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By no fault of his own, he had to wait three days after returning to Ravensthorpe to tell Hytham the news. If it had been up to Eivor, it would have been the first words out of his mouth after being helped out of the longship, not trusting his shaky legs to support the short jump to the dock. Indeed, the first stop he had made was to Hytham's Bureau, only to find it cold and empty, and a stab of fear that rivaled that in Norway had settled deep within his chest.

Every day of the return journey had been spent finding the words that needed to be said to relay Basim's fate to the younger man. Every night of that journey had been plagued with nightmares of cold stones and strange devices. Basim's hands around his throat had been burning hot in contrast to the cold hard stone pressed against his back. The Hidden One's blood had warmed his frozen fingers but had made gripping his weapon all the more trying. The older man's words haunted his every thought and no matter how much he poured over them, their meaning still eluded him. He planned to tell all of this and more to Hytham in the hopes that the younger man could find some reason for his Mentor's sudden change, but that would clearly not happen yet. Where was the Bureau leader? 

The moment he stepped into the longhouse, his eyes had frantically searched for the slender Hidden One, found him sitting at a table near the jarl's chair, and a sense of peace had settled the fear in his heart. Hytham was here and he was safe. He had not followed his Mentor to the cold fjords of Norway where death and blood lay heavy like ice in the snow. 

Taking a step closer to the warmth of the fires, Eivor was almost immediately wrapped in politics, celebration, and the concern of his clan, especially Valka, who insisted he retire to her hut the minute he finished his speech. He had felt Hytham's concerned eyes on him, following him as he was helped back out of the longhouse and he had tried to convey a look that told the young man he wanted to talk. Hytham had nodded his understanding, but had given the viking the healing time and space he thought he needed, much to Eivor’s chagrin.

The injury inflicted by Basim in itself was minor, a quick reflex that meant only to put distance between them, not to land a killing blow. Basim had been a Mentor to Hytham and a Master in the Hidden Ones. He had trained for years to become an expert in delivering death, knew where and when and how to strike to inflict the most excruciating pain or the quietest passing. It would have been so easy to kill Eivor where he had stood, a mere change of angle up into the tender pocket of a lung, but he had not. It was yet one more thing Eivor did not understand. He needed to talk to Hytham, but he would not be able to escape to his Bureau while under Valka's watchful eye.

After two full days and three nights in her care, Valka had given Eivor leave to return to the longhouse and his duties. The journey back to England had allowed his skin to heal rather well, but the slow knitting together of severed muscles would take much longer, weeks perhaps, to fully mend. And though his wound was already full-well into recovery, Valka insisted on keeping his torso wrapped with a poultice of healing herbs pressed against his skin for the next week. He knew it was to prevent infection and ensure healing, but the smell of the bitter plants always stung his nose and ruined his appetite. He compromised by agreeing to keep the wraps on for a few more hours instead. 

Now, stepping out of Valka's hut, Eivor spends a moment at the waterfall to wash away the sweat on his face and neck. The cold winter water chills his skin and sends a shiver through him. November is already coming to an end and it won't be much longer until he has to worry about planning the Yule Festival and its many events. His work, it seems, will never end. And now that Sigurd…

He sighs and straightens, feeling the small pull of protesting muscle in his right side, easily ignored and worked through with a few practiced motions. It is not the worst wound he has ever received, nor will it be the last. What hurts more than anything else though is the thought of who had inflicted it.  

His feet want to take him to Hytham's Bureau, but now his mind is in turmoil. The week spent on the sea had given him time to lay out his thoughts, but now his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and the actual words are stuck in his throat. He hates this indecision and the feeling of ineptitude it gives him. He grits his teeth and fights through it, not wanting to delay any longer, and makes his way to the Bureau. 

Hytham is already diligently working at his desk crowded with neatly stacked documents and scrolls. Eivor notices he has his hood pulled up to ward off the early morning chill, an extremely rare thing as Hytham once told him he refuses to hide himself while in the settlement. The viking pauses a moment and watches him from just outside the doorway. Though he has seen it countless times, he still marvels at how intensely the small man can focus, easily transitioning from one foreign language to the next and then back to his native tongue to scribble flowing words, that honestly look more like pictures to Eivor, in his many scrolls, recording every small detail he deems meaningful and significant. The thought of returning at a later time, perhaps after he has eaten, flits through Eivor's mind, but before he can take a step away, Hytham pushes his hood back and his smooth, rich voice calls out to him.

"Come in, Eivor, and tell me what has happened."

~*~

"Why would he do such a thing? He loved Sigurd. He loved you!" Hytham's voice breaks on his words as he tries to process everything Eivor has told him. Basim had followed and attacked the brothers in Norway. His Mentor and Master is dead. He is alone and without Basim's guidance for the first time since he was twelve.

Hytham feels his hands trembling and his mind rushing towards hostile denial. He wants to scream, to lash out, to demand more satisfying answers from the viking standing guardedly near his table. The smaller man clenches his fists in an effort to prevent himself from doing just that. He is a Hidden One. He cannot permit his emotions to control him. Respond, don't react. He turns his back to Eivor, his shoulders tense as he vibrates with barely restrained, confusion-driven fury.

Memories of his childhood in Syria are threatening to overtake him as they haven’t done in years. His life is falling through his fingers yet again and he is powerless to do anything about it. Basim had given him purpose, had been like a father to him, a solid and reliable presence in the tumultuous days of his youth and comforting company ever since, but especially in their many journeys away from their homeland. Hytham had looked up to him, had constantly sought his approval in everything he did. And now he is gone, dead and frozen in the cold, harsh lands of the North.

He takes the few short steps needed to walk around to the other side of the table. He can feel unshed tears welling in his eyes, but he refuses to show such weakness when the powerful viking is at his back. He neither seeks nor wants the other’s sympathy right now. It would only end up hurting more.

A sudden but light breeze fills the Bureau and lifts the Hidden Ones banner from the wall. The younger man’s eyes are drawn to it. He raises his unsteady hand and grasps the end of it in a weak grip, the missing digit on his left hand somehow all the more notable in that moment. He draws in a slow, shaky breath, willing his voice to not waver.

“Leave me. I wish to be alone.”

Eivor does so with neither question nor comment. The heavy silence of the Bureau immediately overwhelms the slender man as silent tears fall down his cheeks. 

~*~

Eivor readies himself for bed, unwrapping his torso and removing the foul-smelling herbs from his skin. He washes away their residue with an entire bowl of cold water and breathes much easier when their odor no longer stings his nose. He decides to let the wound rest overnight and lays in bed on his back in only his trousers and hidden blade. The delicate cold metal of the beautifully crafted, inconspicuous weapon brings him some small comfort. He wonders if Hytham will request the return of the weapon. The thought does not settle well.

