, though faint, radiated smug satisfaction. “If you’d like this to be a date, then let’s call it a date.”

With that, he turned and moved on to the next tent, leaving Dalamar reeling.

Chapter Text

Dalamar watched Raistlin walk away, gliding as he always did against the flow of traffic, barely noticing as the people parted around him. Dalamar didn’t know how he did it. His whole life, the current had held him back — no matter how he’d fought against it, he couldn’t gain ground. If he stopped to rest, the waters would sweep him up, carry him away.

Or so he’d always thought, but Raistlin made it seem so easy. What he said to Dalamar just now: we can call this a date. Could it really be so simple? After all this yearning and lying and sneaking and spying, could it end just like that?

He had no time to consider it now. Raistlin cut a path ahead, easing Dalamar’s way, and Dalamar wouldn’t be left behind. He plunged into the crowd, fighting to catch up, and when he did, he let himself take Raistlin’s hand. He wouldn’t make Raistlin repeat himself, even as much as he doubted what he’d heard. But there was no Flint or Tas around to see them now, no need to keep up pretenses, so if Raistlin held onto his hand, that was as much confirmation as he needed.

Raistlin held on.

This really was a date.

And knowing Raistlin, he wouldn’t have agreed to call it such unless he really meant it. Unless he’d thought it through and decided he wanted it. Coming from Raistlin Majere, it was tantamount to a confession.

Dalamar followed Raistlin around the rest of the market in a happy daze, barely noticing when Raistlin stopped to make purchases, only vaguely registering when Raistlin passed those purchases off onto him, loading him up with things until Dalamar no longer had any hands left for holding. He couldn’t bring himself to mind playing pack mule. He contented himself with listening to Raistlin talk — about his day, about the books he’d picked out, about his big paper.

Underneath it all, his mind was a steady stream of idle questions: what was Raistlin’s relationship experience like? Did he have relationship experience? Did he want to take things slow? Did he find Dalamar attractive? Did he even experience sexual attraction at all? How long had he wanted to date? Since that morning? Since conceiving of this pretend-dating plan in the first place?

For some reason, that though made Dalamar smile. They’d been playing each other for so long when they could have just been honest from the onset.

Of course, Raistlin chose that moment to look back at him, eyebrow quirking when he saw Dalamar’s expression. “You needn’t look so pleased with yourself,” he huffed.

“But what if I am pleased?” Dalamar asked, flashing his cheekiest grin. Seeing Raistlin roll his eyes, he added, “There are no take-backs, by the way. I’m yours, now.”

“Weren’t you already?” Raistlin asked with a pleased little smirk of his own. He held a hand out for the houseplant Dalamar had precariously tucked in his harm, and it took Dalamar a moment to realize Raistlin was trying to ease his load. He passed the plant over, redistributed some of the bags, and by the time he freed up a hand, he found Raistlin holding his own out again. Dalamar didn’t even try to hide his spreading smile as he took it.

It was a very un-Raistlinlike gesture — not just the touching, but the thoughtfulness of it. Extrapolating from what he knew about Raistlin, Raistlin wasn’t a big toucher. Nor was he big into public displays of affection. Which could only mean he was doing all of this for Dalamar.

“Are you always so sweet in relationships?” he couldn’t keep himself from asking. Raistlin dropped Dalamar’s hand so fast, you’d think it had burned him, but Dalamar laughed and snatched it up again. “Oh, come on.”

Raistlin scoffed, but he didn’t let go. “I tell you we can call this a date and suddenly it’s a relationship? Give him an inch and he takes a mile.”

Dalamar felt his cheeks heat up, but he was determined not to back down. “And?” he asked. “Can we call this a relationship?”

Raistlin gave him a sidelong look. It was wary, loaded, but surprisingly fond, too. “We’ll see how today goes.”

That was good enough for Dalamar.

They left the market with an antique lamp, produce for Raistlin’s rabbit and Dalamar’s cooking, a few books, a vintage band tee for Dalamar, and a new plant for Raistlin.

