#☼*・ﾟ Friends — ↳ oathwilled

[feuerwizard]

@oathwilled asked: ❛Get off me! No! No! Wait - wait, I'm sorry -❜ // late night panic attack;; open

The adrenaline-fueled rush of being caught in a fight is nothing new for Caleb and Paerin, despite their best efforts to avoid trouble these days. But this time, an ambush had put them in a precarious position with no easy way out. Despite their individual expertise and Paerin’s quick reflexes, being outnumbered was never favorable. Two against several more was daunting even for the most skilled.

Caleb grimaces in pain, his body already ravaged by injuries and his mind racing to find a way to protect himself (primarily so Paerin could focus on himself and not aiding him.) But before he could even begin to polymorph into a larger creature, his plans are thwarted by an unexpected wrench. One of opposing team’s mages, a tall man with cruel, glinting eyes, stepped forward and locked gazes with Paerin. The man's lips curled into a smile as he raised a hand wreathed in sickly green flames. The human watches as Paerin suddenly cries out and clutches his head, his sword clattering to the ground.

"Fuck," a string of curses in common burst from the wizard's lips, changing course to dash towards an incapacitated Paerin instead. With seemingly no other choice, Caleb grabs Paerin by the arm (with his sword) and utters the incantation for his last remaining teleportation spell. In a flash of blinding amber light, the two vanish immediately, leaving their enemies cursing in frustration behind them. They materialize in a sheltered glade some leagues distant, truthfully, Caleb has no idea where they are. But he quickly turns to his boyfriend who thrashes him away as the spell’s effects begin to fade.

Get off me! No! No! Wait - wait, I'm sorry - And despite knowing that Paerin is not a threat, Caleb instincts kick in and he takes a step back with hands raised, the front of his clothing stained crimson with blood.

[feuerwizard]

Caleb huffs a soft laugh at Paerin's words, nuzzling into the crook of the paladin's neck. "I think I have some idea," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Paerin's ear. "It has been a while for me as well." And gods, but it feels good to be touched like this again. To be wanted, desired, even cherished. For now, he is content to simply bask in the warmth of their shared body heat, the comforting weight of Paerin's arm draped across his waist.

Outside, the wind howls, driving snow against the walls of their small tent. But inside, they are cocooned in a bubble of warmth and contentment, the rest of the world falling away until there is only this. Caleb knows they will have to face reality again come morning—the long road ahead, the dangers that await them. But for now, he allows himself this small moment of peace. Of happiness.

"We should get some rest," the human says after a long moment, words slightly slurred with approaching sleep. "Morning will come far too soon." But he makes no move to disentangle himself from Paerin's embrace, instead burrowing closer with a soft sigh. Caleb presses one last kiss to the corner of the paladin's mouth before letting his eyes drift closed, a small smile playing at his lips. "Gute Nacht, Paerin."

“ We all got our shit, ” he sighs. “ I don’t think y’can get out of this lift without some of it. ” It’s a heavy thought, that — and one that he doesn’t like to linger on in a lot of ways. There’s a lot of weight in his own past, and there’s no shortage of it that haunts him still — and he’s bad about talking about it, because he’s also bad at shoving it aside and not thinking about it until it creeps up on him and makes itself known. “ If there’s one thing I ever learned, ‘s that nothin’ worth a shit ever comes easy, anyhow. ”

The kiss is welcome, warm, and he returns it with a sense of something tense easing, relaxing, allowing himself to breathe. He takes in a deep breath of his own and lets it go slow, relaxing back against the bedrolls and the mess of blankets and warm bodies. It’s nice — it feels nice, warm, welcome. More so than he’s felt in awhile, and certainly in recent months. “ An’ I’m not askin’ for easy, anyhow. Honesty, aye. Me to you, too. An’ just —— “ He hesitates, because it feels —— vulnerable to say so, but he continues: “ I don’t know. Me for me an’ you for you, y’know? ”

And he runs a hand up Caleb’s back, over his shoulders, over the back of his neck — and he presses a kiss to his temple, trying a little warm smile. “ Nothin’ t’thank me for. ” And then, fingers still playing lightly between his shoulders and a little smile curling, adds a little wryly: “ An’ just so you know: I really needed that. Y’got no idea. ”

[feuerwizard]

starter for @oathwilled

Caleb is exhausted.

Bruised and battered and achingly tired. Not that his companions are faring any better than him, considering the circumstances. These cursed lands are unbearably bleak for all of them, even Caleb. This day in particular has been a blur of encounters with Absolute Cultists or shadow creatures, one after the other. This small band remaining would have been an easy match, if not for the fact that he and Paerin are scouting alone and already drained from previous battles.