Eivor stares unblinking up into the wooden beams of the ceiling, hands resting low on his bare stomach, away from the healing wound. Now that Hytham knows the fate of his beloved Mentor, what will he choose to do? Will he seek revenge as any sensible and self-respecting Dane or Norse would? The thought of being called out for a holmgang with the surviving Hidden One turns Eivor's stomach. The idea of feeling Hytham's flesh part under his hand like Basim's brings a sick taste to the back of his mouth. He would much rather Hytham come to him in the dark of night and strike from the shadows as is his way. 

Eivor sighs heavily and turns to his right side, the pain not strong enough to force him to stay on his back. He curls in on himself and forces his eyes to close. It does nothing to quell his endless thoughts.

Or rather than seek revenge, would Hytham choose to leave? Would he part ways with the Raven Clan and build a home somewhere else? Would he seek another to hunt the Order of Ancients in Eivor's stead? Would he spend hours upon hours imparting the wisdom of his Creed onto a stranger? The thought of being replaced does not sit well with the viking and he fleetingly thinks a quick and silent death would be a far more appealing choice in the end. 

These turbulent questions and more follow him into a restless sleep.

~*~

A sudden feeling of unease pulls Eivor from a nightmare of Basim's hands around his throat and tightens his entire body in preparation to fight. He doesn't question the shadow in his room or wait for it to move first. Instinctively, he engages his hidden blade and raises on his elbow to lunge at the unknown figure, ignoring the slight protest of his injury. 

His left arm is easily caught and the attack meant to slide between unprotected ribs, is expertly deflected. It would have been a killing blow to anyone else, but the shadow seems to have expected it. Eivor blinks rapidly into his special sight, forcing his mind and body to still when he sees the comforting blue aura of an ally. His breath comes in gasps and his eyes struggle to focus in the darkness of his room. His body is tight and thrumming with anxiety and it is difficult to quell the slight tremors and nausea of his sudden awakening. 

"Salam, Eivor. Peace." Eivor's ears are still ringing in panic and his mind is heavy with thoughts of cold and blood and fear, but the raspy Arabic almost stops his heart. His left arm goes slack, the strong hands on his wrist and forearm the only thing keeping it where it is.

"Basim..." Eivor whispers into the dark room.

The single candle he left burning on the low table at the foot of the bed does almost nothing to illuminate the space and for one terrible moment, he fears the older Hidden One followed him back to England like the cunning fox he is to finish him off. Eivor had not understood the words Basim had all but screamed with such conviction during their decisive and unprovoked battle. Sigurd had simply brushed them off as the ramblings of a madman, but Eivor suspects there to be a much deeper meaning and its evasion continues to scratch uncomfortably at the back of his mind, almost like a whisper too soft to be understood. 

A pained sound escapes the robed shadow and the grip on his arm falls away as it takes a small step back. "He's gone." 

Eivor finally shakes off the haze of sleep and nightmares, his eyes having gradually adjusted to the low light. He can't make out the figure perfectly, but the slight build and short hair allow him to finally recognize Hytham. He watches the younger Hidden One rake a trembling hand through his hair and take a few shaky breaths, clearly trying to keep his emotions in check by pure force alone. 

One breath is far shakier than the rest and a wet inhale signals the losing battle Hytham is still valiantly fighting within himself. Eivor watches as he sinks to his knees on the rug and his heart melts for him. Eivor is almost a stranger to offering comfort to others, other than his typical awkwardly silent pat on the arm. He has never excelled at it and his hesitation now only proves it. 

A nagging thought in the back of his mind prompts him to think that if he had offered Basim the comfort he had so clearly sought by the fire in Cent, their story may have ended much differently. Instead, he had left Basim’s painful confession to hang in the air like smoke between them. Basim's rough voice in Canterbury still echoes through Eivor, 'I guard you as a father.' Again, Eivor had not known how to respond to that and simply ignored it. The thought that Basim had been seeking some form of validation and acceptance now pulls at his mind. Was that the moment when it had all fallen apart? Is Eivor to blame for all of their misfortune?

"I'm lost without him. I don't know what to do." Hytham's small whispers finally encourage Eivor to move. He retracts his hidden blade and sits upright in bed, feeling the muscles around his wound throb sharply in protest. His breath hitches in his chest at the slight twinge of tight pain, but he twists to bring his feet to rest on the floor anyway. 

Eivor hesitantly considers Hytham before him. He does not know this man hanging his head and kneeling on his rug. This is not the young impulsive warrior that he met in Norway five years ago nor is it the endlessly optimistic scholar he has spent hours learning from and listening to. The man that had fascinated him with stories of his Creed and homeland on rainy days, when outside work was almost impossible, would never have fallen so far. He hates this broken man that he sees, this man who eclipses the confident partner and leader Eivor has come to love and respect. The man that brilliantly and relentlessly tracked members of the Order across hundreds of untold miles with nothing but letters and scraps of paper in multiple languages unknown to the viking is not in this room. 

Eivor's recent actions in Norway caused this and he does not know how to face that fact, but he must deal with the consequences of his actions nonetheless. He leans over and rests his hands on Hytham's shoulders, feeling the small tremble in them due to the slighter man's roiling emotions, but also no doubt because of the chilly November night. Hytham is still not accustomed to these comparatively mild winters even after so many years in England. Eivor moves his hand over the Hidden One's rough spun robes to gently grip the back of his neck, providing the grounding touch that he knows the man needs and ultimately craves. Hytham sighs and leans into Eivor’s warm hand. The slender man's skin and clothes are cold and damp and Eivor wonders briefly how he had not heard the rain through his fitful sleep. 

Hytham raises lost and searching blue eyes to the viking's face, looking for answers to unvoiced questions. Eivor nods slightly and pulls Hytham to his feet.

~*~

Hytham sits on the Bureau's richly woven Persian rug for hours without moving. He can’t feel much of anything anymore, let alone his legs folded beneath him. His tears have long since run dry and his breaths are as even and slow as they have ever been, but his mind is disordered and chaotic, throwing him off-balance and into despair. His Mentor would once again be displeased.

Hytham doesn’t quite understand why Basim’s demise hurts so much. It is not the first time he has lost someone close to him, for both friends and family have fallen before him, nor is it the first time he has lost a companion in the Hidden Ones. Indeed, the wrist blade Eivor now carries once belonged to a Brother from Constantinople, and while not exactly a close friend, it had pained and alarmed him to see the intricate weapon being gifted to a stranger by Sigurd, the very same viking that had struck down its original wielder.

Hytham no longer disapproves of Eivor as he had when he was seventeen and foolish. He can barely remember the reason for once doing so. The older man has worked for years to further the Hidden Ones' cause and while Hytham is fairly certain Eivor will never truly accept his Creed, he does not fault the man. Not everyone can find in themselves the dedication needed to abandon all personal goals for the benefit of people they will never know or meet. It is a lot to ask of anyone.