“Did you mean for this to be a date from the start? When you came home early?” Dalamar asked as they walked back to Raistlin’s car. He was beginning to see a pattern in Raistlin’s behavior — the almost shy romance in his options, at odds with the actual words he spoke.

Dalamar knew he was lost, because he was utterly charmed by it.

“Yes,” Raistlin admitted, watching Dalamar out of the corner of his eye, as if daring Dalamar to comment.

Dalamar smirked. “Were you jealous of Regene?”

“I thought we’d grown past the stage in our relationship where you ask me every inane question that enters your head,” Raistlin said.

Dalamar faked a gasp. “That’s a yes.” He realized something, then. “So you admit it’s a relationship?” he asked, depositing their purchases in the back when Raistlin lifted the trunk for him.

Raistlin flushed when he realized what he’d said, and Dalamar realized he could get used to teasing Raistlin Majere.

Instead of going around to the passenger side, Dalamar followed Raistlin to the driver’s. Harnessing all the adrenaline, endorphins, and hope coursing through his body, he crowded Raistlin against the driver’s side door, pressing in close — not quite touching, but close enough to feel the unnatural body heat that radiated off him in waves. Raistlin’s eyes widened, his breath caught, and while he placed an elegant hand on Dalamar’s chest, he didn’t push Dalamar away.

“If this really was a date,” Dalamar breathed, not daring to speak it any louder, “Can I kiss you?”

Raistlin inhaled sharply, his dark lashes fanning across his sharp cheekbones when his gaze dropped to Dalamar’s lips, and Dalamar decided he couldn’t wait for permission. He kissed Raistlin, pressed Raistlin to the cold metal of his car, and felt every inch of it when Raistlin took a deep breath, his ribcage expanding against Dalamar’s. Dalamar had every intention of keeping the kiss chaste, not knowing what kind of experience Raistlin had, but then Raistlin parted his lips, tightened his grip on Dalamar’s shirt, and Dalamar abandoned all restraint.

When Dalamar deepened the kiss, slotting his thigh between Raistlin’s legs and pressing impossibly closer, Raistlin gasped. In retaliation, he bit Dalamar’s lip hard enough to earn him a gasp of his own, then soothed it over with his tongue. He gripped Dalamar’s shirt so hard now that Dalamar felt the sting of nails biting flesh through fabric. Dalamar welcomed it. He welcomed every sensation Raistlin could give him, whether it be tooth and nail or the soft, spiced scent that always clung to Raistlin — that blend of faint, floral cologne, the computer science building, and Raistlin’s warm body wash. It clung, now, to the inside of Dalamar’s nose, cloying.

And then they heard laughter, the sound of voices getting near, and Raistlin pushed Dalamar away as fiercely as he’d pulled him in. Dalamar nearly tripped over the curb stumbling back, but caught himself at the last moment. The voices, he saw, belonged to a group of college girls who’d just rounded the corner on the other side of the street. Deep in conversation, they hadn’t spotted Raistlin and Dalamar yet, but it was a close thing. Raistlin craned his head to see the girls as well, treating Dalamar to the sight of his pale neck, his heaving breaths.

Dalamar closed his eyes and counted to five, steadying his breathing. When he opened them again, Raistlin was frowning. “We’re still on campus,” he hissed, though there was no real heat behind it. “What were you thinking?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Dalamar said, making a valiant attempt to appear chastened. He just couldn’t stop from smiling, though. “I’ll just wait until we’re home.”

Raistlin stared at him, then blinked. “Just get in the car,” he snapped.

Now reasonably confident that he could, Dalamar took Raistlin’s hand on the drive. It started as just holding it, but it spiraled quickly out of control; he took Raistlin’s hand into his lap, played with his long, elegant fingers the way he’d always imagined doing. When that wasn’t enough, he ran his fingers up Raistlin’s narrow wrists, cataloging the way Raistlin tensed, then relaxed, sometimes twitching as if he might pull away. He never did, though.

They were lucky they didn’t get in an accident. Or perhaps, Dalamar thought, luck had nothing to do with it — it was all Raistlin. His focus had always been singular, even in the face of tempting distractions. At most, he shot Dalamar a few heavy looks throughout the drive, his expression unreadable: a warning of some kind, though not a warning to stop.