Fighting continues and continues and continues—they are both ready to end this. The wizard’s hands tremble as he reaches for his component pouch, fingers fumbling for a pinch of bat guano and sulfur. Standing behind the paladin, lips moving, mumbling the incantation as he focuses the remaining energy he has left. A bead of sweat trickles down his brow, mingling with the grime and dirt that cakes his skin. Air crackling with arcane energy as the fireball takes shape, a searing orb of flames that illuminates and hurls towards the last of the cultists.

The fireball explodes in a blinding flash, engulfing the enemy in a maelstrom of fire and smoke. Their enemies scream as the flames consume them, clothing igniting and flesh blistering in the intense heat. But as the smoke clears and the charred bodies of cultists lie smoldering on the ground, Caleb's mind is assaulted by a flood of memories. The acrid scent of burning flesh, the agonized screams, the searing heat—it all comes rushing back, a vivid and horrifying reminder. Panic seeps in and Caleb's knees buckle as he collapses to the ground.

[feuerwizard]

@oathwilled asked: "brave. dead. it’s semantics, really." // critical role starters;; closed (carried over from my previous blog)

Bright  blue  orbs  flicker  up  from  the  depths  of  a  battered  bag,  scouring  for  any  useful  items  amidst  the  wreckage  they’ve  wrought—the  remnants  of  chaotic  and  rather  close  battle,  not  typically  Caleb’s  preferred  method  of  conflict.  He  has  never  been  the  brave  type.  “Ja?  For  once  I  agree  with  you.”

If  they  continue  to  run  headfirst  into  any  dangerous  situation,  they  may  not  be  quite  so  lucky  next  time  in  managing  to  fight  their  way  out.  Caleb  is  becoming  increasingly  concerned  they  have  somehow fallen  in  with  a  pack  of  complete  lunatics  incapable  of  keeping  a  low  profile.  “Exercising  a  little  bit  of  caution  goes  a  long  way.  I’m  sure  you  know.”

[feuerwizard]

THEY’RE A 10 BUT he's gonna give himself frostbite and have LESS than 10 fingers if he doesn't remember to pack gloves :|||

♢      —        send  [ THEY’RE A 10 BUT … ]  and finish it in my muse’s inbox.

"I do pack gloves," wiggles his fingerless gloves that do not work at all, "so picky."

[feuerwizard]

The  wizard  takes  no  notice  of  the  firm  hold  on  his  hand,  understanding  that  Paerin  is  simply  attempting to  process  the  overwhelming  surge  of  emotions.  He  listens  attentively  as  his  lover  offers  a  gentle  apology,  then  lifts  the  paladin's  hand  to  his  lips  and  presses  a  reassuring  kiss  to  the  warm,  calloused  skin  of  his  palm.  The  warmth  of  their  touch  lingers  even  for  Gale,  a  tiny  but  powerful  comfort  in  the  midst  of  turbulent  feelings.

“Yes,  well,  I  do  suppose  these  tadpoles  and  the  larger  implications  are  quite  important,  but  that  does  not  mean  your  struggles  are  unimportant.”  He  clarifies  then  pauses,  considering  his  next  words  carefully.  “But  know  this,  Paerin,  when  the  time  is  right  we  will  handle  it,  if  you  would  like  to.  Your  burdens  are  mine  to  share  now,  if  you'll  allow  it.”

Though  Gale’s  heart  clenches  a  bit  at  the  thought  of  Paerin  seeking  revenge,  he  also  knows  it  is  not  his  decision  to  make.  He  can  only  offer  his  unwavering  support,  just  as  Paerin  has  done  for  him  countless  times  before.

For  now,  Gale  lets  the  uncertainty  go,  allowing  himself  to  simply  exist  in  this  moment  with  Paerin,  to  be  what  he  needs.  There  would  be  time  enough  later  to  unravel  the  rest.  He  tugs  the  half-elf  close,  wrapping  his  arms  around  him  and  holding  him  tight,  as  if  to  imprint  some  feeling  of  closeness,  security,  and  love  onto  his  soul.