The sound of chattering children running past his Bureau finally pulls him out of the dismal thoughts turning over and over in his mind. Their cheerful laughter and voices ring through the small room and draw a tiny crooked twitch of his lips. That is why they fight. That is why they die. To bring peace and security to those unable to attain it themselves. The Hidden Ones embrace loss and sacrifice. It is what they do. It is what they are. Hytham does not have the right to flounder in these dark thoughts. He sacrificed that with the removal of his finger and the acceptance of the Creed.

With a heavy inhale that stretches the muscles in his tight chest, he physically pulls himself together, using the corner of the table to rise from the ground, groaning and catching himself when his numb legs threaten to give out from under him. He stumbles gracelessly around the table and all but collapses onto the small wooden stool. The small charcoal brazier has burned out and he is curiously surprised to see the long evening shadows that stretch across his documents and fill the corners of his Bureau. His emotions have wasted away the entire day and there is so much to do, now more than ever.

He will need to send word to Master Mentor Rayhan and await orders. That will likely take over a month if the weather is fair, two or more if it is not. He remembers listening to Basim’s stories of Baghdad as a child and the experiment of training birds to fly hundreds of miles in a single day. Though still in its developmental stage, the birds could prove vital in their efforts to bring peace. If successful, those tiny crafty creatures would have his messages delivered and return with their response in a matter of weeks. It is just one more project that needs to be addressed.

He wonders if the Brotherhood will send another Master to England to act as his Mentor or if they will request his return, assuming the letter even makes it to his homeland without being intercepted. He doesn’t have the authority to abandon his work in England without first receiving orders, and neither does he wish to, not while they are making such steady progress. And yet, even though he has worked tirelessly the entire time he has been in England, often into the early hours of the morning, there is still so much to be done: members of the Order to be hunted and silenced, ancient and abandoned bureaus to be located, alliances to be forged and strengthened, perhaps new trade routes to establish. He and Eivor have done much in their pursuit of peace for all of England and its people, but…

Can he still trust Eivor? 

His entire being freezes at the thought before he scoffs. A ridiculous question. The strong viking has done absolutely nothing to merit doubt. Hytham does not suspect the words Eivor had said that Basim had struck first. He cannot find a reason for the Master to do so, but he knows they did not share everything between themselves. Even he has secrets that he kept from the man for the ten years he had known and worked with him.

Hytham crushes the thought and focuses on penning the letter to Aluh-Amut, burying himself in his endless work.

~*~

Sleep will not come. Hytham is cold. It settles painfully in his chest and sends shivers to his limbs. The hasty arrogance of his youth refuses to be forgotten. The warm bread and soup he forced himself to eat for dinner does nothing to stop the chill of the night. He closes his eyes and fights to ignore the ache. Sickness finds him much easier in this cold and consistently damp country and he hopes these chills and aches aren’t the first sign of it.

Sleep will not come. Even focusing on the sound of steady rain on the Bureau roof cannot lull him into rest. Now that his hands are no longer busy with work, his mind is once again racing doggedly in circles, finding its most guarded recesses and bringing forth his darkest and most painful memories. He doesn’t want to dwell on these thoughts, but he is helpless to stop them.

Sleep will not come. It is well into the darkest hours of the night when Hytham finally pulls himself from bed. He is dressed down in only his trousers and robes, having shed his armor, weapons, belts, and hood in pursuit of comfort, hoping it would induce sleep. It had proven pointless.

He stands in the doorway of the Bureau and watches the rain fall steadily into the quiet of Ravensthorpe. Everything but the rain is silent, even the crickets have settled down for the night. He knows he shouldn’t have such thoughts, but he envies the entire settlement, insect, man, and beast alike. His life is in pieces and no one knows.

No one but Eivor.

He doesn’t permit himself to think. It would be too easy to berate himself for his foolishness if he did. He squares his shoulders and determinedly steps out into the rain, walking up the gentle slope to the warmth of the longhouse. He doesn’t even hesitate when he opens the door and steps into Eivor’s quarters on habitually silent and stealthy feet. His eyes quickly adjust to the darkness of the room and he simply stands there, watching the viking breathe deeply in sleep, his face relaxed and body curled slightly in on itself. Eivor is sleeping in only his trousers and the sight of his bare and tattooed upper body makes Hytham’s fingers itch to touch him.

It is the first time he has been in Eivor’s room since their impulsive tryst five years ago, and he finds some odd sense of comfort seeing that the viking sleeps with the hidden blade on his wrist. It is not that remarkable of a thing among the Hidden Ones, but it does carry a certain degree of risk. He oddly had never thought of the powerful viking doing so. It is a peculiar thought to have, but an even stranger one not to have had. Curious.

Hytham’s eyes roam over the room, noticing the accruing collection of weapons near the large table, a bow, an ax, a spear, all resting precariously against its edge. The table itself is just as cluttered as he remembers, with food, furs, herbs, and other bits of things. Though not entirely disorganized, the small room feels much more lived-in than his Bureau, what with personal items scattered about the room. Hytham and Basim were, had been, he corrects, trained to travel at a moment’s notice, ready to abandon any location within seconds if compromised. His life is not conducive to the habit of collecting a lifetime of belongings, not that Hytham had had any to begin with, having been orphaned in childhood.

Hytham is warring with himself on what to do now that he is here. He honestly should just turn around and leave. But, his eyes land on the sleeping viking and he takes the couple of steps needed to stand at the foot of the bed, remembering the care that Eivor had selflessly bestowed upon him after finding him bathing in the creek. His strong and calloused hands had been so warm and gentle running over his bruised and damaged flesh. The memory gives him a small rush of pleasure. That night could have gone so many different ways. He supposes this one could as well.

He silently walks to the side of the bed to look down at the warrior one more time, fists painfully clenched to resist the urge to touch the strong arms and torso. He remembers the way the viking’s body had felt beneath him, arching up into his touches, mouth and eyes pleading for more. It had been a night of hurried and impulsive decisions, but what they had shared still warms his thoughts even to this day, especially their last embrace in the early hours of the morning. Walking out of a room had never been so hard as it had been in that moment, his body quickly reacting to the viking’s dominating hunger and forcing him to push the man back against the beam to grind his hips against him. A sad smile pulls at his lips as he remembers Eivor’s eyes, hungry with want but resigned to accept Hytham’s decision. It had been for the best.

Hytham sighs softly before resigning himself to mirror his actions of that far-away morning and return to the cold sleeplessness of his Bureau. Perhaps he can find something to organize while he waits for the sun to rise and the settlement to begin the day. There is no reason to have come here.