Dalamar didn’t truly understand what the looks signified until they were back in the apartment. As soon as Dalamar set the bags of veggies on the counter, Raistlin was on him, crowding Dalamar back against it like Dalamar had done to him with the car. When Raistlin kissed him, it didn’t start soft. He licked into Dalamar’s mouth, pushed into Dalamar’s space as if he belonged there. Dalamar had kissed a lot of people, in his life, but he’d never felt so claimed by a kiss before.

He couldn’t deny that part of it was just Raistlin’s effect: his scent, his soft curls brushing Dalamar’s cheek, his lithe frame pressing Dalamar into the hard line of the counter’s edge. The first time they’d kissed, Raistlin had been unsure. Now, he’d made up his mind. He knew what he wanted — and when Raistlin Majere wanted, it was with the force of a tsunami. Being on the receiving end of that…it made Dalamar dizzy.

He leaned back into the counter, letting Raistlin think he’d won. He let himself be kissed, let his hands rest on Raistlin’s hips, thumb tracing along the sliver of warm skin revealed by Raistlin’s rucked-up sweater. When Raistlin leaned more of his weight into Dalamar, letting down his guard, Dalamar struck: using his grip, he spun them, then got his hands under Raistlin’s thighs and hauled him up onto the counter before Raistlin could even catch up to what had happened.

Breaking the kiss to keep his balance, Raistlin huffed and sat back on his hands, tilting his head back as he eyed Dalamar like a particularly troublesome puzzle. It was like he was making room: it felt too natural for Dalamar to claim a place between Raistlin’s long legs, to slot their bodies closer again. When Raistlin laughed, his thighs flexed around Dalamar’s hips and Dalamar knew he’d do anything — lie to Raistlin’s siblings for the rest of his life, cook and clean bunny cages and review papers for all time — if it meant he could have this.

Raistlin sat forward to meet him, watching Dalamar through his long lashes, and Dalamar would’ve called the look coquettish if he thought it was intentional. But then, maybe it was. Raistlin had surprised him again and again today, and he was related to Kitiara, after all. He’d thought Raistlin relatively inexperienced, but he should’ve known better than to underestimate Raistlin by now.

“Where do you think this is going to go, exactly?” Raistlin asked, his voice like a magnet, drawing Dalamar closer. Dalamar stopped just shy of kissing him.

“I can tell you where I hope it will go.”

“Hm,” Raistlin said, considering Dalamar. “I should get back to working on my paper, I’m afraid.”

He was teasing, Dalamar was fairly sure. Nothing on his face gave it away, but there was a spark in his eyes as he continued to watch Dalamar, waiting for his response. So Dalamar planted his hands on the counter on either side of Raistlin’s hips. “Your paper is already perfect,” he said sweetly. “I really think you should take a break tonight. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to report you to Caramon and Kitiara.”

Raistlin narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

When Dalamar reached for the phone in his back pocket, Raistlin caught his wrist. Holding it still, he used his other hand to tip Dalamar’s face up, a finger under Dalamar’s chin. “If you want me to take a break so badly,” he said, “You’ll need to try much harder to convince me.”

Dalamar couldn’t say which of them initiated the next kiss, but it was harsh, hungry — Raistlin was hungry, biting Dalamar’s lip again, deepening the kiss. He took Dalamar’s hand and pressed it to his waist, encouraging him to touch, so Dalamar did. He matched every bit of Raistlin’s hunger with his own. When Raistlin bit, Dalamar ran his fingers through Raistlin’s soft hair and tugged. When Raistlin handled him, Dalamar handled Raistlin back, hauling him closer by the thighs until their hips were flush.

“I can’t be doing that bad of a job,” Dalamar said, glancing pointedly down at the tent in Raistlin’s slacks.

When Dalamar leaned in to kiss him again, Raistlin scoffed and turned his head away. “Don’t be crude,” he said.

