#once again the vindication i felt seeing that ask abt sabir starting things with a shoulder massage and having this written already.....

[lvllns]

They’re bent over the small desk, hair falling over their shoulder in messy waves, when they hear the door click open.

“Five minutes,” Korazair mumbles, brows furrowing as they tap their finger on a missive spread out in front of them.

“My dear, that’s what you said two hours ago.” Sabir’s voice is low but that doesn’t stop them from jumping. Eyes going wide as they finally, finally look up.

The candles have burned down a few marks, dying flames flickering as they run the risk of guttering. Whatever weak light had been shining through the windows at the sun set is long gone. Only a cool darkness blankets the room now, soft moonlight sprawling across the floor. It has, quite clearly, been far longer than five minutes and he has, so graciously, left them alone for far longer than he should have. Far longer than he needed.

Korazair blinks. Rubs at their face and grins sheepishly at Sabir. “Apologies, I just...got caught up.” They scratch the back of their neck, gaze flicking to the door behind him. “You should have gone to sleep.”

He arches one brow, arms folding over his chest. “I was asleep. Then I woke up and found the rest of my bed still cold.”

They exhale slowly, sagging down in their chair as they pinch the bridge of their nose. “If I knew there was this much fucking paperwork involved in being Commander…”

Sabir snorts, his hands dropping to rest on their shoulders, thumbs pressing into the nape of their neck. There isn’t even a moment for them to be shocked at how he managed to move across the room without them noticing before he’s methodically working at a knot over their left shoulder blade. Zair leans into his touch with a quiet hum, eyes fluttering shut. He gathers up their hair. Twists it around until it’s neatly piled on the top of their head with pins he pulled from who knows where.

“It will still be here in the morning,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to their temple, fingers skimming down beneath the loose shirt they’re wearing to settle between their shoulder blades.

“Unfortunately,” they grumble, hissing when he hits a particularly painful knot. He makes a soothing sound. Kisses the back of their skull, and press down harder. “Ah, fuck.” They start to wiggle away but he catches them by the shoulder. “Sabir…”

“Hush,” he says.

Zair swallows and tries to glare at him over their shoulder but he just chuckles.

“You’re tense, relax.”

With a long, slow exhale, they drop their shoulders. Let their head tip forward until their chin rests against their chest. They don’t realize they’re softly hissing, a quiet rumble in their chest, until Sabir chuckles.

“Come to bed, my love.” He kisses the words into their neck, lips moving to find that spot behind their ear.

Zair groans. “Sabir, the light of my life, the honey to my suckle—”

“Oh, nope, don’t like that one,” he interrupts with a laugh, hands pausing their work, fingers resting along their collarbones.

Indignant, they whip their head around to playfully glare at him. “You don’t get to trot out your damage inducing dad puns—”

“Damage inducing?!” he sputters.

“—and complain about my experimental terms of endearment,” they continue, ignoring that he’s even spoken at all.

His dark eyes glitter in the dying candle light, and they can see the corner of his mouth hook in a small smile. “Damage inducing? Dad puns?” He scoffs amusedly. “I thought you liked my puns.”

“I love them, that doesn’t mean they don’t cause pain.”

Fingers drumming along their shoulders, he makes a considering sound before, “Kora,” his voice is gentle, and oh they are weak to him when he uses that name, “this will all be here in the morning, you need to rest.” They open their mouth and he gently slaps a palm over it. “Please.”

Zair opens their mouth to answer and finds themself ripped from the memory. It flickers, fades, Sabir’s face melting like wax behind the lids of their eyes. They whimper, keeping their eyes shut tight in an attempt to avoid dealing with their current situation. Their arm throbs. Pain rips through it, from the shoulder to the wrist. It feels like the bones are shifting, resetting. Shattering and reforming. An endless loop of pain.

It isn’t until they realize they’re trying to shift that they’re able to stop the unnecessary pain.

They press their forehead to their knees, broken arm carefully cradled against their body, and they lean against the wall at their back. When the footsteps stop right outside the cell they’re in, they remain silent. Easy enough to ignore what is probably a guard, come to taunt and tease and prod at emotional wounds until they get bored with Zair’s lack of reaction.

What they’re absolutely not expecting is to hear Sabir whisper, “Korazair.”

Zair laughs, the sound cracking in their dry throat. There’s no way this is real. Fluttering their eyes open, they roll their head until their temple is pressed against a knee. His form is watery, unfocused, and Zair blinks rapidly until it clears. He looks more solid at least, but the chances of him successfully sneaking down here are well below zero.

“Fever must be worse than I thought,” they mutter.

Sabir’s face falls as he frowns. “You have a fever?” He steps closer to the bars, one hand lifting as though he means to...to…

Zair shrugs. “Probably. I don’t know.” They return to staring at the ground between their legs, forehead to their knees. “Can’t really be bothered to check.”

“Your arm—”

“Is well broken,” they hiss, voice going sharp. “Syfyn made damn sure of that, at least.” Zair sits up. Lets their head fall back to rest along the damp stone behind them. “Why are you here?”

He sighs. Props a shoulder against the bars of their cell and shrugs. “I wanted to see you without a host of officials and guards and royalty to pick apart every word spoken.”

They go still as they watch him, body remaining loose and lax, a lie as they insist they’re not a threat. Bright gold eyes lock onto his face before they say, “Esme got you in here, didn’t she?” Sabir hesitates. Something nobody else would pick up, but it appears Zair is still intimately acquainted with his mannerisms. “Then who?”

“Trystan,” he says.

Zair nods. Says nothing else as they close their eyes once more.

The silence that settles is strained. Thick with tension. Part of them wants to break it, to snap it in half and cut their hands on the shards of it. They hear him swallow once, twice, before he exhales heavily.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

They laugh until it turns into a cough. Zair winces as their arm is jerked, sagging against the wall while they try to catch their breath when it’s all over.

“I mean it.”

“Good luck,” they sneer, eyes rolling as they open them. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I fought for you three years ago, what makes you think I wouldn’t fight for you now?”

Climbing to their feet is awkward and painful, they hiss when their arm bounces against their side. Taking the four steps necessary to be close enough to Sabir to smell him, to see his eyelashes in the dim light of the dungeon, is a monumental effort. They drop their head to the bars, their good hand curling around the chilly metal.

“Sabir, there’s a—”

“We are out of time,” Trystan snaps as they come skidding around the corner. “Syfyn is getting suspicious.” They won’t look at Zair and that stings worse than anything else so far.

Well, until Sabir reaches up and curls his warm fingers around their cold ones. His thumb drags over the ridges of their knuckles. “Kora—”

“Don’t,” they whisper, voice breaking, “please Sabir, don’t.”

He lifts their hand. Pulls it through the bars just enough that he can kiss their palm before releasing it. “Soon,” he speaks into their skin.

Zair shudders, the sensation flowing down their spine, and Trystan is dragging Sabir away before they can say anything else.