"  Maybe,  "  he  utters,  voice  thick.  The  idea  that  it  was  all  planned  and  intentional  is  hard  to  reconcile;  he  spent  a  long  time  traveling  with  this  person,  and  as  with  many  who  one  travels  with  for  a  long  time,  he  considered  them  near  as  close  as  a  kind  of  family.  That  kind  of  betrayal  is  beyond  what  he  can  reason,  and  so  the  truth  of  it  all  is  still  rattling  unsettled  in  the  back  of  his  mind.  Perhaps  that’s  why  it’s  so  easy  to  latch  on  to  that  possibility  — that  he  came  to  reason  in  the  end,  or  had  a  change  of  heart,  or  ——

He  realizes  he’s  gripping  Gale’s  hand  a  little  too  tight,  and  he  immediately  relaxes  it  with  a  muttered  apology,  but  he’s  grateful  for  the  closeness.  He’s  just  —— rattled,  because  betrayal?  For  all  his  flaws,  once  he  decides  to  trust,  he  trusts  utterly  and  without  question  — and  maybe  that  makes  the  betrayal  all  that  more  pointed. 

"  I  don’t  know  what  I  want,  "  he  admits  at  last,  dour.  "  Part  o’  me  wants  t’chase  him  down,  find  him,  find  out  what  the  hells  he  was  —— is  —— tryin’  to  do.  "  There’s  a  conflicted  and  hard  glimmer  in  his  eye  that  suggests  that  it  wouldn’t  be  a  peaceful  or  diplomatic  conversation.  "  An’  the  other  part  o’  me  just  —— "  

He  takes  in  a  deep  breath,  lets  it  go,  and  blue  eyes  flicker  wearily  over  to  the  wizard.  "  I  know,  "  he  says,  and  he  means  it.  "  An’  for  now,  nothin’  changes.  Unless  he  shows  up  or  forces  my  hand,  I’ll  just  —— deal  with  it  later.  "  He  grimaces.  "  World  endin’  threats,  first.  "

[feuerwizard]

Caleb gives a subtle nod, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. He leans into Paerin briefly, savoring the solid warmth of the paladin at his side. "Danke," he murmurs, his breath ghosting across Paerin's ear. "I will see you outside then, ja?"

With a final meaningful look, the wizard turns and makes his way towards the ornate double doors that mark the entrance to the library. His footsteps are soft against the plush carpeting, muffled by the towering shelves on either side. As he walks, Caleb can't help but marvel at the sheer volume of knowledge surrounding him. So many secrets waiting to be discovered, so much history and magic bound in leather and parchment.

The doors swing open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges, and Caleb steps out into the crisp autumn air. The sun hangs low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. A light breeze ruffles his hair, carrying with it the scent of wood smoke and drying leaves. Caleb pulls his scarf tighter around his neck and leans against the rough stone wall of the library, content to wait for his partner in crime… literally.

Lost in thought, he almost doesn't notice when Paerin emerges from the library a short while later, his face flushed and eyes bright. The paladin stops in front of Caleb, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Ready to go, then?" the wizard asks, reaching out to brush a stray curl from the paladin’s forehead.

This place is vast. Rows upon rows, tall aisles with books everywhere, some stacked at the ends, boxes of scrolls here and there. He could get lost in here — actually lost — if he wasn’t careful, even though it’s simultaneously so quiet and stuffy that he’s pretty sure he could hear a mouse sneeze from across the entire place.

He’s not an idiot; he knows what Caleb’s doing, and knows it well. He’s been friends too often with rogues and bards and other nimble-fingered mischief-minded sorts, and so long as it’s not actively malicious or harmful he turns a blind eye to it. There’s far greater things for him to worry over.

He tchs his tongue. “ Nothin’ so good as more great big werewolf appendages, ” he says, dry, amused, eyeing the coat as Caleb gives it a pat, and snorts softly. “ Aye, aye, c’mon, then. And don’t, ” a little glimmer of wry amusement in the narrowing of his own blue eyes, ”go losin’, uh, pages out the bottom. ”

There’s a desk up front, and he taps the couple books that were pulled out before, including the one of fairy tales, leaning close to Caleb’s ear as they walk. “ Go on out. I’ll pay for these. ” Which will likely only be a little coin, and he figures it’ll be a distraction anyway. “ I’ll meet y’outside. ”

[feuerwizard]

It’s a rare thing, to be given the freedom to move at his own pace, to not be pushed or pressured into more than he is ready for right now. And a kindness that Caleb is unaccustomed to receiving, especially from someone who is still, in many senses of the word, a complete stranger.

"I… appreciate that," he responds softly, and a small hint of something resembling a smile. "And for what it is worth, I also had a nice time last night." More than nice, if he is being honest with himself, even if it wasn’t the decision he should have made. A moment where he had allowed himself to simply be, to exist in the present without the weight of the past bearing down on him.