Smiling, Dalamar contented himself with kissing Raistlin’s jaw, instead, then down the long line of his neck. Raistlin tipped his head back, and Dalamar sucked a mark into his pale skin. He knew how easily Raistlin bruised. Selfishly, he hoped this one was high enough that Raistlin’s students would see, that Crysania Tarinius would see, that Kitiara and all her smug jabs would see. Strangely, Raistlin made no complaint, so Dalamar continued down to his clavicle, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. When Raistlin tipped back onto his elbows, Dalamar followed him down. And when Raistlin laid back further, spread out on the counter and hooking his legs around Dalamar’s waist, Dalamar took Raistlin’s hands and pressed them to the cold granite above his head. His knuckles brushed something above them, but he didn’t pay it much mind.

Raistlin sighed, arched into him, and then —

Then they both jumped at a sudden crash and a shatter. Dalamar’s head snapped up, and he was horrified to realize that while the veggies were right where he left them, sitting on the counter, Raistlin’s new plant and its delicate clay pot were not.

“Oops,” Dalamar said.

Raistlin pushed him, scowling, and they both sat up. “Are you going to repot that?” he asked, pointedly.

“I think it’ll be okay down there for a little bit, don’t you?” Dalamar asked.

With his cheeks flushed, Raistlin’s answering frown was so cute that Dalamar couldn’t resist stealing another quick kiss. When he pulled away again, the frown had deepened.

“You used to look at me all the time like that while I was your student,” Dalamar purred. He bit Raistlin’s lower lip hard enough to make him gasp, then added, “It drove me crazy. I used to fantasize about bending you over your desk and fucking you until you forgot your own name, let alone how to scowl me like that.”

Raistlin clicked his tongue. “You think too highly of your skills. I could never forget how to scowl.”

When Dalamar laughed, Raistlin’s expression softened. “My plant,” he reminded Dalamar.

“What will you give me if I repot it?”

“What would you like?” Raistlin asked indulgently, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer. He ran a single finger down Dalamar’s sternum, and the words came tumbling out of Dalamar.

“Let me fuck you,” he said. Seeing Raistlin start to frown again, he added, “The plant can wait five minutes.”

Raistlin smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. “Five minutes? Is that all you need? I didn’t realize I had that much of an effect on you.”

Again, Dalamar laughed. “Make it ten. But you do, for the record. Have that much of an effect,” he said, smiling. Raistlin’s eyes widened, then settled his expression quickly into something neutral. “I mean it literally and figuratively and all the ways in between when I say you drive me crazy, Raistlin.”

Raistlin studied Dalamar’s face, his gaze flicking slowly over each individual feature. Whatever he saw there made him sigh, and Dalamar dared to call the sound fond. Dalamar expected it to preclude a rejection, but then Raistlin said: “My room. Now.”

When Dalamar didn’t immediately move, staring wide-eyed at Raistlin instead, Raistlin pushed at Dalamar until he had room to drop down from the counter. He all but dragged Dalamar to his room, and inside, Dalamar finally dug his heels in, taking the chance to look around. The few times he’d been in here had been quick, purposeful; he’d never had permission to look, before. As it turned out, Raistlin’s room had the same collegiate character as the rest of the apartment; cluttered, with purposeful mess. There were stacks of books and plant cuttings and rabbit toys and sweaters all piled on a chair. Dalamar wandered over to the dresser, curious about the old framed photo sitting on it: it depicted a boy that looked remarkably like Palin and a smiling, tired-looking woman that looked remarkably like Raistlin. According to the date stamp from the old camera, it was taken just shy of thirty years ago. That was as far as Dalamar got in examining it, though, because out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Raistlin taking off his shirt.

After that, nothing else in the room mattered.

Raistlin perched on the bed, sitting back on his hands and watching Dalamar approach. But when Dalamar reached him, he held up a hand and pointed to Dalamar’s shirt. “Off,” he said. Dalamar obeyed, shucking it off and tossing it to the ground. He got as far as resting one knee on the bed before Raistlin stopped him again. “Your pants, as well.”