As he turns away, a small furrow in Eivor’s brow is the only warning Hytham receives before the strong viking is lunging at him with his engaged hidden blade. Half a lifetime of training instantly kicks in and the smaller man deflects the killing strike with ease. Though Eivor doesn’t fight the hold, neither does Hytham immediately release his arm, waiting for the stronger man to fully wake before risking giving him the freedom to move again.

"Salam, Eivor. Peace." Hytham’s mouth is dry, his tongue heavy, and his voice raspy. His thoughts are frozen by the revelation of being caught standing over the viking’s bed in the dead of night. The implications alone are worthy of repercussions. Even weaponless as he is, no Hidden One is ever truly harmless. He can feel Eivor’s sleepy confusion through the muscles in his arm. He had not intended to wake the viking and he inwardly curses at his stupidity. He shouldn’t even be here.

“Basim...” 

How can such a small word be so debilitating? Hytham’s whole world, what is left of it, folds in on itself and his careful exterior crumbles, vision swimming darkly for one terrifying moment. Sorrow escapes his lips and his arms fall to his side, releasing Eivor’s own. He takes a weak and unsteady step away, his entire body feeling numb.

"He's gone." The words seem so distant, as if he is hearing his own voice through a fog. Nothing feels real right now. The thoughts he had suppressed earlier in the day have returned and are crushing him.

Hytham can feel his legs threatening to fail beneath him as they had in his Bureau. Escaping from the room now is impossible. He doesn’t have the strength. The best he can do is fight through the panic. He runs a hand through his short hair, willing the tremors in his breathing and body to cease. It is making his lungs hurt and his chest tighten. His heart is pounding, each heavy beat actually shaking him. One knee buckles when he tries to take another step back, and he does not fight to regain his balance, allowing his body to slowly sink to the floor.

Hytham doesn’t know what he had expected when his feet brought him to the longhouse mere minutes ago, but it definitely was not to have the viking witness his breakdown. He should not have come. He looks down at his trembling hands, powerless to save the one person that meant the most to him. Grief hits everyone differently, he understands this, he has seen it affect others countless times before, but he had never expected it to hurt this much. He can feel nothing but pain, sudden and startling.

"I'm lost without him,” Hytham hears himself whisper. “I don't know what to do." It will be months before he receives his next orders. Months of waiting for the unknown. He cannot act without permission. To do so could compromise the Brotherhood. Basim had been the person to give him the direction he needed, and now that he is gone, Hytham’s carefully structured world is in disarray.

Hytham barely feels the uncertain touch on his shoulders. He is numb. Basim is gone. The young man had never expected grief to touch him this severely. It never had before. He had known Basim for the better half, admittedly the much better half, of his life and he had never been far from him for long. He would have done anything to please his Master. And now Basim is gone.

The feel of a strong and warm hand on his neck finally pulls him away from his thoughts. He shudders and sighs, leaning achingly into the touch. He looks up with slightly unfocused eyes, seeking permission and purpose to fill his shattered world. What he finds instead is Eivor’s strong hands removing his damp robes and boots and pulling him into the warmth of his bed. The viking’s powerful arms pull him close in a warm and welcoming embrace.

~*~

Eivor pulls Hytham to his chest, their legs intertwining in a mirror image of that morning so long ago. The slender man’s skin is cold against Eivor’s, causing a sudden shiver, but he doesn’t stop the man from running gentle fingers where he wants. It has been too long since he had last felt this man’s touch and he finds himself craving more and more of it. The urge to run his own hands over the darker skin is difficult to restrain, but he gives control to Hytham, hoping it will be enough.

Hytham runs his hands across Eivor's chest, following the intricate tattooed lines down to his abdomen. Eivor can feel Hytham's body tense as his eyes come to rest on the viking's wound. He scarcely suppresses a jolt when the Hidden One's cold fingers touch the healing skin ever so gently, assessing it with a practiced eye. Hytham's light touch doesn't pain him, but Eivor has to fight the flinch that it wants to induce. It is a ridiculous reaction. He trusts the slight man with his entire being.

"He didn't strike to kill." Hytham’s words are thick and whispered, his eyes focused intently on the wound, his thumb running slowly back and forth across it, refusing to meet Eivor's gaze. 

"I know." Because he does. Hytham doesn't need to create excuses for his Mentor. It troubles him that the smaller man clearly thinks he needs to. Eivor lifts Hytham's chin so he has no choice but to look at him. "This doesn't have to change anything, Hytham. We can still hunt the Order. We can still bring peace to England." 

Hytham pulls his chin away, eyes clenched shut. "Eivor, how can you not see that it changes everything? I cannot make decisions without a Mentor. There is an order I must adhere to. I don't have a choice." 

The logic is unfortunately sound. Eivor cannot argue with it. Eivor's people live to serve their jarls. Failure to do so often resulted in exile, if not immediate death. The same holds true for the people of their settlement in England, no matter their lineage. All disputes must be brought to the jarl for advice and judgment. His decision is law. Even Eivor's own raiders have to follow strict rules concerning their actions. His lieutenant keeps them in line most of the time, but Eivor steps in when occasionally needed. Though he still doesn't know much about the Hidden Ones, Hytham had once told him that he is very close to the bottom of that order, not having had the chance to prove himself, and now because of his injury, probably never will.

Eivor sighs, running a comforting hand along Hytham’s muscled bicep. “How long do we have?”

The slender man burrows his head against Eivor’s chest, his words coming muffled and breath hot against the viking’s skin. His short, soft hair lightly tickles Eivor’s face when he shakes his head. “I don’t know. A month or two. Maybe three.”  

Eivor hums thoughtfully before replying, “Then we must work that much harder to impress your next Mentor.” At the quick raise of Hytham’s head, he hastily adds, “If you would still have me.” The thought that Hytham may no longer want to work together tightens his chest almost painfully. Hytham’s eyes are piercing as he studies Eivor’s face, searching for something the taller man dares not name. He shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t look away.

“Al’ablah. Idiot. I would never turn you away.” The smile that crosses Hytham’s lips brightens Eivor’s heart. He relaxes in relief and pulls Hytham even closer, feeling the other man's skin start to lose its chill. He turns onto his back, allowing the lithe man to tuck into his left side, and pulls the bearskin blankets up around them.

“Rest now. There is much to do tomorrow.”

Hytham sighs sleepily. “There always is.”

Eivor hums in agreement, eyes already growing heavy with the comforting warmth of naked flesh pressed into his side.

~*~

Sleep will not come. The warmth of the longhouse, the safe embrace of the viking, the sound of heavy rain on the roof, the comforting rhythms of Eivor’s deep breathing and heartbeat, nothing can call him to rest. Hytham carefully unfurls himself from Eivor’s side and turns to lie on his back. Though he is now staring up into different ceiling beams, the same thoughts have returned to tumble through his mind once more. He cannot sleep. He needs a distraction.