But the light of day has a way of bringing reality crashing back in, of reminding him of all the reasons why he cannot let his guard down completely. Not yet, at least, or ever. Not until he has had a chance to sort through the tangled mess of his thoughts and emotions and ambitions for his life, to figure out what it is he is really striving for now.

“Anyways, ah, glad we are not dead?” A beat of silence. “This is very awkward, so I’m going to go now. Excuse me.” Caleb hastily collects the rest of his garments and his personal belongings before scurrying out of Paerin's tent. The cold air bites at pale skin, but he pays it no mind as he makes a beeline for solitude. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the wizard summons his familiar before him. The small cat staring at him with judgment in his eyes. “Ja… I know.”

He knows that look all too well, and not only because he's worn it enough. Of course, everyone's withholding something — that's how this goes, isn't it? He doesn't hold it against anybody, and isn't interested in prying everything out, either. His curiosity is a tempered beast, and he learned long ago that most things are none of his business unless they are volunteered.

He watches him for a long moment, only dipping his chin at the thanks in a nod, and instead busies himself with finding a shirt to pull on — if it gives the other a few moments to more privately deal with that struggle over his emotions, that's just —— coincidental.

" See, usually when I'm told time for a talk, it don't mean anythin' good, " he angles over with a wry grin, the levity intentional; it's how he deals with tension, for better or worse. He sobers a little after, swiftly, grin fading to a more crooked, scarce smile. " Y'know where I am. I'm not lookin' to push you into anythin' you en't comfortable with. Talkin', fu—— "

He bites his tongue, censoring himself with a more measured, " —— more o' this, " because it's not like that but he's him and his language is what it is, and then looks briefly pained with a pinch between his brows, like he's aggravated himself, " an' anyhow, I'll just leave it with: I had a good time last night, an' if y'ever want to talk, aye, well. I'm shit at it, but you're welcome in. "

[feuerwizard]

Caleb nods, still shivering as he makes his way over to the small pile of kindling and branches that Paerin has assembled. "Ja, of course," he says, teeth chattering. His fingers are stiff and clumsy from the cold as he digs through his components pouch, but he manages to find a pinch of phosphorus.

With a muttered incantation and a flick of his wrist, the kindling bursts into merry flames, the sudden warmth a welcome reprieve from their sodden state. Caleb huddles close to the fire, holding his hands out to it and sighing in relief as feeling slowly returns to his extremities.

"A few years is a long time," he remarks, glancing over at Paerin. "I cannot imagine Frumpkin would be very pleased with me either, if I left him on his own for so long." He's trying to keep his tone light, but there's an unspoken question there—what kept you away? But he doesn't press, figuring Paerin will share if and when he's ready.

Instead, Caleb focuses on peeling off his waterlogged coat and boots, setting them close to the fire to dry. His shirt and trousers are still damp and clingy, but taking them off would be a step too far, so he simply huddles closer to the flames, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Paerin sloshes out of the water, boots making thick squelching noises on the muddy banks. He's supporting Caleb as best he can while still trying to keep his own balance, and once they're on dry land he squeezes water out of his beard and mops it off his face, for all the good it does when all the rest of him is sopping wet.

" Y'don't got to be polite, " he says with a snort. " He's an arse. " Despite the irritation, though, there's absolutely an undercurrent of genuine affection, as exasperated as he is at the moment. A little cut over of blue eyes regards the animal, who sideeyes him back while trying to appear completely nonchalant.

" He's been with me since I was barely more'n a boy an' Godsworn still, even. Been through it all with me. Saved my hide more times than I can count. " And, briefly, he sobers. " Both on th'battlefield an' off. " He shakes his head, though, dispelling that more somber truth, and he huffs. " He's still an arse. Some'd say th'same of me, though, so I guess it suits. "

He hisses a breath as he's getting a little cold, now, and he rolls his eyes and tromps up the embankment enough to get some cover overhead and dry ground, and he starts shoving together a firepit. " An' sorry, he's mad at me because it's —— been a few years, I guess. " He grimaces, then gestures to the fire. " Can you light this? "

[feuerwizard]

The human's eyes flick to the offered shirt and he accepts it with a faint, grateful smile. "Danke. I think perhaps I will save the blood-soaked fashion statements for another day," he murmurs dryly. Shrugging out of his ruined garment with a wince, he pulls on the clean linen shirt. It hangs loosely on his slim frame, but it is soft and blessedly free of grime.