This time, Dalamar took a step back and gave a mock bow. “As my lord demands,” he said, making Raistlin huff a laugh as he scooted further onto the bed. Stripping down to his boxers, Dalamar was right behind him, settling himself between Raistlin’s legs and kissing his way down Raistlin’s sternum. While Raistlin arched, almost imperceptibly, into it, his fingers found the tie keeping Dalamar’s hair up and pulled it out. The action tugged on Dalamar’s hair, and a moan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

When Raistlin stilled beneath him, he ducked his head to hide his face, embarrassed. It only earned him another tug, and this time, he shivered. It took Raistlin all of three seconds to understand: he scratched along Dalamar’s scalp, then gripped Dalamar’s hair more tightly when Dalamar gasped.

“Like that, do you?” came Raistlin’s voice, his tone mild. Dalamar couldn’t look at him, so he unbuttoned Raistlin’s slacks, then unzipped him. Taking pity, Raistlin used his grip on Dalamar’s hair to guide his head lower, and Dalamar went happily, mouthing at the tented fabric. On a sigh, Raistlin breathed, “Good.”

It felt like Dalamar had been struck by lightning. Just that one word made him moan again, made him scramble to sit up and tug Raistlin’s pants and boxer briefs both down at once, freeing Raistlin’s cock. It was as pretty as the rest of him, and Dalamar wasted no time getting his mouth on it, closing his lips around the head and sinking happily lower with a hum. Raistlin jumped beneath him, then moaned, reestablishing his grip on Dalamar’s hair.

Dalamar bobbed his head once, pressing his tongue to the underside, but after lifting up again, he stopped moving altogether, glancing up and meeting Raistlin’s eyes. Unsurprisingly, Raistlin seemed to understand the unspoken invitation: he planted his feet on the bed and rocked into Dalamar’s mouth, holding Dalamar in place with his grip on Dalamar’s hair. It was slow, to start, as he tested Dalamar’s limitations, but then faster, harder. Dalamar kept still, relaxed his throat, and watched Raistlin’s face — his eyes fluttering shut, his head falling back against the pillow, his hair fanning out around him. Dalamar wanted to see him come. He’d never wanted anything so badly — or, at least, it was only second to studying under Raistlin as his student.

“Dalamar, I—,” Raistlin breathed, cutting off with a gasp when Dalamar pulled off unexpectedly. His eyes blew wide, and he shot Dalamar an irritated, almost petulant expression. “What are you…?”

Dalamar laughed and climbed up the bed to kiss him, letting Raistlin taste himself in Dalamar’s mouth. He nudged Raistlin’s legs further apart with his thighs and settled back between them, letting his weight blanketing Raistlin. Almost unconsciously, Raistlin ground up into him, his frustrated little growl at odds with how gently he carded his fingers through Dalamar’s hair, brushing it back from his face. Shutting his eyes, Dalamar broke the kiss to lean contentedly into the touch.

“I just want to see you,” he said, embarrassed at how slurred the words came out. Hair touches had always had that effect on him.

“Hmph,” Raistlin said. “There’s lube in the bedside table. When were you last tested?”

“It’s been a while, but I haven’t been with anyone since. I’m good,” Dalamar said, forcing himself away from Raistlin’s soft touches to retrieve the bottle. “You?”

“The same,” Raistlin said, watching Dalamar curiously. “I thought you were…”

Dalamar smiled, wry. “Sexually active?” he finished.

“You, ah,” Raistlin paused, clearing his throat. “Used to be.”

“I had a lot of frustration I needed to let out in grad school,” Dalamar said, pausing to look at Raistlin meaningfully. “I had this professor back then who was a major tease.”

Raistlin rolled his eyes, but Dalamar knew he wasn’t imagining the blush that sat on those high cheekbones. “So you were interested in me—”

“Within the first five minutes of setting foot in your classroom, yeah,” Dalamar finished, punctuating it with a chaste kiss. While Raistlin stared at him, shocked into silence, Dalamar busied himself with the lube, pouring a small amount onto his fingers.

Dalamar could practically hear Raistlin’s mind whir as he combed through their previous interactions, casting them in a new light. That wouldn’t do. That Raistlin could think at all meant he wasn’t doing his job. Without letting the lube warm, Dalamar nudged Raistlin’s legs apart again and pressed a finger to his hole, circling his rim. Raistlin yelped at the cold jolt of it, then glared.