Carefully and quietly, he unlaces his trousers and pulls them from his legs. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the scent of the viking permeating everything. The feel of the bearskin blankets on his skin is both relaxing and arousing. It makes it too easy to bring forth distant memories and run a hand down his body. Fingers working in a way that will quickly bring him to release, twisting, gripping, squeezing. He bites his lip to stifle his moans. He can feel the bed dip beneath him as he moves his hips in time with his hand. A small needy gasp escapes his lips and he almost doesn’t stop the moan that threatens to break free when he presses his thumbnail to his tip. He places his heels onto the bed to deepen the movement of his hips, eyes squeezed shut and hand moving faster and faster, release, and hopefully sleep, almost upon him.

The sudden sound of rustling freezes everything in Hytham, breath stuck in his throat and heart racing. He takes a moment to steel himself before opening his eyes and remorsefully facing the viking, caught with his cock in hand once again.

He does not see Eivor’s face as he had expected, but the man’s sculpted back, the viking having turned away from him to sleep in what Hytham now suspects is his usual position. The pale expanse of tattooed flesh is enticing and a mischievous thought quickly forms in Hytham’s young mind.

~*~

Eivor groggily wakes to the feel of warm hands running over his back and shoulders. Being woken in this manner is completely unexpected, but it is a pleasing surprise. A trail of kisses is soon peppered across his shoulder blades and an arm wraps around to run fingers through the sparse hair on his chest, nails lightly dragging across his skin. When Hytham presses his face into the side of his neck and inhales deeply, Eivor sighs and pushes against the man’s strong body, feeling nothing but bare skin against him.

Hytham hums contently at Eivor’s quick reaction, trailing his hand down the muscles of Eivor’s abdomen, across his hips, and down and up a well-toned thigh. The light tease he gives the hem of Eivor’s pants calls forth a whine from the viking, persuading the Hidden One to loosen the strings on his trousers. Smiling against the viking’s neck, Hytham’s hand closes around Eivor’s already half-aroused cock, making the taller man moan shamelessly. He pushes his hand further in to cup Eivor’s balls and rocks his hips against the man’s back, allowing him to feel his erect cock. Eivor turns his head into the pillow, muffling his loud groan, and thrusting his hips back to meet Hytham’s.

Eivor is lost to the feeling of Hytham’s warm hand teasing him in his pants. He lifts his left arm to pull Hytham’s mouth to his, twisting awkwardly to meet the kiss and pressing hungry demanding lips against the smaller man’s. Through the slight tremor of taut muscles, he can feel the desperation Hytham is valiantly and deliberately holding back, but he would much rather the slender man just take what he needs. Eivor is all too willing to give it.

"Let me exhaust myself,” Hytham whispers heatedly, rising over the viking to stare into deep blue eyes. “Let me forget, Eivor. Let me sleep. Please."

Eivor nods silently, grips the back of Hytham’s neck, and pulls him down to momentarily press their foreheads together, their heady breaths hot against each other's skin. Then he closes his eyes and relaxes beneath the small man’s touch, feels skilled hands pushing at his trousers, and moves to help Hytham, pulling them off and tossing them to the floor.

Eivor would never deny this man, this scholarly warrior who has become his sanctuary after fighting endless battles and forging fragile alliances. Hytham’s Bureau is always the first place he finds his feet taking him, seeking the shelter of the Bureau’s comfort, rich rugs, incense, and hanging gold lanterns. On his darkest days, when the whispered memories of Odin become almost too incessant to ignore, he sits on the plush rug and lets the rhythmic scratching of Hytham’s pen and shuffling of scrolls ease him deeper into meditation or even further into sleep.

Though it had never bothered him before, he finds the way most of the other citizens of this new country keep house disgusts him. The hard-packed dirt floors are a necessary innovation to not frighten the wildlife, the largest part of their food source, away by logging, but the broken pottery, straw, rotten food, and molding linens that these people choose to live with is no better than living outside in the muck, and that is not to even mention the smell. They may bathe regularly, but when you only own one change of clothes, laundry clearly does not become a priority, or wearing shoes for that matter. 

Eivor’s thoughts are sharply brought back into focus by a soft nipping of teeth and scrape of a short beard across his collarbone, his nose filling with the enjoyably clean, spiced scent of the darker man’s hair. A strong, lithe, three-fingered hand directs him to lay more fully on his side, slides his leg forward, bends his knee to rest on the bed, and slightly tilts his hips, positioning the viking just how he wants him. The stretching feeling of oil-slick fingers slowly being worked into him draws another long moan from his winter-chapped lips. His body yields easily under Hytham's gentle fingers, almost as if it remembers the touch of this man. Eivor cannot deny he has missed these touches, had even pined for their return, and longed for a much different ending to that fateful morning. 

A quick twist of fingers has the viking's hips thrusting into the bed and a keening cry escapes his mouth, hips blindly seeking the friction that will grant release. A lingering kiss is placed on the back of Eivor's neck before the smaller man pulls away, Eivor's breathy whine filling the air even with the knowledge that more will shortly follow. 

Not soon enough, Hytham is wrapping his strong arms around Eivor, one hand coming under and around his chest to grip his opposite shoulder and the other at his hip, before entering him with a soft grunt, giving Eivor time to relax before slowly pushing in further. The trembling restraint of lithe muscles can be felt against Eivor's back and though he loves the slow pace Hytham sets, he also yearns for something more, something harsher this time.

Eivor reaches back with his left hand and grabs at Hytham’s short hair, pulling him in for another hungry kiss. Hytham can’t restrain the sudden forward snap of his hips when Eivor's hidden blade catches the candlelight and is brought so close to his face. A simple and quick flex of the viking's wrist would send the small blade into the Hidden One's neck and the danger sends blood rushing to his cock. To think that such a small thing had become his greatest fetish.

The gold metal is cold under Hytham’s hand when he runs his fingers gently over Eivor’s wrist and down his arm to his shoulder. The powerful viking allows Hytham’s gentle touch to push at his shoulder and position him how he wants, bending under the other’s will. The taller man’s back is soon arched beautifully, allowing Hytham to deepen his thrusts with ease. They soon find a slow and easy rhythm, Hytham unwilling to rush the encounter to its end, but much rather preferring to prolong it deep into the night.

Whispered words of Arabic are pressed into Eivor’s skin, the deep raspy tones sending pleasant shivers down the viking’s back. With every strong rock of Hytham’s slim hips, Eivor’s hard cock is pressed into the softness of the bearskin blanket, the sensation a nice slide against his heated skin, but not enough to bring him towards release, a detail quickly gathered by the other man.