"I… appreciate the sentiment, but I would not wish you to be, ah, 'knocked stupid' on my behalf." Blue eyes dance with mirth behind wayward auburn locks, uncharacteristically so for Caleb. "We are all in this together, after all. Your well-being is just as important, if not more important, than mine."

The wizard reaches for his component pouch, nimble fingers seeking a bit of fleece. A few arcane words fall from his lips and the small campfire before them flares brighter, chasing away the evening's chill. "Besides, I suspect our enemies will not always be so easily provoked. It never hurts to have a few tricks up one's sleeve."

He levels a meaningful look at the paladin, lips curving into a conspiratorial smirk. For all his bookish appearance, there is a keen intellect behind those eyes—one that has gotten them out of as many predicaments as it has gotten them into. Magic missile and fireball are not his only weapons.

The oathsworn gives a little snort. " I'm just good at pissin' people off, " he muses, humored but a little wry. " An' y'can only get knocked stupid so many times before there's no more stupid t'be knocked off, an' I figure I'm already most th'way there anyhow. " He gives a little grin, attempting for levity. " Best person for th'job, me. "

He's a little relieved and it shows. He doesn't hide his thoughts well, and he's experienced enough in the ways of adventuring to know its dangers intimately. When a group is getting to know each other, all their strengths and weaknesses, all the ways they complement one another and all the ways they don't — it's the most dangerous time, and things like this are why.

( He tries not to blame himself when others get hurt, but it's a given that he will anyway; paladins wear guilt like a second skin. )

He does eye the shirt, though, and holds up a hand in a wait and pulls up a nearby bag to root through it; he doesn't even know whose it is, but he finds a simple linen shirt in a pale green, and it may be a little big but it will at least serve for now. " Unless yer just wantin' to make a statement, " he adds, soberly, brows lifted. " I don't know what sort o' statement, but it'd be a statement, I guess. "

[feuerwizard]

As  Gale  listens  to  Paerin's  playful  banter,  a  genuine  laugh  escapes  the  wizard’s  lips,  the  sound  filling  the  room  with  a  warmth  that  mirrors  the  flickering  candlelight.  He  leans  in  to  press  a  soft  kiss  to  Paerin's  cheek  before  drawing  back  slightly,  his  gaze  meeting  the  paladin's  bright  blue  and  beautiful  eyes  with  an  affection  that  speaks  volumes  without  so  much  the  need  for  words.

"I  have  no  doubt  about  your  impeccable  behavior,"  Gale  teases,  brown  eyes  sparkling  with  warm  affection.  "But  I  must  confess,  after  all  this  time,  I  rather  enjoy  your  lack  of  restraint."  His  thumb  brushes  against  Paerin's  cheek,  tracing  a  gentle  path  along  that  strong  jawline.  “You  will  have  to  indulge  me  later,  my  darling.”

There  is  comfort  in  this  quiet  intimacy,  in  the  exchange  of  unspoken  promises  and  shared  history.  Each  scar  and  each  triumph  has  woven  them  closer  together,  creating  a  bond  that  transcends  any  simple  oath  or  ceremony.  Paerin,  with  his  rough  edges  and  tender  heart,  never  fails  to  surprise  him.  The  wizard  knows  well  the  fire  that  burns  within  his  lover,  a  fire  that  has  drawn  him  closer  from  the  very  beginning.  It  is  that  same  fire  that  now  hardens  Pearin's  resolve,  pushing  him  forward  despite  his  nerves  and  doubts.

And  Gale  adores  him  for  it.

" Ah, but y'like the words an' ceremonies. " And it's gentle, it is: a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth and he draws close, pulling their intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of the wizard's much more delicate fingers. There's a little tease in there, maybe, but it's wrapped 'round with a warmth, too. " An' they're important to you. So, aye, it's not about any o' that, but —— it's got import, too. We all got our traditions an' what's important to us. "

He'd be a fool not to recognize it — and perhaps there's still some old part of him, too, that respects tradition and ceremony. Paladins and clerics are often steeped in it, after all; one doesn't accept their oaths without a great deal of it, even jaded as one might become as time passes.

The reassurance makes him give a small, tilted smile, and he leans into the kiss —— practically melts into it, really, all eager and warm and likely a little too heated for circumstance, but when is he ever not? —— but he slips back a moment later after chasing it to its natural end, and that smile lingers. " I know it. An' I'm not backin' out. I'll be fine. I'll even behave an' hold my tongue for after I got you, " and a tap to his chest, a little cheek to that grin, " alone later. "

[feuerwizard]

Caleb  watches  as  Frumpkin  prowls  around  the  gate,  his  orange  tail  swishing  back  and  forth  in  concentration.  Paerin's  question  hangs  in  the  air,  heavy  with  unspoken  warnings.  And  the  wizard  hesitates  for  a  moment,  considering  his  answer  carefully.  “I  don’t  know,  but  that  is  what  makes  me  all  the  more  curious.”  Wizards  and  their  insatiable  fascination.  As  unconventional  a  mage  Caleb  may  be,  he  is  still  aware  he  fits  the  stereotype.