“You—” he started, but when Dalamar pressed inside, he gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Moving slowly to let Raistlin adjust, Dalamar drew out and pressed in again, then rested his forehead against Raistlin’s. “Gods. You’re perfect, Raistlin,” he said. It was true. Even — especially — glaring, Raistlin was lovely. “Let me know if it gets to be too much for you.”

Raistlin scoffed behind his hand, rocking his hips down onto Dalamar’s finger just to emphasize the point. Dalamar smirked, but he wouldn’t let Raistlin goad him into moving faster. He stretched Raistlin well before adding a second finger, and his satisfaction when Raistlin’s breath hitched, when he dropped his hand to grab at Dalamar’s shoulder instead, made his patience worth it. Close as he was, he could count Raistlin’s every eyelash, catalogue each reaction. It was clear Raistlin was making a concerted effort to steady his breath, to minimize his reactions, so Dalamar turned his efforts from scissoring Raistlin slowly open to finding that spot in him that would make him really react. And when he found it, Raistlin couldn’t hide it.

He jolted and moaned, and Dalamar swallowed the sound down with a kiss. When he brushed against that spot again, Raistlin broke the kiss, turned his head into the pillow to take a great, steadying breath, and Dalamar seized the opportunity to kiss the already purpling bruise just below his jaw. Dalamar continued to aim for that spot with every thrust of his fingers, and soon Raistlin was openly panting, watching Dalamar through distant, half-lidded eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and Dalamar realized how easily he could get addicted to this — to seeing Raistlin like this, to feeling him tighten around Dalamar’s fingers, to letting him grab with surprisingly strong hands at Dalamar’s arms, shoulders, waist.

It took adding a third finger to make Raistlin moan again. Dalamar’s satisfaction must have shown on his face, because Raistlin dug his heel into Dalamar’s lower back.

“On with it, Dalamar,” he snapped.

And how could Dalamar refuse? He sat up, withdrawing his fingers, but while he cast about the sheets for the bottle of lube, Raistlin followed him up, finding it first.

“What are you…?” Dalamar asked, trailing off as Raistlin poured some into his own hand. Given how often Dalamar had watched, admired those hands — typing, writing, eating, petting that silly little rabbit — he wasn’t prepared for the sight. And when Raistlin took him in hand, slicking him up, he had to fight not to come right there. The only point in his favor was how fucking cold the lube was. This was revenge from before, he decided, and Raistlin’s smirk was confirmation enough.

“Let me know if it gets to be too much for you,” Raistlin cooed, repeating Dalamar’s earlier words, his tone overly sweet.

Dalamar huffed. “I’m just getting started. Let me—”

“I have it,” Raistlin interrupted. Then, without warning, he was climbing onto Dalamar’s lap, still holding Dalamar’s cock as he lined himself up and started to sink down onto it, pausing halfway to adjust. His thighs trembled beneath Dalamar’s palms, and Dalamar whined and buried his face in Raistlin’s warm neck, kissing every bit of skin available to him.

“Gods, you feel incredible,” he moaned. “So tight, Raistlin.”

“Fuck,” Raistlin hissed, gripping Dalamar’s shoulders tight, nails surely leaving marks. When Dalamar sat back, their gazes met, and only because they were so close did Dalamar see the flicker of pain that crossed Raistlin’s face.

As much as Dalamar appreciated seeing Raistlin from this angle, he didn’t necessarily trust Raistlin to act in his own best interest if left to take the lead. He pulled out. Before Raistlin could protest, he surged up, lifting Raistlin and dumping him unceremoniously back onto the bed. Raistlin grunted in surprise, watching Dalamar with wide eyes, but made no move to regain control.

“I’m not going to hurt you, am I?” Dalamar asked. The question made Raistlin’s brows furrow further. He opened his mouth; before he could say something he didn’t mean but might irreparably damage Dalamar’s self esteem, Dalamar clarified, “I don’t mean the stretch.”

Raistlin stared at him blankly for a moment, then kicked him again. “You’re asking me that now? After throwing me like a sack of potatoes?”