A shallow grunt escapes Eivor’s lungs when Hytham suddenly rolls him to his hands and knees. The measured slow and deliberate thrusts speed up slightly when Eivor drops to his elbows and widens his legs, silently seeking more from the agile scholar. The groans pulled from both men as Hytham sinks deeper are loud in the small room, muffling the rhythm of skin against skin heard over the sound of steady rain. The smaller man grips Eivor’s lean hips tightly, angling his thrusts methodically in search of the position that will bring his partner the greatest pleasure. A sharp cry and clenching of muscles show when he has found it and he smiles. Running his hands up Eivor’s sides and draping himself over the viking’s broad back, he deepens and quickens his thrusts, one hand coming up to gently entangle thick braids.

Eivor dips his head, feeling the slight pull in his hair, and watches his hard cock bob and slap against his stomach with each ever-increasing sharper drive of Hytham’s hips. He watches the thick milky fluid leak from his cock and puddle beneath him. Oh, he won’t last long if Hytham keeps that up.

Without warning, Hytham grabs his shoulders and pulls them both upright. Eivor’s back arches and presses hard into his chest when Hytham’s hand trails down his arm, over his hidden blade, and across his stomach to grip his leaking cock. Eivor groans, this new angle being felt deep within his stomach. Hytham's agile fingers stroke the viking in time with his thrusts, groaning Arabic praises into the taller man's ear when his body clenches tightly around him. After a particularly hard thrust, Eivor cries out and throws his head back on Hytham's shoulder, the lithe man's warm breath panting across his neck. 

“Ah, not yet,” Eivor whines between gasping breaths, feeling his balls tighten almost painfully. He reaches back and digs fingers into Hytham’s thigh trying to distract himself from his release. “Not yet.” 

Hytham's laugh is quiet and deep against Eivor's neck, and he releases Eivor's cock after a squeeze harsh enough to take away the edge. Hands travel once more to the viking’s shoulders and push him back down to the bed, the tall viking barely having the cognizance to catch himself on his hands. The Hidden One runs his lightly calloused fingers down tattooed skin to settle low on Eivor’s back, weight on his hands, pushing down hard, bending his spine, and begins again, changing the angle of his thrusts just enough to prevent the powerful man from coming. Eivor groans in pleasure, good but not enough to end the night too soon.

They easily find a rhythm again, Eivor’s breaths coming in harsh gasps with every perfect snap of Hytham’s slim hips. Too quickly, the feel of the bearskin blanket beneath his hands and knees becomes too soft and he longs for the planes of well-toned dark skin. Tensing his muscles, he puts all his weight on his right hand and twists his torso, running his left up and down Hytham’s toned abdomen. Endless ice-blue eyes watch unblinking at the way Eivor’s hidden blade reflects the candlelight, before Eivor's palm comes to rest against Hytham’s thrumming heart.

The dark intensity of Hytham’s gaze would be terrifying if it were directed at him in anger, but Eivor has learned to read the Hidden One over the many years that they have worked together. He has seen flashes of such a gaze spark in Hytham’s eyes as they pour over the scraps of parchment, scrolls, and letters Eivor regularly brings back to him. He understands Hytham when frustration grabs hold of the man and makes him regret his past decisions. He sees Hytham when he is battling his mind as he weighs what he knows is right against what he really wants. He knows Hytham when he is once again warring with himself, thoughts churning in his head like the dark sea Eivor had spent the last week traveling. And so, he waits. Patiently he waits for the internal battle to end and for Hytham to decide his next action. Though that doesn’t stop Eivor from continuously running his hand over tense muscles, feeling the rise and fall of Hytham’s steady breaths and the rocking of hips that never still.

The look in Eivor’s pleading eyes, when he reaches backward for the Hidden One, makes Hytham want to do things. He tethers his darker thoughts, knowing they will not be welcomed, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the man below him. Eivor's muscles are tense with the effort of holding his position, mouth open and gasping, and eyes glazed with pleasure. A thin sheen of sweat coats his back, the single candle in the room making his skin glisten. 

When Eivor runs his hand up Hytham's chest again, the glint of gold that catches the candlelight is entrancing and dangerous. Hytham slowly raises his hand and rests it on the cold metal, directing Eivor's palm to stop at his heart. If the viking wore the intricate weapon as it was designed, on his inner wrist instead of his outer forearm, it would be such a simple thing for the man to land a killing strike. Yet, as it is now, to do so would first impale the back of his own hand before piercing Hytham’s chest. The thought is strange to Hytham. He should stop this madness and remove the weapon, but he trusts Eivor implicitly, however dangerous this act may be. It makes his breath come fast in his chest and he inhales deeply. 

At Hytham's particularly deep though stuttered inhale, Eivor looks up to meet the man’s intense blue eyes, seeing a feral look in them that excites the viking immensely. He realizes Hytham is near to breaking, the chains of his disciplined restraint growing weak, and he wants to see it happen. He breaks Hytham's loose hold on his wrist and purposefully drags his fingernails painfully down Hytham’s chest and waits for the reaction, a small smirk pulling at his lips and one raised eyebrow. 

It comes almost instantaneously. Hytham growls deep in his throat and pulls out of him with a hiss, right hand lunging forward to capture Eivor's wrist, and twisting him forcefully to his back, knocking the breath out of the viking’s startled lungs. He grabs Eivor's leg and puts it on his shoulder before entering the viking again, setting a brutal bruising pace that the viking knows he will feel for days, pushing the air from Eivor's lungs with every thrust. When the Hidden One leans down to place his hands near Eivor's head, Eivor throws his other leg over Hytham's hips, the new angle perfect and deep, allowing Hytham to increase his pace even further. With a deep moan, Eivor arches his back and reaches up to grip the headboard to stop the upward slide of his body. 

Hytham laughs breathlessly and brings his hands closer to Eivor, allowing the man to brace his shoulders against his wrists. This frees Eivor's hands to explore the darker man's body in full. He runs them up and over Hytham's chest and sides, feeling the strong muscles flex under his fingers. He rests them on strong biceps, wondering when the smaller man finds the time needed to continue his training and climbing. He eventually brings both hands to wrap around the man’s neck, fingers lightly gripping the back of his skull and thumbs resting on his pulse points, sending a shudder through the smaller man’s entire body. 

The feel of hands on Hytham's neck is glorious. Somehow, Eivor knows just how much pressure to apply without affecting his breathing and he decides to reward the man by changing the angle of his thrusts, Eivor moaning loudly when perfection is found. Hytham leans down to kiss the viking, a pained whine escaping the other’s chapped lips as his body is forced to bend in ways it isn’t accustomed, leg still braced as it is against Hytham's shoulder. The grip on Hytham's neck tightens as his thrusts become faster and stronger. Heavy panting and moans fill the air as both men finally seek their end. 

Hytham pushes Eivor deeper into the stretch, seeing how far he can force the bend in the man’s back and leg, how far he can push the man's limits. Hytham is not a dark or spiteful person, dangerous and deadly yes, when he needs to be, but never hurtful, especially with the ones he loves. Yet, the idea of pushing the strong and powerful viking to his limits is very enticing, and if Eivor's hard, leaking cock is any indication, he agrees. So Hytham continues the stretch, straightening his own legs and rising on his toes to maximize his thrusts, pulling a new plethora of sounds from the viking's lips. 