Anything  well  protected  behind  a  trap  has  something  valuable  to  hide—a  faint  but  distinct  energy,  traces  of  the  Weave,  emanates  from  the  book  even  from  this  far  away.  “I  have…  many  things  in  my  life  I  want  to  achieve,  and  I  want  to  learn  more.”  Caleb's  words  tumble  out,  hesitant  and  guarded.  He  is  cautious  to  reveal  too  much  of  himself  to  his  companions,  but  Pearin's  reluctance  only  heightens  Caleb's  unease.  Holy  men.  Every  word  is  measured,  as  though  he's  walking  across  a  tightrope  with  no  safety  net  beneath.

Caleb's  attention  is  immediately  drawn  to  the  sound  of  Frumpkin's  meow.  The  book  in  question  is  far  too  large  for  the  small  cat,  even  for a  familiar.

Paerin  has,  bluntly,  had  far  too  much  of  forbidden  knowledge  and  magical  temptation  for  a  lifetime;  if  given  the  choice,  he’d  be  perfectly  content  letting  the  most  of  it  rot  somewhere  far  below.  If  he  ever  was  a  man  who  was  drawn  to  such  things,  that  man  was  jaded  and  given  a  harsh  dose  of  reality  years  ago.  

And  so:  he  doesn’t  watch  the  book  so  much  as  the  wizard,  his  mouth  thinned  at  the  corners  and  his  brow  creased  just  barely.  There’s  a  number  of  thoughts  that  dance  unsaid,  but  for  now  he  swallows  them  all.  Instead,  he  watches  the  cat,  and  gives  the  familiar  enough  space  to  wend  about.  He  has  no  better  solution;  his  solution  to  traps  is  often  blunt  force,  and  while  he  can  occasionally  manage  some  magical  traps  with  his  own  channeled  magic,  it’s  only  specific  sorts  that  are  sensitive  to  holy  magic.  (  For  he  is,  clearly,  a  holy  man.  )

"  Hope  yer  cat  has  thumbs,  "  he  says  with  some  dubiety,  though  he  knows  well  enough  that  familiars  are  more  capable  than  alley  cats.  "  What’s  in  this  book,    anyhow?  "

[feuerwizard]

Caleb takes a slow breath, the rigid set of his shoulders easing fractionally as he wrestles his temper under control. His gaze is still hard, but there's a calculating edge to it now, a cold practicality that wars with the righteous fury burning in his gut. "Ja, I know," he says at last, each word measured and precise. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to end this quickly too. But we have to be smart about this."

He turns to face the looming camp, studying the stark lines of the fortress with a critical eye. "We go in swords drawn, we'll come out with many more problems. We need intel, need to know what we're up against before we make a move."

His gaze flicks to his companion, a wry twist to his mouth. "Much as it galls me to say it, playing the part is our best bet. Get in, get the lay of the land, find out where they're keeping the druid. We do this right, we might just have a chance of getting him out alive." The wizard takes another breath, slow and steady, and there's a grim determination in the set of his jaw.

@feuerwizard : ❛ you good? ❜

There’s a rigidity to his spine, and gods, but his eyes are hard, hard, hard. He’s fuming, jaw tight and clenched and a mulish defiance in that look — a dangerous defiance, bullish and absolute. The question reaches him distantly, and he’s inclined to dismiss the concern — say he’s fine, fine, bull ahead and —— and what, inevitably get them all in trouble? He’s no fool. 

" No, " he grits, turning his gaze aside. " I’m not good. I can’t do this. " Moonrise rises before them, cold and stark and waiting. Getting in was hard enough — but now, facing everything inside? The injustices, the cruelty. The implications —— he’s a hairsbreadth away from snapping. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his temple, his oath like a chained dog frothing at the restraints; the Absolute surrounds them, and everything he swore ——

It’s almost a physical force, that strain, and nostrils flare as he heaves breaths in slow and steady, and he’s white-knuckling his sword hilt — sheathed as it is. " We should be carvin’ the heart out o’ this place, not pretendin’ to be part of it. "

[feuerwizard]

"I will take your word for it," Caleb says in response to Paerin calling him a good man once more. "But this is horrid pillow talk." And he huffs a quiet laugh at the half-elf’s teasing words, the sound muffled against his lips as he steals another kiss. "I suppose I can learn to live with all that," he murmurs wryly, fingers combing through the other man's hair. "The kissing and the sex, I mean. You being an arse, well," He trails off with a shrug, blue eyes sparkling with mischief in the dim firelight filtering through the tent walls. "I have dealt with worse."