“Ah,” Dalamar said, sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Again, Raistlin rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine, as long as you mind my hips and don’t try to fold me in half.”

“Okay,” Dalamar breathed. Still, he grabbed one of the beds extra pillows — how did Raistlin sleep with so many? — and, with Raistlin’s help, slid it under his hips for extra support. Raistlin had hip pain enough. Dalamar wouldn’t add to it, if he could help it.

“Now fuck me, Dalamar,” Raistlin said, when they were done. It was suspiciously close to begging, and Dalamar filed away the interest that sparked for another time.

When he pushed back inside Raistlin, bottoming out in one smooth thrust, Raistlin threw his head back and whined. At the sight, Dalamar couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled all the way out before thrusting back in; Raistlin clearly hadn’t expected it, another strangled sound escaping him. He clapped a hand back over his mouth, then glared at Dalamar when he pried it away, pinning both wrists above his head instead.

“I want to hear you,” Dalamar pleaded, starting to fuck Raistlin in earnest. “Gods, Raistlin, you’re so — I just want to know that you feel good. Let me know that you feel good.”

“Is that — ah — not obvious?” Raistlin gasped, hooking his knees around Dalamar’s hips. At the new angle, on Dalamar’s next thrust, Raistlin cried out, the muscles in his arms jumping under Dalamar’s hands. “Fuck, fine. It’s good.”

Dalamar moaned, fucked back into Raistlin a little harder than he’d intended, startling another gasp out of the man beneath him. As much as he could with Dalamar’s harsh pace, Raistlin narrowed his eyes at Dalamar. “You just want me to praise you,” he accused.

When Dalamar didn’t deny it, nipping at Raistlin’s jaw instead, Raistlin’s lips twitched briefly into a smile. He didn’t praise Dalamar, not immediately, but as Dalamar continued to fuck him, each soft, plaintive little noise he couldn’t hold back was encouragement enough.

Dalamar was so close. He’d been close since he first felt Raistlin’s tight heat around him. It was only Raistlin that kept him from coming — he had to take every sound, every shiver of pleasure, every unfocused, soft-eyed look Raistlin was giving him and commit to memory. And quickly, Raistlin was falling apart beneath him. He could no longer rock to meet Dalamar’s thrusts, could no longer hold back his noises.

Then all it took was Dalamar taking Raistlin in hand for him to come, his back arching off the bed with a whine that sounded suspiciously like Dalamar’s name. Dalamar fucked him through it until Raistlin went pliant beneath him, until Raistlin pulled Dalamar down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss. When they pulled apart, Raistlin murmured against his lips, “You’re doing so well.”

Dalamar couldn’t even hope to hold on, after that. He buried his face in Raistlin’s soft hair as he came, continuing to fuck into him until the oversensitivity set in and he pulled out, rolled, and flopped down beside Raistlin. While Dalamar fought to reassemble his sanity, Raistlin turned to watch him — not saying anything, just watching. He was more discomposed than Dalamar had ever seen him, sweaty and flushed and seemingly halfway to falling asleep, clearly fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Raistlin?” Dalamar asked, when his breathing had finally steadied and his heart no longer threatened to beat out of his chest.

Raistlin closed his eyes. “Hm?”

“Will you go on another date with me? Tomorrow night, maybe?”

Raistlin blinked his eyes open again. “No,” he said, simply. Before Dalamar could feel too discouraged, he added, “My paper is due Monday. I won’t have time tomorrow.”

Dalamar grinned. “Monday night, then? We can make it a celebration.”

“Hmm,” Raistlin said again, though Dalamar could tell he was only pretending to think about it. “Fine.”

“Great. We’ll go somewhere nice to eat — afterward, will you help me pick out gifts for Kitiara and Caramon?”

Raistlin, whose eyes had drifted shut again, suddenly found it in him to glare. “Excuse me?”

“Gifts,” Dalamar said, smiling. “For your siblings. A sort of ‘thank you for helping me finally get laid’ occasion.”

Raistlin kicked at him. “No. Go repot my plant.”

Dalamar laughed and curled into him instead, winding an arm around Raistlin’s waist and pulling him closer. “I will. Give me five more minutes.”