Soon, the direct assault of Hytham’s thrusts makes Eivor come untouched with a cry, hands tightening even further around the smaller man’s neck, causing the Hidden One to fight through the tight clenching of Eivor's lower body and follow him into release with a quiet groan. Hytham leans down and rests his forehead against Eivor's, their heavy breaths filling the small space between them. He slowly opens his eyes to look at Eivor, the bearded man's face flushed a deep pink, but a satiated smile on his lips and eyes bright. 

"You will forever astound me." Eivor's whispered praise reaches Hytham through a fog and he can only hum in reply.

Hytham pulls out after one final thrust of his hips and collapses in the middle of the bed, body completely relaxed and mind blissfully empty in its orgasmic haze. His eyes grow heavy while the waking world slowly falls away, a gentle press of lips against his skin his last conscious awareness before the darkness of sleep finally, finally engulfs him.

~*~

Hytham wakes with a gasp, not understanding what pulled him from sleep. For one strange, startling moment, he doesn't know where he is, and the missing comforting weight of his hidden blade quickens his heart. The sharp feeling of vulnerability is intensely worrisome. The room is dimly lit and he squints bleary eyes, staring curiously up at a high wooden ceiling very unlike the one of his Bureau. Instead of incense, the smell of woodsmoke fills his nose. He breathes deeply to keep himself focused and calm, assessing his surroundings and slowly becoming aware of the scent of a certain viking. He then registers the feel of soft bearskin blankets against his skin and the touch of wet heat descending on his cock. 

A crooked smile soon graces his lips when he looks down through sleep-heavy eyes to watch the viking lave attention on him, bringing him quickly to full arousal with clear hums and slurps of pleasure. Hytham groans at the sight and arches his hips into the feel of the strong viking's beard scratching his inner thighs and balls. Everything, the wet heat of Eivor's mouth, the pressure of his tongue, the scratch of his beard, the grip of his fingers, feels so much better than he had ever imagined it would. It is a struggle to keep his eyes open as he reaches down to twine his fingers into Eivor's braided hair, directing him lower to suck at his balls. Eivor's pleased groan vibrates through him, making him mindlessly thrust his hips up, selfishly requesting more. 

Instead, Eivor pulls away much too soon for Hytham's liking, licking his lips and admiring his work and the darker man's flushed skin. "Morning," he greets, voice raspy in a way not at all caused by sleep. 

"Is it?" Hytham asks with a smile. It is almost impossible to tell within these quarters, there are no windows here after all. Looking around, he notices that a few more candles have been lit within the room, but no sunlight reaches inside with Eivor's door closed as it is. 

"Probably near enough." Eivor shrugs awkwardly with one shoulder and rises to his knees, moving to straddle the smaller man's lean hips and settling his full weight on him, effectively trapping him though Hytham has absolutely no intention of leaving just yet, not when faced with such temptation. "Before you escape, I would have you once more." 

"Of course, you would," Hytham agrees with a small breathy laugh, watching hungrily as Eivor's aroused cock bobs heavily with his movements, already leaking in anticipation. Hytham's tongue darts out to wet his suddenly dry lips. "How long have you been awake?"

Eivor slowly slides his cock against Hytham's, feigning considering the question, before he comes to rest over his erect cock. "Long enough," he admits with a sly smile, wiggling his ass against Hytham's cock.

Hytham groans, eyes immediately darting down to the viking's groin, the slide of Eivor's ass against his cock making it flex and twitch in interest. Smiling at the slender man's reaction, Eivor takes Hytham's cock in hand and guides it into himself. The slide into the viking's unexpectedly well-prepared oil-slicked body is quick and easy, drawing a long, deep moan from the shorter man. 

"Long enough, indeed," Hytham gasps when Eivor immediately begins to rock his hips, taking no time at all to adjust. His body is slick and stretched, and the thought of Eivor fingering himself open next to Hytham while he slept brings a pleasant ache to the Hidden One's heart. How he adores this man. 

Tightening his abs, Hytham sits up to crush his lips against the viking's open panting mouth, pushing his tongue eagerly inside and tasting himself. One hand travels to the stronger man's hips, gripping to still their movements and allowing him to take Eivor in his other hand to please.

Eivor permits a few quick strokes to his cock before he pulls away from the kiss and lands a sharp nip of teeth to Hytham's sensitive neck. The Hidden One's sudden small moment of shock gives Eivor just enough time to push Hytham back down to the bed. "Allow me."

The smaller man submits and goes willingly, giving Eivor full control, relaxing under the viking's touch and tucking his right arm behind his head. He watches with an amused smile as Eivor meticulously changes the angle of his hips, brows furrowed in concentration as he searches for the perfect position. Hytham can feel the delicious clench of muscles as soon as he finds it and a quiet sigh escapes his parted lips in pleasure. 

A three-fingered hand ghosts up the viking's thigh, creating small paths of shivers in its wake. Eivor watches with hooded eyes as those fingers trail over his hip and rest upon his stomach directly next to the wound inflicted in Norway, simply feeling the stretch and pull of muscles beneath pale, tattooed skin. The Hidden One is captivated by the tattooed lines that bend and stretch across Eivor's flushed stomach, making the muscles appear all the more pronounced. 

Eivor soon brings both feet up to rest on the bed, spreading his knees wide and placing his palms on Hytham's chest for support. He is pleased to find that the new position allows him to both strengthen and quicken his movements, muscles clenching around the darker man's long cock as it slides deeply inside him. Hytham's eyes soon trail away from the tattoos to watch Eivor's ruddy cock bob with his every motion and leak steadily onto his own stomach, the heat of precum settling deep in his own muscles. 

Hytham runs his hand over his stomach, catching the thick liquid on his fingers. He strokes Eivor's cock with it twice but breaks contact when he sees Eivor's eyes focus on his hand, a devious thought forming within his young mind. Eivor watches the smaller man's hand travel slowly up Hytham's own body. He moans as he watches Hytham lick his hand from palm to fingertips, catching the milky fluid and holding it on his tongue for the viking to see before swallowing. Eivor's breath catches in his throat, his mouth drooling at the sight and the rhythm of his hips faltering. Hytham takes advantage of the wavering attention and thrusts his hips up into Eivor's body, pulling a sharp gasp from the viking who struggles to meet this new pace. 

Attention wavering, a slip of his foot makes Eivor gasp painfully through gritted teeth, the tight clench of damaged abdominal muscles pulling at his wound as he instinctively tenses to hold himself upright. He freezes, a suddenly shaky hand holding his right side as he wills his breath to remain even, eyes clenched tight as he fights through the sharp pain. He can feel Hytham sit up and strong hands are soon on his shoulders. He opens his eyes to see Hytham's brows furrowed in concern, but calms his fears, saying, "I'll be fine."