The wizard sobers then, expression softening into something more serious as he meets Paerin's gaze. "I want that. Us. Whatever that entails," Caleb says quietly, the words a solemn vow. His heart flutters and clenches in his chest, a fragile thing after so many years spent locked away behind walls of his own making. But he wants to try again. For Paerin. For himself. "I cannot promise it will be easy, but I can promise to always be honest with you. About my past, my present, and whatever future we might have together."

He seals that promise with a kiss, soft and sweet. He lingers for a long moment, savoring the warmth of Paerin's lips against his own, the scratch of his beard, the solid strength of his body pressed close. When they finally part, the human rests his forehead against Paerin's, eyes closed and breathing in the scent of him—leather and steel and something uniquely Paerin. "Danke," Caleb whispers, the words barely audible over the crackle of the campfire outside and the howl of the winter wind. "For giving me a chance."

" I en’t talkin’ just friends or travelin’ companions, " he adds gently, because — that’s one thing, and this is another. Casual is off the table by either of their measures, and he doesn’t have a want to go back to that kind of life either. He isn’t sure precisely what to call this feeling — he hasn’t much allowed himself to feel anything aside from companionship since those first days even if he’s felt it burn somewhere deep now and then, and so allowing those gates to open is like opening a door that has been rusted shut for too long. It’s creaky, dusty, slow, but he’s willing to allow what was closed off on the other side to see the light of day again. 

" You’re a better man than you know. An’, well. I used t’own a sword that would catch on fire when it tasted blood. I’m not scared of gettin’ burned. " That’s casually said, and maybe the truth is a little more complicated — but they’ve hashed all that out, and while he certainly is aware of the risks, he lives far too much in the present to linger overlong on the possibilities that haven’t happened yet. " You’ve warned me. I believe you. Let me, " and he taps Caleb lightly on the chest, " make those decisions for me. "

They danced down the line of conversation about all their reservations and worries — both them tangled 'round with self-doubt and held back by old scars. He doesn’t want to go down that line again, and so he only takes in a breath and lets it go. " I’ll drive y’crazy, " he says, though this eases into a little grin, softer and not as serious. " I’m kind of an arse. An’ I really, really like kisses. " Which he steals another one now, gentle and quick but not innocent. " An’ sex. I really like that too. " He wags his brows a little, the sentiment a little playful but not so much so that it dismisses the concerns. " But if you want t’put up with all that, I’m yours. An’ we can see where this all goes. "  

[feuerwizard]

Simplicity should have been the key. A simple question with a very simple answer. And while Caleb has always prided himself on the ability to articulate, much like a wizard should, he finds himself at a loss for words when they are needed the most. Of course, he wants this—because he is in love with Paerin, uselessly so, and he has been for some time now. It was a love he wore openly upon his shoulder with every glance, every worry, every attempt to protect him. Caleb’s eyes were constantly draw to Paerin’s face, studying every subtle change in his expression as though he were the most fascinating book in the grandest library. Any hint of distress and he was there before he convince himself otherwise, always checking in, always present.

So Caleb takes slow, measured breaths, gathering his thoughts. He shifts Paerin’s arms until he can meet the paladin’s bright blue gaze, their faces mere inches apart on a shared bedroll. The wizard’s heart shutters a bit in his chest, a familiar sensation whenever he allows himself to truly look at the other man.

“I, ah, believe that this works well.” The two of them together, he means. “This friendship… partnership… traveling companions—whatever you want to call it, whatever capacity it is to you. I do not want to lose it… but if you wanted more from it, I would happily give it to you.” Whatever Paerin wants, Caleb would offer it to him, so long as it’s within his power to do so. “I have not had family or love in a long time. Of course, it would be nice to have that again. And I am still not a good man, but for the first time, I finally feel like I could be one. So much of that is because of you. I’m just terrified to saddle you down with all of my shit, especially when it could burn you.”

" Bah, if it was hot then it’d be too hot t’do this, " he mutters against Caleb’s shoulder, a lazy protest deep in it about the value of cold weather. " Be all sweaty ’n gross. " Not that he has ever had any protest about that when it comes down to it — at least not the getting sweaty and gross part when engaged in activities other than baking under the sun — but it feels like an argument he has to make. 

A little glance is cast over with a faint little smile at the embarassment, but he lets it lie. " I didn't have no ideas, either, so don't be hard on yerself, " he returns with a little laugh, soft and easy, and he kisses his temple.

But that open question — ah, that’s ever the question, isn’t it. He doesn’t answer right away, instead just breathing under the feeling of fingers trailing over skin and tracing patterns he doesn’t even try to follow. Despite the thickness of his beard and hair, the hair on his chest and belly is thinner, not quite sparse but perhaps less than may be expected, likely carrying over from elvish genes. But there’s enough there that it tickles a little at the trailing fingers, at least enough to raise goosebumps in their wake. He likes it. 

" What d’you want? " he asks at last, and it’s a little — not quite cautious, but it has a certain weight to it all. " ’s been a long time since I done anythin’ that wasn’t —— wasn’t casual. " He doesn’t sound embarrassed about it because he refuses to be apologetic about sex, but it’s not blunt or harsh, either. He exhales a sigh, slow and even. " But I do care about you. About —— this. An’ as much as I had fun that first time, an’ as much as I liked this, if it was goin’ t’stay —— " And he waves a hand, vaguely. " Up in th’air, I don’t think I can handle it either. I’m in so far as you are, so —— I ask ye: what d’you want? " 

[feuerwizard]

The human snorts softly at Paerin's words, a wry smile tugging at the corners of bearded lips. "Nein, the cold is still miserable," he says, but there is no real bite to it. Not when he is pressed close to the warm, solid bulk of the paladin's muscular body, legs tangled together beneath the blankets. Huddled for warmth, as it were. Though, Caleb suspects his current state of contentment has little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the present company.

"I am typically creative with magic on the spot. I, ah, I suppose this was the exception," the wizard admits, a faint dusting of pink coloring his cheeks at the implication. He's no stranger to using magic in the bedroom, of course. But those sorts of spells are usually reserved for solo activities when the itch under his skin becomes too much to ignore, and he doesn't have the patience for more mundane methods.

But Caleb is nothing if not creative—evident in the vast array of spells he has tinkered with and even crafted himself. He thrives on research, always seeking new ways to push the boundaries of magic. And Paerin, with his endearing jitters when nervous, only spurs him on to add another item to Caleb's ever-growing to-do list of studies.

The human hums thoughtfully, "Get something in the next town?" Caleb is tracing idle patterns, various arcane glyphs across Paerin's chest with his fingertips. He can feel the steady thrum of the paladin's heartbeat beneath his palm, a soothing rhythm all things considered. "There is a next time, then?" A next time of this, of physical intimacy. "I ask because I do not think I’m capable of casual sex, not with you. Not without complicating things."

He’s left pressed close and panting, his mind wonderfully blank and his nerves beautifully aflame. He’s content to stay quiet to just let that moment settle over them, unconcerned with the mess; he’s settled half alongside, his weight not directly pressing down on the more slender wizard because he’s boneless, but he’s well aware that he’s heavy. 

He is, of course, not unfamiliar with magic. He watches with some mild curiosity but no real question, rolling over to his back shamelessly, absently scratching fingers through the fuzz on his belly. It’s the actual spell that makes him blink, surprised, and he follows it with a look down at himself and following between them. " Hells, " he utters, voice a little thick. " That’s a nice trick, innit. " Better than trudging out into the cold again for stuff to clean off with, at any rate, considering they stumbled in here with abandon.

" 'm surprised y’don’t got any tricks for, aye, y’know, " and he makes a lazy crude motion as he rolls back over with a yawn, wrapping that arm 'round him and pulling him close. " Gettin’ things slick. " He’s open about it, unembarrassed, casual — some might call him too much so, but he is what he is. " There was days I would’ve just —— " And then he cuts himself off, bites his tongue, is swift with, " nevermind, " and sighs, because he’s rambling and headed down somewhere he’d be best to not, and thus just adds: " I’ll get somethin’ in the next town. "

He’s got his cloak in here, too, which is thick and warm and oversized — honestly, it spent a good deal of time rolled up in his pack, so there’s some satisfaction in getting to use it now. It’s pulled over with the blankets, and if he’s surprised at their fingers curling together he doesn’t show it. " Just fine, " he murmurs low, pressing an absent scruffy kiss against his temple. There’s questions he still has, but those can wait until daybreak. " See, the cold en’t so bad. "