"Then, allow me now." Hytham's words are comforting, telling the viking that the night will not be over before he is ready. He smiles and nods, glad the slender man is willing to continue. 

Hytham grips the back of Eivor's neck and rolls them to the other side of the bed. He gives the taller man a brief moment to wrap his legs around his lean hips before setting a fast and brutal pace, aimed to bring them both to climax quickly. Eivor soon struggles to keep his eyes focused on Hytham through the pleasure. Hytham's long cock strikes deep within him, causing his cock to leak steadily onto his stomach. Eivor is close. Hytham can feel it. A few more well-placed and paced thrusts and he knows the viking will be done. It is inevitable. 

Unexpectedly for the smaller man, Eivor grips the base of his own cock and squeezes hard to delay his orgasm. It is much too soon for this encounter to end. There may never be another. The sudden shock of Eivor's body clenching tightly around him in a dry orgasm causes the Hidden One to gasp out Eivor's name as he comes, hands grasping the other's hips in a bruising grip. Eivor smiles and leans up to kiss the man, wrapping his hands around the other's neck gently and waiting for his orgasmic haze to clear. 

As it does, the mirth in Hytham's eyes amuses the viking when he looks down at Eivor's erect cock. "Not finished with me yet?" the shorter man asks. 

"Never." Eivor loathes the thought that another five years will pass before he can experience this again. He will take everything he can. 

Hytham nods and leans down to kiss the viking once more before sliding away and off the bed. "Come." He reaches out and grabs Eivor's hand, pulling him against himself and turning to push him into the wooden beam near that table. 

The dig of that same beam into Eivor's naked back brings memories of that morning so long ago. "Hytham?" he questions, concern lacing his speech. 

Hytham presses his body tighter against the viking's, grinding his hips into the other's. He presses light kisses on Eivor's neck and whispers into his ear. "Do you wish to know my thoughts back then?" Eivor nods, both surprised and relieved he is not the only one thinking of the morning after their first encounter. "Here, let me show you."

Hytham drops to his knees and peppers a few kisses onto the tip of Eivor's cock before licking a long line up it and taking it within his mouth. It has been too long since he last did this, he mentally notes. He will have to go slow. He moans around Eivor's thick cock and bobs his head a few times in experiment. Quickly he finds a rhythm and swallows around the viking, taking him slowly down his throat. The action is difficult, but he is pleased to note that it is much easier on his lungs this time. He feels Eivor's hands come up to lightly grip his head and he smiles, looking up to meet pleasure-glazed blue eyes. 

The sight of Hytham on his knees and looking up at him has Eivor's own knees growing weak. The younger man is exquisite. He never wants to forget this. Eivor gently rocks his hips, not knowing how much the smaller man is willing to take, but Hytham gradually increases his pace, the steady scrape of his short beard on Eivor's thighs a pleasant sensation. Eivor gently tightens his grip on Hytham's head and when he meets no resistance, pulls him quickly forward and forces his cock deep into the Hidden One's throat. 

The unexpected thrust makes Hytham gag and pull away coughing. Eivor gasps in both pleasure and surprise and releases Hytham's head, guilt quickly distorting pleasure. Hytham looks up at him through tear-heavy eyes and grins. "Don't stop," he commands, grabbing Eivor's wrist and directing it to his neck. He hums into Eivor's first few hesitant thrusts, but is not satisfied until Eivor's other hand comes to tangle in his short hair. The feel of Eivor's heavy hands against his skin sends jolts of pleasure down to Hytham's spent cock. 

In encouragement, Hytham thrusts his fingers back into the viking's warm and now wet heat, pressing hard against his prostrate, making Eivor grip his head tighter, pulling him forward to bury his nose against his abdomen. This time, Hytham is prepared and swallows easily around Eivor's length. His fingers find the rhythm Eivor sets, matching their paces. The simultaneous feeling of his cock hitting the back of Hytham's throat and Hytham's fingers deep in his ass is enough to tell the viking that he will not last long. He snaps his hips faster, grips Hytham's hair tighter, and pulls his head forward harder. 

He notices when Hytham's hands fall away to reach for his own cock, hastily stroking himself as Eivor selfishly takes his pleasure from him. The intensity of Hytham's strokes shake his entire body, the sound of skin slapping filling the room and driving Eivor to move even faster. At the sight of another quick glance upwards, Eivor is undone and pulls Hytham's head fully forward, burying himself deep down the man's throat and holding him there as his orgasm runs through him. He can feel the moment Hytham comes himself as his face is fully pressed against Eivor's heated skin. As the last of his spend is sent down Hytham's throat, he slowly releases his grip on the dark-skinned man, Hytham slowly pulling away and licking his lips. Eivor's legs are trembling and he leans heavily against the beam at his back for support, breathing heavily in exertion. 

Hytham rises to his feet and embraces the viking, kissing him deeply. "A better morning than last?" he quietly asks, a smirk sitting on his lips. 

"Much," the viking breathes, wrapping strong arms around the slight man. "But now I require more rest." 

Hytham laughs in agreement and follows the viking back into bed, tucking comfortably into his left side and falling asleep quickly. 

~*~

Eivor wakes to the feeling of cooling skin on his left side and notices Hytham is no longer there. He raises he eyes to see the Hidden One quietly dressing himself in his simple robes and trousers. It is strange to see him without his many layers of clothing, belts, and sashes. It makes him look even smaller than normal. 

“Escaping again, I see.” Eivor's voice is raspy, with sleep this time, and his body is pleasantly sore from their actions.

The wink that Hytham sends his way makes him smile. “There is much to do if my new Mentor is to be pleased," Hytham barely manages to say above a whisper. His throat will be sore for days and his muscles will ache in pleasant reminder. He would have it no other way.

Eivor sits up and looks over the lithe man standing in his room. This is the man he knows. This is the man he has come to love and respect. The stranger he encountered last night is nowhere to be seen. It is good. 

“Be careful with your grief, Hytham," Eivor warns needlessly. "It will consume you if you let it.” 

Eivor could say it was guilt that allowed this night of shared pleasure, the ghostly feeling of his blade sinking into Basim's flesh, but in all actuality, it was the memories of their shared bed years ago that was the truth. He will continue to fight for this man. He will not lose him. He will find a way to have this man again and he will do everything in his power to convince him to stay in Ravensthorpe. 

“I understand. You need not worry.”

Hytham smiles brightly at the viking and walks out of the room, tethering the thought that leaving is easier this time, less guilt-infused now that Basim is gone forever. He grabs a few loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, and a bowl of stew for his day’s meals and sets to work at once.